mr. canon


Voices of the Navy wives at the funeral echoed in her mind like a Greek chorus. We try to look out for each other. Well, you’ll see. It didn’t make her feel better. She didn’t want to be in their club. Didn’t want to learn how to be apart from the one person she longed to see every day.

Living with Sherlock Would Involve
  • Looking after him, or rather, making sure he looks after himself.
  • Being his contact with John, because John still wants Sherlock to be okay, even if he doesn’t want to talk to him.
  • Being woken up by Sherlock searching through your clothes, throwing everything on top of you on the bed until he finds a silk scarf, which he takes out with him into the kitchen, slamming your bedroom door behind him.
  • “Oh did I wake you up? My apologies.”
  • Mycroft keeping an eye on you. You get annoyed at him for this until one day he sees you walking home in the pouring rain and picks you up. You say he can come in for tea but he declines and quickly leaves.
  • Sherlock playing the violin very loudly when he wants you to wake up. “Oh good you’re up, read this.” 
  • Locking your bedroom door so Sherlock can’t get in. He quickly picks it so you install several different locks and puzzles to stop him from getting in. It turns into a little bit of a game so you don’t really mind when Sherlock shows up lying at the end of your bed one morning after spending the whole night trying to unlock your door. “I did it.” He says groggily.
  • Playing cards late at night. Sherlock insists on staying awake to wait for news so you stay up with him. Cards is the only way for him to keep you awake and focused (since you’re so competitive) so Sherlock is happy to play card games with you.
  • You invent games, puzzles and tricks to entertain Sherlock because a confused Sherlock is entertainment to you. Sometimes he pretends he knows the answer but won’t tell you (even though he doesn’t know). 
  • Screaming at him when you’ve had enough, when you’re fed up of his attitude because you care about him and he usually acts indifferent. This ensues. 
  • On the days when it’s too much for you and you’re crying and screaming at him to go away, Sherlock stays and tries to comfort you. Even though you appreciate the effort, Mrs Hudson’s tea and biscuits are much more helpful.
  • Sherlock telling you he actually does like having you around, even though you can be “a smug pain” sometimes.
  • “Ditto.”


Being Neighbours with John and Sherlock Would Involve is similar and here

Mr. & Mrs. Eric Richard Bittle


Mr. Robert Zimmermann &

Mrs. Alicia Carter Zimmermann

invite you to celebrate

the marriage of their sons


Eric Richard Bittle Jr.


Jack Laurent Zimmermann


Saturday, the twenty-ninth of June

two thousand and nineteen

at eleven o’clock in the morning


Reception to follow



ENJOY SOME GRAVITY FALLS STUFF (I SWEAR I’ll get to my messages soon, I’ve just been in a terrible rut lately >_<)

Being Neighbours With John and Sherlock Would Involve

“Being Neighbours (and close friends) with John and Sherlock would involve” - Requested by anon

‘Fun’ Fact: I roleplayed as Sherlock for a year or so online and met amazing people who I don’t talk to anymore because they just thought of me as Sherlock and it got on my nerves a little bit

Originally posted by sherlocked-to-holmes

  • Sherlock banging on the wall between your two apartments at insane hours when John’s out because he needs help with an experiment so needs you to come over. When you ask him why he didn’t just text you, he says he did and you didn’t wake up. Obviously.
  • Writing your own blog so you and John often talk about your blogs and Sherlock just rolls his eyes and microwaves an eyeball or something
  • Giving John a key to your apartment one day and since then Sherlock often comes around for tea because Mrs Hudson and John are out.
  • Getting dragged into their cases and you end up taking photos for them. John uses some of them on his blog. You had to stop a bit because Sherlock was getting distracted by the camera
  • Receiving texts from Moriarty during the Great Game because he finds you interesting much to John and Sherlock’s annoyance
  • Yelling at Sherlock through the wall when he gets bored because it sounds like you’re being attacked. All you get in reply is “Bored” and more shots.
  • Going around for tea with them
  • Sherlock telling you to “For God’s sake shut up” and then being told by John to apologise so he goes around to your apartment but there’s a large sign on your door saying “Fuck off Sherlock” so he texts you instead
  • Actually being considered Sherlock’s friend in the end and they both value you as part of their group
OK! Does everyone remember the Mr. Darcy hand flex in the Pride and Prejudice? Of course you do. The famous hand flex of attraction. Apparently that was a sign of Elizabeth eventually winning his hand in marriage. Guess what I just realized?

Originally posted by kvlord

Wait for it….HAND FLEX! We got ourselves a Mr. Darcy hand flex people! 

anonymous asked:

Don't know if you take headcanons but imagine Gaston being alive after the fall and when Lefou finds out he brings him back to health and they're living at the castle (bc Belle offered Lefou a place) but Gaston isn't the same anymore. He's so quite and doesn't boast about himself anymore. He's really insecure (many ppl don't know this tho) and he doesn't miss the way people tense up around him. But he's dating Lefou and has a close relationship with Chip who defends him bc he looks up to him.

Okay this is the cutest 

  • Belle can’t bring herself to refuse Gaston and Lefou, partly because she has a soft spot for Lefou and also because, just like that night in the woods with Adam and the wolves, she can’t and won’t let someone suffer without trying her best to help 
  • Lefou tries to bolster Gaston’s mood when his boyfriend is feeling down or possibly having a flashback, but instead of rolling in the praise and agreeing, Gaston just gives a small smile and shrugs in on himself
  • Lefou thinks it’s really cute and honestly, it saves him a lot of ego stroking time that is now used for stroking other things 
  • Everyone around the castle is slowly accepting Gaston, even though he led a mob into their home, but he’s changed, and they’re growing fonder of him by the day
  • Chip would try to look and act just like Gaston, puffing out his chest and clomping around in boots four sizes too big
  • Gaston almost gets another broken arm when Mrs. Potts finds him off the balcony of the east wing, teaching Chip how to expectorate “like a man” 
  • All their spit from above hits Cogsworth, who is minding his own business in the gardens below, and Lumiere nearly kills himself laughing 
  • I love this verse woww

Originally posted by sherlockloovesjohn


"Do you love him?”

Summary: The “Do you love him?” scene, but gayer. Michael’s POV. In which Mr. Heere ain’t no fool, but he is father of the year. 

Word Count: 1,147 

AN: I know 0 things about weed and this is mad tacky so bear w/me, lmao. I don’t really know where I was going with this, I just wanted to add more Drama™. When I started I had a sequel planned, but I’ve since forgotten how that was gonna go…so, if you want a sequel, hmu and give me ideas!

He’d hoped it would feel better, burning this stuff. He’d been just high enough when he stormed inside to grab it that he hadn’t stopped to consider whether it was a good idea. But now, watching the limited edition Magic: the Gathering card shrivel and blacken in the ashcan, it kinda just felt overdramatic.

And maybe he regretted it, just a little.

No, he couldn’t think that. He was angry with Jeremy. Jeremy had been treating him like he was nothing for months now. Squip or no squip, Michael couldn’t allow himself to roll over and forgive that. Jeremy was the one who’d burned everything they had. Michael was just finishing the job.


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Inktober Day 18. Waiting

@iffy-kanoknit @melisjevisje


Mr Pickle doesn’t get very many visitors.

His human wasn’t the sociable type in the slightest, and hence many guests didn’t visit Mr Pickle. Apart from the bald man with glasses occasionally, who would stagger into the bathroom in the wee hours, empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet, and give Mr Pickle a pat up on his shelf. Or the other, more easygoing gentleman, who always sang as he made water, especially when he, the bald man and Mr Pickle’s human were drinking.

The bathroom isn’t thought to be a vantage point of the home. Yet from here, perched on his special shelf, alongside the lines of butterflies, Mr Pickle can see everything he needs to. He can see the shadow looming from the door when it opens at night, the flick of the yellow-tinged hall light. The sound of oxford-clad feet, the rustle of an expensive coat being hung on its hook, and an umbrella swinging into place beside it.

When he had a body, years ago, he would be in the hallway right this second, gambolling around the pinstripe-suited tower legs of his human. And settling on his haunches on the plush carpet for a well-coveted scratch behind the ears.

But his body is a little frozen now, suctioned into place on his shelf, with his special golden plaque. So instead of running to meet his human, Mr Pickle must wait, until his dark-haired, long-legged human comes to greet him, and use the lavatory. He always brings a book with him too- 10,000 Leagues Under the Sea is Mr Pickle’s favourite.

Sometimes, the hallway light won’t flick on until the following morning. Or for several mornings after that. On these occasions, when he was a short furry little body, the bald man would visit, to ration out his bowl of dinner, and sometimes slip him a slice of bacon. But now, he needs no food. So all he can do is wait. A handful of times, weeks pass before Mr Pickle’s human returns, usually red-eyed with fatigue, and bladder bursting. The first thing he does is pay Mr Pickle a visit, which makes him feel very loved and appreciated indeed. But there’s not much talking then, and a flump from upstairs several moments after their reunion will tell Mr Pickle that his human has surrendered to exhausted dreams.

No matter how long he’s gone the human always comes home, eventually. To read the newspapers that slowly pile up against the front door, and tend to the modest garden that blossomed out the back.

Until one day, Mr Pickle’s human doesn’t.

The air in the house feels different, the day after, but he ignores it. His human would come home. He always did. But the funny taste of the air lingers, and the halls remain silent and still, ever since Mr Pickle’s human’s boy ran out in a flood of tears.

But Mr Pickle’s human would come home soon.When he had a body, and he was good, his human would give him treats. He just had to keep waiting patiently, like a good boy. Even as the newspapers that thwack onto the front door pile so high they spill over one day, and the garden grows wild and untamed. Mr Pickle waits, as the loneliness drapes over him like a death shroud, and the endless cycle of sunshine, moonlight beaming through the curtains glazes his eyes over.

Eventually, the hall light flicks back on one night. But it’s not his human that stumbles through the door in a zombie-like stupor, face puffy from crying. It’s his human’s boy, the shorter, suit-wearing man, who throws his coat on the floor, and rockets up stairs to collapse on the bed into a ball of agony and tears.

He doesn’t say hello to Mr Pickle. So Mr Pickle waits, like he always does, a steadfast picture of patience. For his human, his real human, to come home.

The funny texture of the air never leaves. Mr Pickle is almost used to it, now. The new taste of the air, the foreign smells of the blond-haired boy and his equally fair-haired lady, as they live and breathe and exist in this house.

The woman visits him in the bathroom, from time to time. But she never says hello, just breezes in and out as though he isn’t even there.

So Mr Pickle waits. Waits and waits and waits.

Because maybe if he keeps waiting, his human will finally come home, and say hello.