the glasses not the kids

mychakk  asked:

22 Warstan (can it be Sherlolly wedding? But not necessarily) :)

What a challenge! I’ve never written ‘Warstan proper’ before. Thankfully, the lovely @mizjoely looked over it for me (since she’s an amazing Warstan writer). Thanks, Miz!! And thank you @mychakk for the prompt. This one was fun!


How in the name of all things good and holy did Sherlock sodding Holmes beat me to the altar? John wondered as he watched his best friend dance with his lovely wife.

Not that he was in some great hurry to get married, exactly. Although… he was six years older than the detective and not getting any younger. The detective who, for the record, had sworn off all things love and sex-related! John could personally attest to the fact that Sherlock did indeed enjoy ‘pleasures of the flesh’ as the berk had once described, because until the week before he’d slept above the very vocal couple.

Looking down at his empty glass, he mumbled, “I need another drink.” then made his way towards the bar. When he got there, he waited patiently while a balding man in his late fifties ordered the most complicated beverage since the Babylonians first fermented honey.

Finally, the man took his pink and purple monstrosity and left, grinning like a fool. John stepped up. “I need something strong,” he said. “Preferably a lot of it.”

The bartender, a pretty blonde, wasn’t paying attention, too busy glaring at the man with the complicated drink. “If you order something with fewer than six cherries, I’ll name my firstborn after you,” she finally said, turning to face him.

Mercy… She wasn’t pretty; she was beautiful. Exquisite. Stunning. “Gorgeous…” he mumbled unintentionally.

“I’m sorry?” she asked.

He quickly realised what he had done. “Ah, that was a gorgeously bad drink,” he rushed. Gorgeously bad? He shook his head. It’ll have to do.

“I know! I don’t get paid enough to experiment nor do I care to. Doesn’t he know you order the most expensive liquor at an open bar? That entire drink had a half shot of bottom shelf rum.”

John laughed, his mood immediately lifting, but suddenly a look of fear broke out on the bartender’s face.

“Shit! I… do you know him? You’re in the wedding party, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am, but no, I don’t have a clue who that was. Probably some distant relative I’ve yet to meet.” He held out his hand. “I’m John, the best man.”

The woman shook his hand, brightening slightly. “The best man? That’s a funny last name.”

John laughed. “Adorable.” Again, he’d not intended to say it out loud. What the hell’s wrong with me today? he wondered. He was way off his game.

But the woman just smiled, then held up a single finger and winked before disappearing through the door next to the bar. A minute later she reappeared holding something behind her back. “This is the really good stuff,” she whispered as she poured him a glass of Talisker.

John whistled. “No kidding,” he said as he took the glass of whiskey. Everyone was either dancing or eating, so he thought he’d take the time to chat with the woman who’d just handed him a very large, very expensive drink. “Ah, do you work for the venue or the catering company?”

“Neither actually. A friend of mine works for the caterers but he broke his leg and asked me to fill in for him. Luckily, I’ve tended bar before. Unluckily, I’d forgotten how much I hate it.” She looked toward the dancing couples as she finished with, “I’m sort of in between jobs.”

John remembered that feeling. Not too long ago he was barely making ends meet. Now he had two jobs (three if you counted part-time Sherlock-sitting). He was just about to ask about her previous employment when he was interrupted by his best friend.

“Ah, John, there you are,” Sherlock said. “I might have known I’d find you chatting with the lovely Mary here.”

“You two know each other?”

“No. We just met a couple of hours ago but she won my admiration when she told Mycroft to bugger off after referring to her as the help.”

“I didn’t know he was your brother, Sherlock. I just assumed he was some government pencil pusher with a superiority complex.”

“And you weren’t wrong in that assessment, Mary.  Can I get some cool water for Molly? She’s not feeling well.”

The woman nodded.

“What’s wrong with her?” John asked.

“The champagne didn’t agree with her and she’s a bit light-headed,” Sherlock explained.

Mary handed him a glass of water. “No wonder, Sherlock. Pregnant women, especially in the first trimester, are very sensitive to certain tastes. She’s probably a bit overheated as well. You should take her outside for some fresh air. Also, some plain crackers wouldn’t go amiss.”

John was about to admonish Sherlock for not telling him about Molly’s pregnancy when he noticed the look on his face.

“Molly’s… pregnant? Sherlock whispered. He’d gone white as a sheet and his eyes were suddenly comically large.

Mary’s face fell. “Oh my God! I assumed you knew, what with being… well, who you are and all.”

“Pregnant?!” the detective said a little louder.

John saw the oncoming freak-out well before it happened, but there was no stopping it. Sherlock turned and dashed toward his new bride, shouting her name as he ran. Molly, who was sitting a few tables away from the bar, talking with Mike Stamford, tried to calm her husband, but he well and truly lost it. He picked her up - actually picked her up!- and carried her out of the building as the entire room watched.

“Bugger! I feel awful,” Mary said as the door closed, cutting the couple off from the crowd.

“Not your fault. I don’t know how he missed it. He knows… everything,” John said, then something occurred to him. “How did you know, by the way?” That was some Sherlock level deducing.

“I’m a nurse and…” She suddenly seemed a bit shy. “… I can read people, a bit.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “It came in handy in my former job.”

“Which was..?”

“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” she said with a smirk, though, for some reason John half believed her.

“That almost seems worth it.”

Mary laughed. “Maybe.”

He really couldn’t take it anymore. She was funny and intelligent and beautiful and mysterious. Throwing caution to the wind, he asked, “What are the chances I could get your number?”

“Pretty good, I’d say.”

“Yeah?

“What would you do if I gave it to you?” she asked.

I’d marry you, he thought, or at least he thought he thought, until he saw the surprised and, thankfully, pleased look on the woman’s face. “Oh, damn. I did it again, didn’t I?”

Biting her lip, Mary nodded. “I’m sure it’s just the Talisker,” she said, gesturing to the drink in his hand.

He had only taken one sip. Bless her! The woman wasn’t only stunning and smart, she was compassionate too. “Are you sure you want to give me your number?” he asked, wondering if he’d just ruined his chances.

“Positive,” she replied. “But I promise not to hold you to that proposal.”

She lied. They were married six months later.


Thanks again. Hope you liked it! ~Lil~

anonymous asked:

How is Andy so freaking pretty?!? I have a new favorite LI!

I LOVE ANDY?? I actually really, really enjoyed these first two chapters and I’m excited to get to know the characters better. I will protect these children with my life, and yes that also includes Hilda.

And I know it’s long gone,
And that magic’s not here no more,
And I might be okay,
But I’m not fine at all.

‘Cause there we are again on that little town street.
You almost ran the red 'cause you were looking over at me.
Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well.

Photo album on the counter, your cheeks were turning red.
You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin sized bed
And your mother’s telling stories about you on a tee ball team
You taught me 'bout your past, thinking your future was me.

And I know it’s long gone
And there was nothing else I could do
And I forget about you long enough
To forget why I needed to…

'Cause there we are again in the middle of the night.
We’re dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light
Down the stairs, I was there, I remember it all too well

BETTER. THAN. THIS!

On the topic of Paying for Writing

This came to me after that whole discussion about paying for someone writing and that “anyone” can write. Needless to stay this stoked my ire. Then a sense of deja vu hit me. 

Who got paid to write? I did. 

I grew in a third world country, and this was back in the day you had no internet and no texting blah blah blah. Anyway, I was 12, I was in high school (because there is no such thing as middle school where I came from), also I started school early and nobody questioned it. 

I was the target of bullying, because, hey, weird fat kid with big glasses right? They picked on me, called me names, whatever. Bullies, what’s new? I went to a private high school so these were rich kids bullying middle class nerd. Long story short they chose to nitpick on me.

Of course in high school you had all these goddamn freaking essays they made you write. What I did in the Summer. What happened in School Today. We had creative writing class. When I was 10 my English teacher discovered I had a knack for writing. I competed. I won. So when I hit 12 and these writing assignments came, it was easy for me. I wrote what came naturally. I was a star! I can deal out a 1000-word essay and not break a sweat.

Then the bullies noticed.

They said, “Hey nerd you wanna make these essays for us?”

I blinked. Without a second thought. “Okay. But you have to pay me.”

I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe it was the entrepreneur my mother instilled in me since I was 8. 

They were stumped for a bit. But between their lousy grammar and laziness they decided. “How much?”

“Five pesos per piece.”

These were spoiled rich brats. Between making their homework and paying the talented nerd in class they decided on the latter.

So I wrote. I got paid. I didn’t give them their homework (which they had to rewrite so it’s in their penmanship) until I got my cash. No, they can’t stiff me because I would snitch on them. I could say they bullied me into writing their stupid homework. 

Also, we had different teachers for different Creative Writing classes, so if I reiterated one essay, they wouldn’t notice. I would reuse old material if I knew they had a different teacher. Did we get caught? No. I did minor changes but sometimes gave the same essay to different idiots. I threw words around, changed a paragraph here and there.

One other thing I made money on? Love letters. Like I said, back in the day, you didn’t have texting/email/whatever. Also it was a conservative Catholic school, No crazy shit allowed. Girls were immediately smitten with a goddamn, well-written love letter. What did I do? I penned them, for 10 pesos a piece, altered my penmanship for every one, modified words here and there. We were dumb teenagers, they took the bait. They would think Casanova wrote it. And if I didn’t like the asshole who commissioned me? I told the girl he liked that I got paid to write it. 

It honed my writing, it got me extra cash, and the bullies left me alone because they needed my expertise.

Of course my shtick only lasted for maybe two years. I eventually got tired of it. Sorry dudes, you gotta do your own homework now. 

 Anyone can write? I dunno about that. I wrote pretty damn good back in the day, good enough to make girls swoon and rich brats to pay me to do their shit.

And I loved every second of it. 

Discover indie bands

A playlist made to discover some bands 

Fossils- Circa waves 
Fire that burns- Circa waves
Contagious- Night riots
Back to your love- Night riots
way it goes- Hippo campus
Suicide saturday- Hippo campus
Kangaroo pocket- Rozwell kid
Bangs- Rozwell kid
Someone else- LANY
 WHERE THE HELL ARE MY FRIENDS- LANY
She said- Sundara karma
Indigo puff- Sundara karma
Stranger- MOTHXR
She can’t tell- MOTHXR
Run- COIN
 Talk too much- COIN
The rhythm of night- Vinyl theatre
 30 seconds- Vinyl theatre
Silhouettes- Colony house
You & I- Colony house
Throw shade- CRUISR
Kidnap me- CRUISR
Making eyes- Saltwater sun
Wild- Saltwater sun
En route- Human resources
Bad news- Human resources
Alive- Glass caves
Out of control- Glass caves
We move like the ocean- Bad suns 
Salt- Bad suns
Alcatraz- King no-one
Philosophical- King no-one
Dark love- High tyde
Do what you want- High tyde

You can listen and follow this playlist here: 

https://open.spotify.com/user/indiebandss/playlist/7cAeRakPqvV44PJcgCIqVX