I am so sorry to new followers, I typically avoid major wankages in the Sherlock dumpster fire fandom but some things are too ugly to ignore. Yes it may seem silly, but it isn’t silly to me. Not at all.
I’m a survivor myself, of childhood trauma, but trauma nonetheless. Seeing those posters make light of true victimhood is not ok. You don’t get to make images that misrepresent the characters of a tv show to manipulate people into thinking they embody TRUE abuse. What makes it truly horrible though, is that the person put real, actual abuse hotline numbers and women’s organization phone numbers on these images. Damn. ૮(ꂧꁞꂧ)ა
I’m fine with Johnlockers chaffing til the cows come home about their ship not becoming canon, but the continued outright LIES have to cease. Write your fanfic. Drawn your fanart. Fix the show in those ways, that’s fine. We all do it. But you guys have to stop poisoning the rest of the fans who enjoyed this thing with outright falsehoods. Move on, find a new thing that gives you what you want, fix the thing in your head…but stop ravaging the rest of us with your bitter cucumbers of buttock fruit.
PARADISE FOUND: Globe-trotting CNN anchor Anderson Cooper takes refuge from the 24-hour news cycle in a heavenly tropical compound nestled in the postcard-perfect Brazilian town of Trancoso - photography: Simon Upton - text: Mayer Rus - AD August 2016
“An assortment of Brazilian devotional oratories and an antique confessional chair are arrayed against a turquoise wall; the ceiling lights and dining chairs are Uxua Casa, the table is vintage, and the floor is waxed concrete.”
Where whither grows the simple scent of sprigs anew in furrowed soil, For on the vine are yours and mine, a bounty blessed by honest toil. Though brave in war and ways we are, and wander thus in victory, It’s on the vine where yours and mine are graced with health and history.
In home and hearth and battlefield, our sustenance is common held, If on the vine are yours and mine, and always there we are compelled, For turning home is not retreat when home is why we fight at all, And on the vine is yours and mine, entreating in our heart the call.
So of the boons you cannot buy, there are but two we’re certain of, Not on the vine of yours or mine, is first the cost of truest love, And that denied a purchase price, we turn our gaze to what’s in hand And of the vine are yours and mine, tomatotl from our own land.
──From A Garden’s Grace: Songs of the Field, collected by Maryden Halewell
Well, Poppy loved almost everything–but rain was one of her favorites. So when she had awoken to the pitter-patter of water hitting her roof, she was thrilled. She spent most of the day cozy in her house, watching the drops hit the leaves of the trees around her while she worked on one of the many scrapbooks she had lying around. Her friends managed to drag her out for about an hour to enjoy an impromptu ‘singing-in-the-rain’ party, but she was quick to retreat home as soon as the cold started to seep in.