why are you looking at me that way john

Horizon Zero Dawn and Cultural appropriation: A very different view.

For the first time EVER, I’m sitting on the other side of a discussion about appropriating native culture.  Why?  Well, let me lay the framework.

First off, I’m not a guy who “knows a Native American” or has a “Native friend”  I am a 100% Anishinabe (Ojibway) dude who lives on reserve and has fought racism, stereotypes, pan-Indianism, and cultural appropriation fiercely for as long as I can remember. I’ve been the victim of horrendous racial violence as a child, adolescent, and adult, and I’m also a gamer.

I am the first to point out anything that smacks of any of the above and after I saw the Dia Lacina essay on “Horizon: Zero Dawn” being culturally insensitive and appropriating Native culture, I felt for the first time in a situation like this that I had to say something in rebuttal.

Lacina takes issue with the use of the words Tribal, Primitive, Braves, and Savage being used in the game (fyi they’re used to describe predominantly white people in game and they’re White words we didn’t use to describe ourselves thus I claim no ownership of, nor want to, anymore than I want to be a redskin, Indian or Wahoo)  

It seems (IMO) that most of her beef comes from an apparent belief that numerous aspects of generic tribal culture that appear in the game (making clothing from skins, hunting with spears and bows, living in a Matriarchal society, etc) are the sole domain of the Native American and just to be safe and cleverly keep her POV less subject to scrutiny, she applies it even more broadly to indigenous people world wide (I will just refer to us in particular as NA cuz I’m lazy and I also don’t refer to myself as a Native American) and basically that anything that is remotely “tribal” shouldn’t be used in gaming without our or someone else’s permission.

 In fairness, I don’t know if she’s actually played the game but as someone who is currently in the midst of doing exactly that, I can tell you that I have a pretty good idea of what stuff triggered her being upset and why, and while I absolutely respect her right to get offended by whatever she likes, and she makes excellent points about some other games, I am going to point out that there are flaws with this logic.

First of all, the basics: HZD is set in a post-post-apocalyptic future where people are living in tribal groups in a very destroyed world.  Machines exist but as hybrid animal/dinosaur type creatures and technology is pretty much non-existent in day to day human life.  

The heroine of the story is a red haired, white girl named Aloy who lives as an outcast with her adopted father, Rost.  Without giving a lot away, they are fiercely shunned by the local tribe for something Rost did and also the fact that Aloy is motherless.  

Impressively and rightly, though somewhat dismissively remarked upon by Lacina, is the way women and especially women of color are portrayed so positively in-game as this particular tribe is a total Matriarchy run by elders of various ethnicity.  African, Asian, White, and a variety of undefined people of color are common everywhere in the game.  (The leader of one band of warriors is a very fierce, commanding, intelligently portrayed black woman with a powerful presence.)  It reflects a fairly global society from a “skin color” perspective without any horrible accents or broken speech.

They worship an “All-Mother” goddess and their culture is (at least how I saw a lot of it) fairly heavy on European i.e. Celtic, Germanic, Scandinavian, etc type symbolism and the rest is filled in with mostly generic tribal-ish stuff that you could find in countless cultures around the world.

 I really didn’t get a “Native American” vibe off the game.  Of course, I don’t automatically presume to claim sole ownership of things like tribal life, hunting with bows and spears, and worshiping spirits of various elements solely for my own.  Random fact: Because there are over 500 distinct First Nations in N. America, we, believe it or not, didn’t all ride horses, live in tipis, use bows and arrows, tobacco and sage, and worship Eagles and Wolves.  Why? Well…use your brain.  Tobacco and Sage don’t grow EVERYWHERE, horses came over with the Europeans (and if you saw where I live you couldn’t have and cant for the most part get a horse through the bush if you tried) Eagles and Wolves don’t live EVERYWHERE….get the point?  Anyways….

If you examine Rost, he like most of the men has a braided beard and other seemingly Viking/Middle Ages inspired features, is white, speaks clear, unbroken English, and is a loving, protective and very positive role model for the girl.   Aloy for her part, is also fairly Viking-esque (to the point of looking incredibly like Lagaertha from the show Vikings but with red hair) also Egrit from GoT, and is no damsel in distress who needs men to save her. NOWHERE in the game have I encountered any Tipis, wigwams, Sweatlodges, or Non-White people speaking in stereotypical “Me smoke-um peace pipe, He go dat-a way” fashion.

The  opening cinematic is very touching (and long) as we see the orphaned Aloy as a baby in Rost’s care being carried around in a bundle on his back (which pretty much every culture did in one form or another at some point in time) and him ultimately taking her to the spot where a child of the tribe receives it’s name.

I really liked this idea as it isn’t often portrayed in a lot of mediums outside of stereotypical “Dances With Wolves” bullshit. Also, naming ceremonies are not the sole domain of NA people and what occurs bears zero resemblance to any NA ceremony I know of.  (It was actually a little Lion King at one point lol) But it’s a powerful moment in the beginning with much more that occurs during it but I won’t spoil that either.

Aloy herself is a pretty complex character.  She’s extremely independent, defiant, and questions pretty much everything about why things are the way they are and wants to do something about it.  You actually begin playing her as a 6 year old which is pretty unique and even then she’s tough and fearless and determined to explore her world.  

She is in no way hyper-sexualized (I’m looking your way Overwatch) Her clothing and everyone else’s, is utilitarian and appropriate for the environments she lives in, and so far, I have not encountered anything with her or any other character that made me go “WTF?”and trust me, my radar for that shit is HIGHLY SENSITIVE.  This isn’t Avatar, people.  It’s not John Smith. It’s not The Great Wall or Pocahontas.  This isn’t white dude shows up and saves the helpless non-white people while helpless native woman falls in love with him stuff.  It’s a fictitious future where we maniacs blew it up, damn us all to hell!

But here’s the more annoying thing for me as an actual Anishinabe.  I don’t need people speaking for me or getting offended on my behalf.  I am very capable of doing that myself. I am also in no way writing this claiming to be speaking for any other NA people or persons. It’s based on my observations from actually playing HZD and examining the various fictional “cultural” elements in the game.

If you see a skin tied inside a hoop and automatically assume it’s a dreamcatcher” ripping off “our culture” (FYI Dreamcatchers are a 20th century thing whose popularity was a result of pan-Indianism that exploded in the 70s.) or if you see feathers on a spear or as part of a costume (nowhere is anyone wearing a single eagle feather in the back of a beaded headband or a Dakota looking headdress either) and automatically presume it to be ripping off NA culture, you’re REEEEEEEEEEALY reaching.  If you think caring for the environment, obeying matriarchs, worshipping elemental spirits, or making your own clothes is solely the property of NA culture, see previous statement.

By all means get offended.  Get offended by Chief Wahoo.  Get offended by the Washington Redskins.  Get offended that thousands of Native women have been murdered or gone missing and nothing’s been done about it.  Get offended by Johnny Depp or Robert Beltran playing Native people instead of actual Native people getting those roles.  Get offended by shit like Adam Sandler’s “Ridiculous 6” where a native woman is called a “hot piece of red prairie meat” or Depp’s “Lone Ranger” movie.

Get offended that my family was destroyed by the Residential Schools and that the 60s scoop took babies away from their families and people, that forced sterilizations took place and mass graves of dead Native children exist at former Residential School sites.

Don’t just jump on the I’m offended bandwagon because you saw some feathers or skins or spears or bows in a game and immediately grew indignant and wanted to claim them as OUR culture.  They’re not.  They’re almost globally universal in numerous cultures at various points in time.  Get offended, as she rightly mentioned, when the game Overwatch sexualizes the shit out of almost every female character and takes West Coast tribal art and makes a costume out of it.  

THAT is appropriation.  White people holding powwows in Europe (powwows are also pretty much not traditional and are extremely pan-Indian, not to mention full of us appropriating each other’s Native cultures ie. Dakotas wearing Jingle Dresses, Ojibway wearing Dakota regalia, etc) is appropriation.

This game……I’m just not seeing it the same way.  And I’m nobody.  I have no ties to Guerilla or anybody other than myself and my community.

wallsofgoo  asked:

TOP 5 JOHN BOYEGA LOOKS

first of all… 5? this how i know the devil is real… but anyway lets get into it.

5) John at the Graham Norton show. listen..a sweater+a suit jacket (in deep fall colors) was enough but what pushed this over from “i just look this good” to “fry an egg on me” is the hair - the fade, the lineup, the LINE on the side. 

4) The Queen of Katwe London Premiere. I love me some John in print. I love me some John reminding me he’s Nigerian.

3) BAFTAs. Even when he’s wearing classic colors he does it big. Why settle for boringass matte black when you can go velvet.

2)Promoing TFA - random place. The look that changed me. The long coat, the shades, fitted jeans, all black, the way he’s standing, one hand in his pocket, gazing to the side, serving LOOKS. this look changed me as a PERSON. i went from a northface jacket kinda girl to wearing on sale matte brown coats from zara.

1) TFA Premiere. Are you surprised? You’re not. The day he reminded all these regular-degular hoes at the premeire w/him that HE was the ONE. he told us finn was gonna be a jedi with this look. he came into my house on this day to wipe away my tears w/his one gloved hand, slick down my edges, steal me from star trek and i embraced him into my heart as my main. i actually didnt know sw existed before this look and really…did anyone?

anonymous asked:

Prompt: if John had been resurrected instead of Mary.

He’s never seen his boys look at him quite like that. Or each other, for that matter. His hands tremble when he lifts his cup of coffee to his lips and drinks, and while it feels good to have something hot inside him, feels like it’s anchoring him here, he can’t shake off the feeling that he doesn’t quite belong, that he should be… somewhere else.

And his boys? God, what the years have done to them.

It’s been a mess of a few days. First, he was at the hospital - after that comes a blank, a void that feels like it still calls for him. Then, suddenly, he was there again, standing on a lawn in the middle of the night, staring at his son as a man much older and worn than he last saw him. From there onwards, it’s only gotten worse: chases mix with angels and secret societies, torture with magical healing. His head is spinning.

“How are you feeling, Sam?” he asks from the man across the table, a man who is so different from the boy he sent to fetch him a cup of coffee the moment his deal was due.

He seems broader now. Taller, even, if that’s possible. He’s got longer hair and eyes that have seen it all. Chapped pink lips with just enough space between them to let a sigh through.

“I’m - I’m fine, Dad.”

He is not fine, but neither is Dean, and neither is John. As if sensing this, Dean moves closer to his brother - he’s chosen to have his own coffee upright, as if to make sure that nothing else touches Sam. Well, some things haven’t changed, at least.

“Good.”
A brief silence replaces the tense conversation, but only for a few moments. Then John places his cup down and clears his throat.
“I want you boys to catch me up on everything that I’ve missed.”

“Can’t it wait?” Dean asks him.
He’s always been this way, more anxious than Sam, constantly longing for peace and quiet. It seems that in this place, he may have finally gotten to experience some of it. The way he moves in this place, the way he treats it, it’s like he’s found home here.

John lets his eyes trace the large room. It’s a funny home.

“I know you’re tired,” he says then, moving his gaze back to his boys who look just about ready to crash, “but I need to know. Why don’t we start with something easy and continue from there later? Tell me how you found this place.”

The brothers exchange looks, and finally, Dean seats himself next to Sam. He looks at John and considers his words for a moment.

“Yeah, about that,” he says in a careful voice, “It all starts with you, actually.”

John lifts his brows.

“Or - your father,” Sam corrects, and Dean nods.

“Yeah. So you might want to strap in. There’s a lot more to our family than you ever knew, Dad.”

Clearing his throat, John lifts his cup back to his lips.
“Fill me in, then.”

Fragments - Part 2

Word Count: 6682

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence

A/N: Constructive feedback always welcome and appreciated. Unedited. All mistakes are mine. If you’d like to be tagged you can add yourself Here

Fragments Masterlist


Cas had managed to get details from the getaway driver for the people who took Sam. It wasn’t much but it was something to go on. You’d found out they were British and had just flown into the country the same night they took Sam. He also told you he drove them to a local veterinarian but didn’t know why. Dean was off checking the tail number of the plane. Cas was checking into the Vet. Mary and you were sitting at a table in a park outside of the Vet’s practice, waiting for him to show back up.

You weren’t speaking, opting to watch Mary. Everyone had been so worried about you and your memory issue then about Sam disappearing they hadn’t paid much attention to her and how she was adjusting. She was watching everyone, staring at the cell phones and the laptops. She looked just as lost as you felt. You didn’t remember your life, but you remembered what life was like. You remembered phones, computers, technology, how to use everything. All of that was still there. You couldn’t imagine how she felt, being dumped 33 years into the future with a dead husband and two grown sons.

“Are you ok? I know how I feel. It must be a lot for you to take in.” Mary turned to you, smiling sweetly and nodding her head just as Cas approached carrying coffees, passing one to each of you. “Thanks, Cas.”

“It’s how you like it.” Cas said, sitting in the chair next to yours. “Or how you used to like it.” You took a sip and hummed in satisfaction, earning a smile from Cas.

“This must be difficult for you.” Cas said, turning toward Mary, apparently picking up on the same thing you had. “I remember my first moments on Earth. It was jarring.”

“One word for it.” She laughed. “I grew up with hunters. I’ve heard of coming back from the dead…but to actually do it after 30 years…a lot’s changed.” She glanced around again, looking at everyone on their phones. “A lot.”

“Y/N what about you? Are you holding up ok?” Cas questioned. “I can’t really get a read on you. Then again…I guess I never really could.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “You were always a mystery to me.”

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Experiment #5 - Request

Requested by the sinners and anons:  -For your experiment series, what if one of the experiments is that sherlock doesn’t think that people can “get off” by dry humping and so he makes the reader rude his thigh! 
-I have a suggestion for the next experiment- sherlock x reader. Its where sherlock points out that he’s not just using the reader’s body… And their relationship gets a label. (Still not getting the label, though)

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word count: 1779

Warnings: Smut - dry humping, implied toy play -

A/N: I feel like we’re getting closer to an end so… Yeah, I was planning to mix two requests in here but figured it woudl last longer if I didn’t. Such a tease…

Enjoy!

Originally posted by xthismeanswar

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

“What are we?”

He was finally asking that question, and it wasn’t because he wanted to but because he had to.

“(Y/N), what are we?” He insisted.

“I don’t know… Colleagues, I suppose.” (Y/N) whispered. She turned her gaze away, unable to think straight for as long as her eyes and Sherlock’s were locked together. “This was supposed to be only an experiment, and that was it.”

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Meanwhile, Molly

(Or: More Things That People Think Make Sherlock Canonically Straight But They Really Really Don’t)

Allow me to address one more incredibly beautiful part of Sherlock (and then I’ll stop overusing the word “beautiful”, sorry, I just loved series four): Let’s talk about what is the point of Molly Hooper.

I’ve always sympathised with Molly, but I admit that from a literary point of view, I didn’t quite get her. If she was a love interest for Sherlock, why would the story not revolve more around her? But if she wasn’t a love interest, where was her character going? Why was she there in the first place? It didn’t feel Moffat-y sound. (And yes, I just made that expression up.) 

But looking back on all four series, the intention of Molly’s character actually becomes pretty clear. In a nutshell: At any given moment of the show, Molly is an indicator of John Watson’s feelings towards Sherlock. (No really, let me show you.) 

Originally posted by acrossthestarx

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I’m not going to take anything away from Roman,” said Cena. “He handles his business with the utmost professionalism. He’s doing it on his own watch. He’s not one of the those guys that comes over to me and asks me, ‘What happens next?’ He’s doing it his way, and I think that’s the best way to do it. He’s not trying to be the next John Cena, but he is being the only Roman Reigns-and that’s why it’s met with so much adversity.

“I can tell you from first-hand because I know. I wasn’t trying to be Stone Cold or The Rock, I was John Cena. That was met with adversity from people looking for the next Stone Cold or the next Rock. That’s what creates the dichotomy, the polarizing environment. I think Roman is doing a fantastic job, and he has an entire roster stacked with unbelievably gifted performers.

—  John Cena on Roman Reigns.
Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 3- First Kiss

Thanks for the feedback a couple months ago! Seemed that a number of you liked the idea of me covering this day’s theme, so I went for it. Hope you enjoy it! ;)


First Things First

Sherlock shoved the lift button aggressively.

“Alright, relax,” John counseled. “The button didn’t pull Molly into an unexpected meeting.”

“It could have worked today, John! I could have done it!” Sherlock complained as the doors finally opened and they got in the lift. “It’s been almost three weeks now and I can’t understand why this is so difficult!”

“Maybe you’re making a bit more of this than you need to.” After receiving a glare, John put his hands up defensively and clarified. “No no, look, I’m not saying that asking Molly out isn’t a big deal. I’m just saying that maybe you need to put a bit less pressure on yourself to do it perfectly.”

“But I have a speech, John!”

Keep reading

Little Ham Man (Small?Hamilsquad x Reader) 9

A/N: enjoy my friends!

Previous Chapter II Next Chapter


You walked home with the, you sighed, six men. You hoped that no more founding fathers would appear because this situation was getting out of hand. The boys were roughhousing behind you, Hercules holding Alexander in a headlock and Lafayette and John laughing at their antics. You scowled them, but they ignored you, continuing their behavior.

You had no clue what you would do if another showed up.

You opened the door for them, all of them running in. This time, your neighbor didn’t dare to come out of his room, since the last incident. You locked your door behind you and looked at all of them. Thomas and James sat on the counter, James leaning on a cup and closing his eyes, while Thomas walked around with that stupid cane of his.

You heard their stomachs growling when you walked there, and with the limited amount of money your job gave you and your bills that you had to pay, you didn’t have much to spare.

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I Will Personally Put You In This Morgue! (Sherlock)

Request: Sherlock x reader. The reader has a prosthetic leg. Anderson calls her a freak 

Warning(s): prosthetic leg (obviously, if that even is a warning), slight language, insults 

Word Count: 1,589 (geez) 

Reader Gender: Female (if this was supposed to be male/nonbinary PLEASE TELL ME AND I WILL FIX IT) 

Authors Note: SO SO SO SORRY ON HOW LATE THIS IS! I’ve had a lot of schoolwork and I’ve been out, but here it is. It was also a little challenging to write so I hope I did it correctly. I hope you like this, anon. :) Personally I can’t stand Anderson so I love this. 

Another Authors Note: This takes place in “The Great Game” (s1e3) for reference. I tried to get it as close as possible, but I did have to change it up some for the request. :) 

“He’s not gay! Why do you have to spoil-he’s not!”

That’s what I hear as I step into the room. I see Molly standing at the end of a table. Sherlock is at the other end looking into a microscope, with John behind him. I had been outside of the building talking to Lestrade about the case, when John texted me, telling me to come in. Apparently, he had done that so that he would not be alone when this argument went down. Really, I had to walk all the way down here for this? 

“With that level of personal grooming?” Sherlock says, snorting. It comes off as a question, but I know he doesn’t mean it that way. He looks up from the microscope, and glances at me. His hand moves to gesture toward an empty chair, and I accept gratefully. I hope I’m not blushing too much at him helping me. 

“Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?” John asks, “I put product in my hair.” I giggle at how offended he looks. 

“You wash your hair,” Sherlock responds, “there’s a difference.” He turns to Molly. “No,no - tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber’s eyes. Then there’s his underwear.” 

“His underwear?” Molly looks dumbfounded, raising her eyebrows as she speaks. I look at him too, wondering where he’s going with this. 

”Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand,” He says, leaning toward the Petri dishes. He pulls out a slip of paper, then says: 

“That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish her…and I’d say you’d better break it off now and save yourself the pain.” Damn. At least he’s thorough. Molly runs out of the room, and I turn to Sherlock. 

“Charming,” I say, rolling my eyes. Even though they’re blunt, I think it’s amazing how he is able to make his deductions. But, people get hurt sometimes. He looks over his shoulder at me. 

“Isn’t it kinder to save her the time?” He asks, and I shake my head. He shrugs and looks over to John. He points to the shoes, the actual case itself. 

“Off you go,” he says to John. The man looks surprised, but picks up the shoes to attempt to get as much information as possible. Sherlock gets up, walks over, and sits down next to me. 

“I still don’t quite understand how you manage to walk so well on that leg,” he says. His voice is slow, as if he’s trying not to offend me. Strange, I think, with others he wouldn’t care. I look over at him and shrug. 

“I’ve gotten used to it,” I say as I place my hand on the prosthetic. As I do, my mind goes back to the accident. Riding in the taxi, when another car runs into the side. My leg pinned, people trying to get me out, but I couldn’t. The pain, the excruciating pain all in my leg. When people finally got me out and got me to the hospital, only to be told I’d have to lose my leg. The grief that followed. 

A hand on my shoulder brings me back to reality. I look to see Sherlock looking at me. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear I saw concern all over his face. As I start to say something, the door opens. In walks Lestrade and the rest of the team, including the irritating Anderson. 

“Find anything?” Lestrade asks. He looks at John, but we all know the question is for any of us. Sherlock jumps up and walks to John. 

“Tell me what you’ve found, doctor,” Sherlock says. John starts rattling off different things to do with the shoes. I get up to go look at the Petri dish still under the microscope’s eye. As I walk over, I can feel eyes on me. People always look at me strangely, due to the way I walk, so it doesn’t faze me much. I sit down at the microscope and look into it, only for someone pull on my wrist. I look over, annoyed at being drawn away from the case, and see Anderson.

Stupid prick. I roll my eyes and pull my arm out of his grasp. When I head for the microscope, he pulls it away from me. Reaching to grab it, I step off of the stool. Thanks to my prosthetic, however, I lose my balance and have to grab onto the counter to stay upright. He smirks at me, then gets up in my face.

 “You’re pathetic, Y/N,” he sneers, “and a freak. You can’t do anything on your own. You think you’re smart but you’re as smart as a rock. Why don’t you do us a favor and hobble out of here, and let the professionals handle this?” I sit there, shocked into silence. The words cut through me like razors, and I fight back tears. 

Then, I hear a calm, but deadly voice. 

“John, take Y/N out please,” Sherlock says. “Everyone else out, except for Anderson.” I see Lestrade start to protest, but after seeing the look in his eyes, stays quiet. John walks over to me, and offers his arm. I accept, and he doesn’t complain when I put a lot of weight on him. He knows what Anderson said, and he understands that it hurt. Once we get out, I head to a bench. I sit down and put my face in my hands. Don’t cry, don’t cry. Then, I jump as I feel an arm around me. 

“Sorry,” John moves his arm. I shake my head. 

“It’s okay, just wasn’t expecting it,” I respond, “some comfort would be nice at the moment, actually.” He puts his arm back around me, and I lean in. Then, the yelling starts. 

“ANDERSON, YOU INCOMPETENT, UNINTELLIGENT, IMBECILE! YOU CALL HER PATHETIC, YET YOU PAY WOMEN TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU! ALSO, DON’T YOU DARE SAY SHE CAN’T DO ANYTHING ON HER OWN!” There’s a pause, and I hear a fist connect with a stomach repeatedly. “YOU CANNOT EVEN MAKE A SANDWICH WITHOUT HELP! AND YOU WANT TO QUESTION HER INTELLIGENCE? SHE HAS MORE INTELLIGENCE IN HALF A BRAIN CELL THAN YOU WILL EVER HAVE!” Another pause. Someone is probably getting punched again. “ANDERSON, YOU ARE THE MOST WORTHLESS SCUM ON THE PLANET, CALLING THIS ASTOUNDING GIRL A FREAK! IF YOU EVER TRY TO TEAR HER DOWN AGAIN, I WILL PERSONALLY PUT YOU IN THIS MORGUE!”

I stare in disbelief at John. His eyes are wide, and he stands up. I realize then that my face has gotten hot. I stand up, being careful this time as to not lose my footing. Lestrade comes over to me, and places a hand on my back to guide me to the door of the room. He leans down towards my ear. 

“Just so you know, this means Sherlock likes you,” he whispers. I look at him, not knowing what to say. He sighs, then whispers: “That means you should ask him to dinner, then.” 

I open my mouth but once again say nothing, being met with a smirk by John. He knew this entire time, I think. We walk back into the morgue to see Anderson on the floor, unconscious. There’s blood on his face, from being hit by Sherlock. I look over at where he is sitting. I see something different in his eyes, something I’ve never seen before. John goes to him and whispers something to Sherlock. After, he motions for everyone to leave. As I start to walk out, John puts his hand on my shoulder. 

“Not you,” he says, smiling softly. He leaves, and I turn back to Sherlock. He looks back at me, then at his hands. They’re covered in blood. I walk to a sink in the corner of the morgue, and wet a cloth. Sitting down next to him, I put the cloth over his knuckles and hold it. He looks at me. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says quietly. I smile a little. 

“No, thank you, Sherlock,” I reply, “for defending me. You didn’t have to.” 

“That pig deserved every bit of it,” he responds quickly. “Besides, you should never have to hear all of those lies.” I feel my face heat up again. 

“Lestrade said I should buy you dinner to thank you,” I proceed cautiously.

“That would be lovely,” he says. I look at him to say something else, then notice that I’m only a few inches away from his face. Sherlock sees it the same time I do, and I know he can tell what I’m thinking. Yet, I’m still surprised when he leans in. I close my eyes, and our lips meet. The kiss is light, as if he’s afraid he will scare me off. Yet, there’s so much there, the sense that he deeply cares for me, but in a different form than how he cares for John. 

When we pull away, we sit there for a moment. Then, Sherlock starts to smile, and I start to laugh a little. He takes the cloth and throws it across the room. Instead of an arm, he offers his hand to me. I take it, and we walk over Anderson and out of the room. As we step out of the building, all I can think is, I can’t believe I just kissed Sherlock in a morgue, and my leg didn’t get in the way.

3 Years (John x Reader)

Word Count: 3,977

Warnings: Swears, Alcohol, Smut (It’s hella fluffy smut)

Authors Note: So we hit 800? I’m dying I love you guys so much I don’t deserve any of you. Anyways, I wanted to celebrate this milestone with some smut yeah? lol. Get ready, it’s so sweet you could get a cavity. Big thanks to @adolescenthowell for dealing with my smut writing process shit. Go follow her! I LIVE TO HEAR FEEDBACK FROM YOU GUYS AND I LOVE TO JUST HEAR FROM YOU IN GENERAL. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT. I LOVE YOU GUYS!

Requests:  Reader x Laurens where they go out with the squad and reader looks really hot and Laurens whose like in love with reader can’t control himself and maybe leads to smut if you’re ok with that

John Laurens + reader teasing him while they’re at a bar?

Masterlist

Friday night meant going out with your friends for drinks, especially after you had met Alexander. You and Alex had met in college and after that you two hit it off instantly, doing everything together. You would be lying if you said you two hadn’t hooked up once or twice but you both mutually agreed that you two were better off as friends, you even helped snag Eliza for him. Being friends with Alex meant being friends with his friends, and thankfully they all liked you. All but one. John Laurens. For some reason, you two had created a friendship of your own filled with nothing but dry, sarcastic humor that nobody seemed to understand. You greeted him with insults and he would happily take them and throw one back at you.

You stepped into the taxi and gave the driver the name of the bar as you smoothed out your barely there dress. The forest green silky fabric felt like air to your skin, and you had to make sure you had actually worn clothes out. If the short length wasn’t enough, the dress also was backless as the fabric in the back started below your ribcage. You didn’t know why you had chosen to wear that dress. On Friday nights you had usually opted for a pair of jeans and a nice top but today you felt like dressing up a bit more, and you were definitely feeling yourself. The taxi came to a screeching halt in front of the bar, and you thanked the driver as you handed him a ten dollar bill. You swung your legs out of the cab and gracefully stood up as the New York City breeze hit your body. You smoothed out your hair before walking into the bar.

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i have 0 chill.  i have no idea how to write anything less than 4k words.  why can’t i write anything casually.  i hope you guys enjoy this because i have been agonizing over it all week lmao.

title: un peu, beaucoup, passionnément
fandom: hamilton
pairing: laf x reader
rating: m for smut
word count: 6981

Hi! Maybe a fic where you’re Laf’s one night stand and when you wake up and are about to leave and John and the other boys offer you some breakfast. You become part of the Hamilsquad and there’s a lot more sexual tension between you and Laf until the squad intervenes and you both admit your feelings for each other and more smut ensues.

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Protect You (Part 1) (TJeffs x Reader)

Summary: You meet him for the first time

Warnings: None its bad tho so…. feedback is appreciated
—————————————-
“It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.”
“It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion.”

The first time you met him it was at a fourth of July party at Lafayette’s house. Laf had invited everyone he knew well. Alex, John, Herc, the Schuyler sisters, and you. You didn’t know Thomas Jefferson and his friend would be coming until you arrived. A genius plan in getting your brother to come without complaint. Well until…

“Gilbert Lafayette!” You had been talking with the Frenchman when Alex let out his bellowing yell.

“Thomas has arrived.” He said and soon enough your little big brother walked into the backyard. “Mon ami excuse me will you.” He said putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Good luck.” You said and moved to the picnic tables getting everything ready for the hamburgers that Herc and John were grilling. Eliza and Angelica were in the kitchen cooking everything else. Peggy was sitting by the pool soaking up the last of the day’s rays. You smiled as you moved past your brother and Laf arguing in French. You walked in the elegant sliding glass doors and into the kitchen.

Thomas was standing next to Angelica trying to talk to her. “It must be hard with your sense of direction to find your way to a decent pick up line.” You heard the oldest Schuyler sister say and you let out a laugh. You turned to look through Laf’s cabinets to find the napkins.

“I thought it was good.” You heard him say.

“Too bad you’re not trying to pick up yourself.” Angelica said and you heard Jefferson grunt. “Take these outside and set them on the table.” You found the napkins and turned around as soon as you did you heard the clattering of plastic plates on the floor.

You looked from the ground to Jefferson’s face. “Are you okay?” You asked concerned and walked to him.

“Um uh yeah, I’m fine,” he said and you bent down to pick up the plates, “Oh it’s okay, don’t worry about that please. I can take those too.” He said and gestured to the napkins.

“Oh okay.” You said and gave him the napkins. He got new plates and hurriedly moved outside. You let a small smile form on your lips Angelica looked outside at Jefferson looking inside at you and laughed.

“Oh my god, you made Jefferson make a fool of himself. He’s going to have a headache for days.” She said and you looked at her confused.

“Don’t worry about it,” Angelica said when she saw your expression. “Eliza did you see that? That was hilarious.”

“Angelica you are awful.” You said and shook your head. You took the food that was ready and brought it out to the table that Jefferson was setting. As you were setting down the food you felt him come up to you.

“Uh I’m uh um,” did he forget his name? “I’m Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson.” He said and stuck his hand out for you to shake. You gave a small smile and shook his hand.

“I’m Hamilton, (Y/N) Hamilton.” You said and he looked very confused. He looked between you and your brother.

“Oh that’s not fair.” He blurted out and then apologize and sulked back into the kitchen. You watched him retreat and your brother stomped over angrily.

“What did he say to you?”

“He just introduced himself, calm down.”

“Thas what I’m talking ‘bout. Who ready for food?” John yelled from the grills and that got everyone outside and around the picnic table. Everything was going great until someone brought up the recent discourse on campus. The library making people pay for coffee.

Alex went on a rant on how people were stupid for doing it, Thomas chimed in on how it would encourage people to get jobs to pay for it. Then it turned into an all out yelling match that ended in you telling them to shut up.

“Jesus Christ shut up. Why do you care it’s a dollar fifty get over it. If you would get an actual sleep schedule you wouldn’t need so much. God Alex it’s not life or death.” You rolled your eyes and both of them were silent and everyone else talked. When you’d finished you put you plate up and grabbed the beers.

“(Y/N) a woman after my own heart.” John commented as he grabbed a beer. Laf grabbed one too and soon everyone was talking and laughing and drinking. James and Thomas sat on pool chairs talking in the corner. Thomas kept looking at you and you caught him a few times he seemed tense as you laughed with Herc. What you weren’t expecting was Laf to jump in the pool close to you and soak you with the splash. Which was worse than it normally would have been because of your white American flag crop top.

You took a minute to get over the shock of being soaked. “Mon ami you are soaked.” Laf said and you turned.

“You don’t say.” You said and took your crop top off and your shorts only in your red, white, and blue bikini. “I’m going to strangle you.” You were about to jump in to do just that when John jumped in grabbing your arm dragging you in. Everyone was laughing as you play fought with John and Laf in the pool. It ended in the shallow end Laf and you in a tickle fight.

“I surrender jeez I won’t strangle you.” Laf let go and laughed. He swam to the diving board with John to do tricks. “Alex come help me out.” You said to your brother.

He scoffed,”No way.”

“Why not?” You poured.

“Because we’re siblings I know you.” He said and you rolled your eyes. Thomas did the same and got up to help you. He struggled not to stare at your boobs as he leant down. You grabbed his hand and pulled down bringing into the pool with you. He popped up sputtering and looked at you. You gave him a small smile, he returned it. You were about to swim to him but everyone else started jumping in and you were distracted. He left before you could talk to him again.

“You are so done for.” Peggy said as you wrapped a towel around yourself as you all sat around a fire.

The second time you saw him you were picking up Alex from debate club. Alex prided himself on being one of the top in the debate club. You told him it made him a nerd. He said that it qualified him for everything. You just rolled your eyes.

Today must have run late. You need let yourself go in because of all the nerdiness that must go on in there. You sighed and looked at the clock. It was supposed to be out twenty minutes ago. You had rehearsals in an hour. You had a few minutes to spare. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to stay long.

When you walked in it was a mad house

“When we were on death’s door, when we were needy, we made a promise, we signed a treaty. We asked France for help and they provided. In return, they didn’t ask for land, only a promise that we’d lend a hand And stand with them
If they fought against oppressors and revolution is messy But now is the time to stand!” You shoved your way through the crowd of men and women standing in the strange looking lecture hall. One side had seats and so did the other and there was a place for people to stand around in between them. It kind of looked like a stadium.

“Stand with our brothers as they fight against tyranny. I know that Alexander Hamilton is here and he would rather not have this debate; I’ll remind you that he is not Secretary of State!” When you got to the front you saw who was debating. Your brother and his super hot nemesis.
“He knows nothing of loyalty smells like new money, dresses like fake royalty desperate to rise above his station, Everything he does betrays the ideals of our nation. Hey, and if you don’t know, now you know, Mr. President.” Jefferson finished and you knitted your eyebrows looking at Alex and then Jefferson. There was tension as the taller man let a sinister smirk cross his face. The was not the same adorable man who had dropped plates at the sight of her was it?


“Thank you, Secretary Jefferson. Secretary Hamilton, your response?” George Washington, a history professor said and looked at your brother. It was silent for a moment everyone waiting for his response. Alex always had a way with a crowd since he was young and on the streets asking for money to buy his little sister some food.

“You must be out of your goddamn mind,” everyone shouted at that and you found yourself doing it as well. “If you think the President is going to bring the nation to the brink of meddling in the middle of a military mess, a game of chess, where France is Queen and King-less.” That’s when Alex noticed you and so did Thomas. And the Alex noticed Thomas noticing you and the glare that formed on his face. Thomas’ smirk had fallen when he’d seen you. He looked awe struck and you gave him a small smile.

“We signed a treaty with a King whose head is now in a basket, would you like to take it out and ask it? Should we honor our treaty, King Louis’s head? ‘Uh, do whatever you want I’m super dead!’” And like that it was over and you were being pushed out of there by Alex. “I hate the way he was looking at you.” Alex hissed.

“What with admiration, you know some people find me admirable.” You said as you moved around your car to get into the driver’s side.

“No like he was lovesick, you can’t date. I refuse to let it happen.” Alex said as he got in.

“Yeah yeah, say whatever you like, I can do what I want.” You told him and Alex rolled his eyes.

The third time you saw him was the charm.

You were sitting outside the theater waiting for your director to get there with the keys. It was cold and you had forgotten your jacket. So you sat huddle to the inside of the middle brick column. You could see the Political science building across the street and watched the students roll in quickly.

There was one that truly caught you attention. Tall, dark, ridiculously hot, and supposedly off limits. Thomas Jefferson was walking to his class and spotted you. You blushed when he caught you looking at him. His face knitted in concern when he recognized you. He quickly jogged over his bright purple jacket looking ridiculous.

“(Y/n) what are you doing out here without a jacket?” He asked and was quickly shedding his and wrapping it around you.

“Waiting on the director to get here. I have rehearsals today.” You said and he put his hands on your face. A weird thing for people who were practically strangers. His hands were so warm though you didn’t really care.

“You never stop surprising me.” He said and you hugged out a laugh giving a sardonic smile.

“That me, I’m full of surprises.” You said and moved your cold hands to his. “I’m actually really glad you came over here, I’m a tropical flower I don’t think I could have survived.” He laughed and so did you. His jacket was so warm. So absolutely warm. After a few minutes a silent warming Jefferson cursed at his watch.

“I’m late I have to go, if your director doesn’t come in a few minutes come in the Poli. science building okay. You’re lips are blue.” He said and you nodded. He got up and started walking away.

“Wait what about your jacket?” You asked.

“Keep it.” He said turning around.

“How will I get it back to you?” He smiled and your heart fluttered. He brought out a pen and wrote seven numbers on your arm.

“That’s my number, call me or text me when you wanna give it back.”

|The Story of Last Night | Lafayette

So I was listening to The Story of Tonight Reprise and the idea of drunk Lafayette is literally everything to me right now.


I may not live to see our glory!” 

You rose an eyebrow at the chorus of voices that hit your ears as you entered the bar, and sighed when you recognized the faces. 

Not again, You purposefully maneuvered away from them, going by the counter. Its not that you didn’t like the four idiots, you did, but it was just that you had no time nor patience to deal with them at the moment. The whole reason you had skipped the reception in the first place, was because you had found yourself becoming quickly overwhelmed. 

Even among-st girls, Angelica sure knew how to party. 

You chuckled nervously at the memory of the flamboyant Schuyler (and Eliza who surprisingly got quite frisky the moment she got even a little alcohol in her system).

So yeah, it wasn’t a good idea to let them see you. Especially since it looked like they were dead ass drunk. They were bad enough normally, you didn’t even want to try to handle them while they were off their rocker.

“The usual?”

You lifted your head to peer at the bartender, who had a warm smile. You nodded, and the man blinked at your weary state. 

“Rough night?” He asked. You looked not too subtly in the way of the notorious gang, and he gave you an expression of empathy. “Ah, I see.”

“Hamilton’s hitched,” you clarified. The bartender snickered.

“I know. The whole place does,” He said, returning with your drink. You shrugged laughing along with him and taking a tentative sip before deciding to just chug the whole thing down.

Right when you were contemplating getting another round and joining the party of intoxicated laid-backs, a hand tapped your shoulder. You turned to see the face of none other than Hercules Mulligan himself.

“Y/L/N” He started, scratching the back of his neck with a crooked white smile. He looked to be still tipsy, but way more cognitive than he had been when you spotted the quartet earlier. 

“Please, Mulligan, you can call me Y/N,” You returned the smile, giving him your full attention. 

“Well then, right back at you, Y/N.”

“As you say, Hercules,” You taunted back. He chuckled deeply.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I require your assistance,” He began. You gave him a look of confusion, and he gestured to his arm. 

When you looked properly, you saw that he was practically carrying Lafayette  like he weighed a bag of feathers. While Hercules had regained his wits, the french man clearly had not, and was still properly bamboozled. 

“Monsieur Lafayette cannot hold his liquor?” You questioned in amusement. Hercules shared your sentiment.

“On the contrary, he is actually quite impressive in that regard. But alas, he had way more than any of us.”

You grinned but it wavered when you saw his suggestive gaze. “Wait…what exactly are you asking me to do here?”

“Well…”

“No.”

“Please Y/N?” He couldn’t restrain his laugh. “John ran off somewhere, and I need to track him down so that he doesn’t jump in the lake.”

“Why can’t Hamilton do it?” You stalled. 

“Hamilton went off somewhere with Burr,” Hercules confirmed. You opened your mouth to make another excuse but a look from the tall man had you shutting up.

You groaned, putting your palm to your face. “I’m going to regret this.”

“Thank you Y/N,” Hercules was more than willing to hand over the drunk man to you, and you nearly fell over to hold him up. 

“You’re-” You barely started but he was already out the doors. “…welcome.”

You huffed, focusing now on the immigrant nearly drooling on your shoulder.

“Lets go,” You shook him slightly, enough to get him able to walk with you as you hung his arm around your neck.

“Hmm..?” He asked drowsily, a rumble vibrating through his chest and straight through you. “Where…?”

His voice was hoarse from the recent wake up and you would vehemently deny that it had goosebumps rising up your arms. 

“Home,” You said, absentmindedly watching the stars as the two of you hobbled down the empty street. 

“Home…?” He repeated. “You…would have a…ship at the ready?”

You snorted. Even completely wasted, he didn’t fail to have you in fits of laughter. 

“Not France, Lafayette,” You mused. “Though I think I would like to visit.”

“Anytime…” He opened his eyes blearily, seeming to want to see you. When he saw your face he seemed a bit surprised, but got over it. “Y/N…”

Your name rolling off his lips made you weirdly content. 

“You would escort me, Monsieur?” You were enjoying somewhat flirting with the man, knowing he wouldn’t remember a single word. 

“Anything for you,” He responded. You paused. That sounded a little too sincere. You peeked a glance to see if he had cleared his mind from the alcoholic fog, but his face was still flushed. Guess not.

“Its a date then,” You said. 

“Date…? Yes…a date,” He murmured by your ear, breath washing over you, a distinct smell of sweet whiskey. You were already getting flustered by the proximity, but when his lips pressed to your neck you lost your crap.

“What are you doing?” The words were rushed, your voice a pitch higher. 

“Tu es si belle.”

“What?”

“Vous frappez, madame. Restez avec moi.”

“Um…Lafayette?”

The only thing that followed was a babble of french that you in no way could translate. The sultry flow of the romantic language by your ear was again getting too much for you. You were sure your face would burn off in no time.

“Lafayette!”

That seemed to knock him out of his daze, but he still continued to speak in French, with a few random English words in-between. You suddenly noticed the confused expression set on his face and realized he quite seriously couldn’t remember the language at the moment in his state.

How adorable.

You let him off the hook for the intrusion of your personal space just because of that, and giggled quietly to yourself as you walked up to his door. 

You fished around in his coat for his keys, and gave a small ‘aha’ when you found them in an inner pocket. The door clicked open.

“Here we are,” You said. A strike of sympathy struck within you with another look at Lafayette’s disheveled state. 

It wouldn’t kill you to bring him to his room would it? You took the small journey with a pep in your step.

“Time to go to bed, Lafayette,” You spoke to him as if he was a child, patting his shoulder. He hummed.

“mmhm…”

You made to let him go but stopped breathing when the roles changed as he clamped his arms around your waist and dragged you down to the mattress with him.

“MMpH..!” You thrashed, face pressed into his chest, your bodies practically glued together. A heat ravaged your cheeks when you registered this, his toned body outlined underneath his clothes, the scruff on his jaw brushing against your cheek. You finally managed to disconnect from him enough to speak. 

“Let go!” You whispered harshly. Lafayette stirred, opening his eyes. The two of you stared at each other before an odd glint entered Lafayette’s chocolate eyes. 

“Laf-” You started.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“Stay,” He said shortly, more of a question than a demand. His eyes looked too clear, too soft for someone who was drunk.

You got lost in his gaze, your faces so close now that you could count every brown eyelash, the curls escaping his ponytail, framing his captivating features. 

Everything was shouting at you to say no, to get the hell out of there, but then his lip quirked upward and you were melting.

“Ok.”

His head buried in your neck, your legs intertwined as the soft sounds of his breathing filled the quiet air.

And the dull beat of his heart lulled you to join him in the land of the subconscious not long after.



OH MON DIEU!”

You frowned at the noise, wondering who had the heart of stone to do this to you so early in the morning. Opening your eyes, you watched Lafayette in blurry perplexity until the memories of the night before came back to you and just sighed, rolling back over.

“Go back to sleep, Lafayette.”

“Back to-?!” He was utterly befuddled, wincing at the sound of his own voice, nursing a hangover. Another round of french escaped his lips before he caught himself.  “Mon cher, what are you doing in my bed??!!”

“So you don’t remember last night?” You mulled, taking great satisfaction in making him freak out even more.

“Last night?!!” He sputtered, a complete mess of ruffled clothes, bed hair and tangled sheets. “What did I - did we - how did-”

You snuggled into the warm sheets, snickering. “Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything.”

A breath of relief left his lungs. “Oh merci bien.”

You hummed casually. “I mean, you haven’t even taken me on that date to France yet.”

You swear you had no idea the male human voice could go that high before. “Date??”

A thump alerted you to the fact that he had fallen out of the bed and onto the floor. 

You yawned, raising your hand limply above your head to point at the ceiling. Where to start? 

“I’ll tell the story of last night…”


[MasterList]

these moments | john shelby

@ateliefloresdaprimavera wanted, and I quote: “happy,married to the love of his life John and [reader] who’s like a daughter to Polly”

hope you like it, hun!

You marched down the street, half angry, half exhausted. Groups of kids were running up and down and you cast an eye out to check whether any of yours were there. Men tipped their caps to you as you passed and you barged your shoulder into Polly’s front door, slamming it behind you.

“I got fucking fired, didn’t I?”

“Lovely to see you too, sweetheart. Sit yourself down. Kettle’s just boiled, you can explain yourself”

You huffed, yanking your scarf off and chucking it over the back of a chair.

“Thanks Pol. Where’s the kids?”

“John’s got them”

“John’s got them?”

Polly cast a look up to you as she brewed the pot and smirked when she saw your confused look.

“He was showing Katie her numbers and the rest wouldn’t let them be, you know what they’re like”

“Sorry, no, go back – John’s got the kids? By himself?”

She chuckled to herself and slid a cup over to you.

“Sit yourself down. And explain”

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{ five’s company // ch. 15 }

a/n: up early again. enjoy!

t/w: reader has a hard time one night. other than that it’s good!

tags: @toonerzchatz @promisesandmore @iamnotthrowingawaymyshit @itsallexmallory @itsallexwriting @impala-moose @jaydiggs1218 @fierydaemon @slightlysouless @jzzyjones @wiindmill @whitestorm547 @hamilturnt @littleblue5mcdork @arostrolgy @mcgrammer15 @fanagelbagel @moonchildcharm @itsareyouforreal @sweaterkitty-fluff @theoverlordofeverything @laurenshtml @lawnmowerswig @lafeyettegunsandships @silvershadow56 @goldensabriel @kanadianwithashippingproblem @picklessfights @hamiltrash-life @sadeyestommo @dont-be-petty-be-peggy @thedevilopposedmyaddictions @chipslaylove @thelonely-littlehouse @guns-and-ships-definitely-ships @spacenerd3 @onelastfic @zappyheart @mycroftswife

inbox || masterlist


fifteen.

Jefferson was fired the next morning. Just before Jefferson left the office, Alexander punched the man in the face. John turned a blind eye and acted oblivious to it.

John did look up when he noticed Madison rushing over to get in between them, but John so effectively blocked the way to hold Madison back. He was going to enjoy this. 

John smiled, even cheered as Alex yelled, “If you even look at her the wrong way, I’ll call my other boyfriends to kick your ass too!” 

John knew he should have stopped Alex, knew he should have let Madison be the one to pull them apart, he found himself saying, “Land a good punch on him for me too, babe!” 

That was why Washington sent them home for the day with a stern look. With nothing else to do, they decided to go visit you. 

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First Broken Heart

George Washington x Reader, Hamilsquad x Lil sister!

OC Modern AU 

Sequel to: Meeting the Family, Becoming Part of the Family, Baby Washington, Welcome to the Family, Bonding 

Author: Lil Laddie

 Words: 1621

 Warnings: Violence, bad break up, overprotective big brothers 

Request: Have you considered writing another sequel for Meeting the Family? Where Alex and the baby bond or going to the distant future where her big brothers beat up boys that flirt with her or the guy who broke her heart? Or both? It’s always up to you, but I would love to read it! -anon 

A/N: I hope this is what you were looking for when you requested it! I honestly love writing about Gwash fam and maybe in the future I want to write about the hamilsquad being the most annoying teenagers that George can’t even handle lol. But I hope you guys like this one! I love y'all! Have a flipping incredible day!!😘 


Over the years you and George had watched the boys and your little girl grow up. Before you knew it, Eleanor was in high school and had a boyfriend that she was head over heels for. The once loud house was now quiet as the boys now went to college or had a steady paying job and apartment. Time had passed much too quickly for your liking and you would sometimes wish to have the old days back when all 7 boys lived with you and George.

“(Y/N)!” George called, running into where you were reading your book in the living room.

“Yes?” You replied, not looking up from the book that was much too intriguing to put down.

“I just got 7 different phone calls from 7 different boys we know. Apparently, they all have decided to come down here for a weekend to take a break from school and work.” George smirked, waiting for your reaction.

“What? They are coming home?” You squealed, jumping up from your seat in excitement.

“Yes.” George chuckled, watching you dance around the room with joy.

“When will they be here?” You grinned, the thought of your boys coming home to see you making you be on cloud 9.

“They will be here Friday afternoon. I already told Eleanor and she is ecstatic to see them again. It’s been much too long since we last saw them.” George said, pulling you to his side and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “The whole family will be here again.”

“You’re still the best dad they could ever hope for.” You complimented, kissing him softly before running out of the room to get ready for the boys.

“All I get is one kiss?” George called after you.

“You can have more once the house is ready! Our boys are coming home!” You giggled, knowing George was left in the living room with a look of disbelief on his face.

+++

Friday had come before you knew it. You and George were pacing the house waiting for the boys to arrive. Eleanor was yet to come home from school, having gone straight to her boyfriend’s house for a little bit. She said she would be home for dinner and would spend most of the weekend with her older brothers.

Breaking the tension of both George and you watching the clock, Hercules slammed open the door and ran at the two of you. Alex, John and Laf  followed quickly after him.

“I’ve missed you guys!” Hercules cried, squeezing both you and George tightly in his arms before the other three stole you and George away in hugs.

“We’ve missed you boys, too!” You laughed, all of them shoving each other out of the way to get another hug from both you and George.

“The favorite child is here!” Thomas announced, strutting through the door with James and Aaron on his heels.

“Boys! Welcome home!” You exclaimed, pulling all three of them into a tight hug.

After lot’s of hugs and kisses, it had finally settled down. Everyone was gathered around you and George in the living room, just like they always had when they were younger.

“Where’s Eleanor?” James asked, noticing that the girl was not in the house.

“She’s at her boyfriend’s house right now. She’ll be back for dinner.” George said, the boys faces all dropping the once wide grins they had.

“Boyfriend?” Aaron asked, his eyebrows furrowed in disgust. “She’s too young to have a boyfriend.”

“Aaron, most girls have a boyfriend in high school. It’s normal.” You shrugged, not really seeing the reason for concern.

“She’ll get hurt! They won’t be able to treat her right!” John exclaimed, his face filled with worry.

“No one’s good enough to be dating her! They probably don’t deserve her!” Lafayette yelled, the other boys nodding their heads in agreement.

“Boys, if we didn’t trust this boy we wouldn’t let her date him. You can talk to Eleanor about it tonight at dinner. She’s fallen hard for this boy, I doubt you could convince her not to date him.” George said, the boys scowling at the thought of a boy having control over their little sisters heart.

+++

All of you were in the kitchen, talking and laughing as George and Laf cooked. Those two were always the chefs of the family. The sound of the front door slamming caught your attentions. As did the loud sniffles and hiccups of Eleanor crying.

“Eleanor?” You called, sprinting to find her, the following your lead.

You ran up the stairs to Eleanor’s room. The door was shut and her quiet crying had turned into loud sobs. She was muttering something you couldn’t understand under her breath. You knocked lightly on the door, hoping she would actually open it.

“Who is it?” She called, her voice raspy from all the crying she had been doing.

“It’s (mom/dad).” You said softly, hearing a squeak come from her mattress.

The door was flung open and Eleanor fell into your arms hiccuping. You held her gently, rubbing her back in a soothing motion.

“What happened?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“H-he dumped me! I loved him!” Eleanor sobbed, holding onto you for dear life.

You held your daughter close to your chest, trying to calm her down. While this was happening, the boys stood a couple feet away watching the two of you with a mix of sadness and rage. No one was allowed to break their baby sisters heart like that.

“Here’s the plan, me, Herc, and Thomas will beat the boy to a bloody pulp while you four go comfort her. Also, figure what he did to her and text it to one of us.” Alex growled, taking charge of the situation.

The boys nodded, splitting into the two groups. George watched them from the bottom of the staircase,  his arms crossed over his chest. Alex, Herc and Thomas almost didn’t see him as they stumbled quickly down the stairs.

“Where are you three going?” George raised an eyebrow, the boys looking at each other in panic.

“We, uh, so you see…” Thomas started, racking his brain for a valid excuse.

“You do know that it’d be illegal for you three to attack this young boy right?” George asked, watching all three of them turn pale at his words. “Don’t doesn’t mean you can’t scare him though. I’m pretty sure his address is on a paper on the entry table, but I’m not sure. Someone must have left it lying around.”

“Thanks dad you’re the best!” Herc grinned brightly, as did Alex and Thomas.

“For what?” George asked, turning to walk up the stairs.

“For giving us the address.” Alex said, wondering why he had to remind his dad.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. In fact, I never saw you before you left.” George turned at the top of the stairs to give the three boys a stern look. “Understood?”

“Yes sir!” Thomas said, giving him a mock salute.

+++

“Was I not good enough?” Eleanor asked, crying into Laf’s shoulder as James held one of her hands tightly.

“Honey, he wasn’t good enough for you!” John exclaimed, only making the girl cry harder.

“If I was too good for him, then why did he dump me?” Eleanor cried, turning to look at John with a glare. “Wouldn’t it have been the other way around then?”

“Ellie, none of these high school kids ever going to be enough for you. You’re amazing and all these kids will pretend to be enough and when they realize they aren’t the run away.” Aaron said, pulling your hair back from your face in a braid.

“Then why did he tell me I wasn’t pretty enough and that he was going to start dating this other girl at my school instead?” Eleanor sniffled, all the boys in the room stiffening at her words.

“He told you what?” George asked, his whole body tense and his jaw clenching.

“He told me I-I wasn’t pretty enough.” Eleanor repeated, her voice cracking from the dryness.

“I’ve never felt more of an urge to kill something.” James muttered under his breath, pulling Eleanor away from the others and into a tight hug. Behind him Laf was quickly typing a text to the others about what they just learned.

+++

You were waiting by the door when Hercules, Alex and Thomas tiptoed inside.

“It’s past midnight, where have you three been?” You asked, watching them jump in shock.

“Sorry didn’t see you there.” Alex chuckled nervously.

“George won’t tell me where you three went. He’s acting like he knows nothing, but we all know he’s a terrible liar. What did you three do?” You asked, the three of them exchanging a silent conversation through nods.

“All you need to know is that we made sure that Eleanor got that apology text from her ex.” Thomas said, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Okay, as long as you boys didn’t hurt him that’s fine. Thank you for doing that, Eleanor did a lot better after he sent that text.” You smiled lightly, the three boys beaming at your praise.

“We did it cause we needed to. Who else is going to protect our baby sister?” Herc smiled.

The four of you didn’t notice, but Eleanor watched from the top of the stairs, smiling at the scene below her. Her big brothers were always going to be on her side and she couldn’t be more grateful. She loved all of them more than anything.

“Thank you.” She whispered, before going back to her room and not having a single thought of the boy that had broken her heart.

The Sherlock fandom must have gone mad

Guys, I’m reading your hysterical reviews and they make me sad.

TFP WAS SHIT BECAUSE JOHNLOCK HASN’T BECOME CANON. How stupid must one be to honestly think so???? Hey, maybe you haven’t noticed in 13 episodes, but this show doesn’t have canon pairings. It has fanservice scenes for each one, for shippers of every pairing could be happy. This is sort of the trick? Johnlock? They fucking live together. Two men. Raising a daughter. Sherir? That SMS, plus Eurus insisting Sherlock had sex when heard him playing her theme. Sheriarty? A whole damn kiss (well almost), and a whole blank page of how Sherlock survived. Look, isn’t it cool: all shippers have space for maneuvers. For me, it is enough. Hating TFP and series 4 in general because you wanted to see John and Sherlock banging and you haven’t got them banging is fucking childish.

THE PLOT IS UNREALISTIC AND TWISTED. WHY COULDN’T EVERYTHING BE LIKE IN SERIES 1? okay, you know who would start whimpering first if everything would as nice as pretty as in series 1 and 2? YOU. We have four seasons, each brilliant in its own way, and each unique. Yes, season 4 was nervous, mind-crushing, unexpected in so many ways, but it was fresh, I would even say, refreshing. We got Sherlock as a human, Sherlock as a crazy drug addict, Sherlock as a brother, Sherlock as a friend. This series is absolutely amazing in terms of his character development, the MAIN character development. Remember the first scene we meet him? He’s beating a dead body. In TFP, he’s breaking a fucking coffin. Would you like Sherlock to stay as in series 1 forever? Really?

EURUS IS A SUE. Great, now why wouldn’t we take a look at the concept, not at the character from the point ‘are they are realistic enough to meet them at the grocery?’ Eurus is what Sherlock could become. Dangerous, sociopath, playing wicked games, super clever…lonely. Eurus is what he would be if not for his friends. John, Molly, Lestrade. Moriarty and Irene. Mycroft and mrs. Hudson. Sherlock has them; Eurus has no one. Locked in prison, alone with her mind, she must seem a cliché of an Evil Genius to you, but to me, she seems a dark side of Sherlock himself. A dark side that he confronts, and wins. The scene where they play violins, it’s amazing. I cried. From this perspective, Eurus is a striking, fantastic character. A Sue? Ah, I forgot, you need to meet her in the grocery to believe in her.

I’ve ranted here for too long, but I hope you got me. Sherlock has never been a show where the writers chew everything for us. It has never been a story with one dimension. And it has never been, and was never supposed to be boring. You may yell about how unrealistic and bad-written s4 is, but of we’d had three copies of s1 instead, you’d long for action and twists. There may be another season after it, maybe not (I believe there will not, but Moffitiss are so good at violating people’s expectations), and yet I am happy about what I’ve seen.

Sherlock is a wonderful show. And I don’t need to see two male characters banging to say so.