Savvy is a Grape

drawsaurus: liminal-zone: the-platonic-blow: A Royal Affair -...

Thu, 23 May 2013 12:01:54 -0700

liminal-zone:

the-platonic-blow:

A Royal Affair - The king and his doctor (Part 2)

Omg this is better than described! I couldn’t bear to watch this movie tho.

this was one of those movies where you just can’t even function properly for several days after because you keep remembering and it’s devastating

dontblink-neverlookaway: supernaturalsuperfreak: the-aloha-wolf: fuckinghannibal: timelordbloggin...

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:25:08 -0700

dontblink-neverlookaway:

supernaturalsuperfreak:

the-aloha-wolf:

fuckinghannibal:

timelordblogging:

I don’t believe we have properly introduced the Hannibal Fandom to the neighborhood. So the Whovians would like to welcome the Fannibals

-The Doctor Who Fandom

Cheers

- The Hannibal Fandom

It’s nice having friends for dinner.

The Supernaturalists would like to invite you to have pie with us anytime.

- The Supernatural Fandom

As long as we are not in the pie.

This cannot be guaranteed

Photo

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:20:48 -0700

dontgigglesherlock: Dean is so done with Cas’ shit that he has...

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:13:13 -0700

dontgigglesherlock:

Dean is so done with Cas’ shit that he has to invade his gif

A ring of Holy fire can trap an angel. You’re not one anymore....

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:12:25 -0700

A ring of Holy fire can trap an angel. You’re not one anymore. So why won’t you escape?

bendydicks: supernatural x hannibal crossover AH YES!!...

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:11:10 -0700

bendydicks:

supernatural x hannibal crossover

AH YES!! Because if the Winchesters heard of this they would assume it’s a monster and never catch the real psycho!

goddamnitmads: ethicalbutchering: fallenangelsinthetardis: Is it alright to ship the Sherlock...

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:09:51 -0700

goddamnitmads:

ethicalbutchering:

fallenangelsinthetardis:

Is it alright to ship the Sherlock fandom with the Hannibal fandom? Because what could possibly be better than a large group of psychopaths and high-functioning sociopaths teaming up with each other? It just fits.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_burn_centers_in_the_United_States

daftwithoneshoe: isuckrooster: tampontears: veganmovement2012:...

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:08:07 -0700

daftwithoneshoe:

isuckrooster:

tampontears:

veganmovement2012:

Would people be as comfortable buying meat if the date the animal was KILLED was displayed alongside the ‘best before’ date? Consumers should remember that meat is the dead flesh from a once living breathing sentient animal who didn’t want to die.

actually i would feel more comfortable. it would make choosing fresher meat easier. thats a very good idea.

when vegan ideas backfire completely

starkspangledjohnlock: blackkolors: #anyone who says tony...

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:06:23 -0700

starkspangledjohnlock:

blackkolors:

#anyone who says tony stark is shallow and is only a hero because he’s rich and and clever with science can gtfo #in some ways he goes through more shit than the rest of them #in a lot of ways actually #he has to fix everything about him himself #and so many people don’t think that he can do it #because he’s tony stark #he’s just some rich guy who’s good with sciene who toys with women and has an ego the size of stark tower #but people don’t realise he is iron man #he is the guy in the suit the one killing himself trying to save everyone else #he doesn’t have another side to him like bruce #and he’s not really hero material like steve #but he drags himself through hell to save thousands of people he doesn’t even know #and despite that to a lot of people he’s just a rich guy #who’s good with science #i have a lot of tony feels ok

#Tony isn’t the all-American good guy kid of superhero #It’s not that he doesn’t know how to be selfless or put the cause above himself #It’s that he doesn’t know how to show that he doesn’t FEEL like the all-American good guy #So he hides behind different masks #One as Iron Man #And one as Tony Stark #genius billionaire playboy philanthropist #who jokes about the most important things #and acts like he has everything under control #because he needs to #because he’s afraid if people look close enough they’ll see how he really feels #how he isn’t ‘good’ enough #and he doesn’t feel like he’s worth it #so when push comes to shove #he’ll take the course of action that will take himself out of the equation #or make people hate him #so everyone else makes it out okay #because he may not be worth it #but if he can save as many people as possible #then THAT is worth it to him

tyrotheterrible: neph-le-geek: pitbap: lmnpnch: The Avengers...

Thu, 23 May 2013 10:58:44 -0700

tyrotheterrible:

neph-le-geek:

pitbap:

lmnpnch:

The Avengers poster banner vs. concept art by Ryan Meinerding

#it’s like tony stark got his hands on the concept art #and decided it wasn’t good enough

‘Move me to the front.’

‘More lady butts.’

‘Make Thor look less heroic. I’m the real hero here.’

‘MORE EXPLOSIONS.’

‘LASERS.’

‘Better add some smoke and fires.’

‘Flip over that ugly taxi.’

‘I guess put Steve up by my side or something?’

#’what about some naked ladies can we get some naked ladies on this thing somewhere’ #’mr stark i don’t think… this poster needs to be hung in public places—’ #’okay fine fine right i hear ya better stick with more explosions then’ #’mr stark there’s already smoke in the background and—’ #’MORE EXPLOSIONS. and have us standing IN THE EXPLOSIONS to show how badass we are. also make me taller than cap thanks perfect’ #seriously only tony stark would request more lasers on his poster

sweetfrost: destructivemusic: FINALLY DONE. here have some...

Thu, 23 May 2013 07:08:48 -0700

sweetfrost:

destructivemusic:

FINALLY DONE. here have some biker!au jack/pitch >u> ~ sorry not sorry i love brused jack

reference used

Aah.. I love it..

Photo

Thu, 23 May 2013 06:52:37 -0700

feedmy-popheart: whatseatingjoshmollman: i-live-for-glitter-not...

Thu, 23 May 2013 06:49:49 -0700

feedmy-popheart:

whatseatingjoshmollman:

i-live-for-glitter-not-you:

Lady Gaga - Paparazzi (VMA Studio Version)

HOLY SHIT JUST LISTEN

rgnmwirejgnwejwn this is SO MUCH CLEANER than beforre just erjgnwerjkgnq

CAN WE JUST UGH HER VOICE IS PERFECTION

noon: i dont think you guys understand the level of pain

Thu, 23 May 2013 05:52:42 -0700

noon:

i dont think you guys understand the level of pain

my only problem with the hannibal (tv) fanfiction that ive read so far is that they are mostly one...

Wed, 22 May 2013 19:45:00 -0700

my only problem with the hannibal (tv) fanfiction that ive read so far is that they are mostly one shots that are so short where are my novellas there are a couple chapter fics that i am now waiting to update though.

monomi045: The Hannibal fandom tho like they came outta no where one second everyone was just and...

Wed, 22 May 2013 17:58:46 -0700

monomi045:

The Hannibal fandom tho like they came outta no where one second everyone was just

and then

disobedient-nightmare: frosthoody: awkward-at-best: literally...

Wed, 22 May 2013 16:52:50 -0700

disobedient-nightmare:

frosthoody:

awkward-at-best:

literally me if i get married

Marriage feels

true

floresfabrications: If looks could kill

Wed, 22 May 2013 16:51:57 -0700

floresfabrications:

If looks could kill

bradburythequeen: i want leonardo dicaprio to be nominated for an oscar for the great gatsby and i...

Wed, 22 May 2013 16:50:25 -0700

bradburythequeen:

i want leonardo dicaprio to be nominated for an oscar for the great gatsby and i want him to win but if he doesn’t, i want him to just go

“No.”

and walk onto the stage, take the statue and walk out completely calmly and everyone else just lets him

bump-into-things: bump-into-things: reallyohcrap: bump-into-th...

Wed, 22 May 2013 16:49:37 -0700

bump-into-things:

bump-into-things:

reallyohcrap:

bump-into-things:

muse-locked:

mycroftgetoffmysheet:

goingbadly:

mycroftgetoffmysheet:

bump-into-things:

mycroftgetoffmysheet:

buster-cumbersnatch:

mycroftgetoffmysheet:

“Ah, hello dear brother. To what do I owe the-“

“Mycroft, please. He’s got John.”

Not sure how this even started.

IS THERE A FIC OF THIS OMB I WANT TO READ IT

no, but i definitely want one.

*cough* mybirthdayisin3days *cough*

Did someone say “early birthday gift?”

John said it at some point. Sherlock, I’m yet to see you eat a single healthy meal, and you can outrun a cab. Just so I know, are you sure you’re human?

Sherlock would grin at him then. At home, in safety, when it was a joke. When it could be a joke. John’s eyes, full of admiration. Laughing out dying nerves over takeout. A joke.

Sherlock could outrun a cab out of sheer power of will. At least that’s what he thought.

If will could get him going as fast as he wanted to, he would’ve lept clean over the houses by now, like that giant in the fairytales. Air burning through his lungs, blood pounding, not John, not John, anyone but John.

Hedoes get to Mycroft eventually. He’s not sure how long it takes, feels like forever, in the meantime as he has no perspective on when he started running. No matter how fast he was, it was too slow, and no matter what he does from now, it’s his fault.

Mycroft looks up from his tea with that smarmily polite smile. Sherlock usually hates it. Now, he barely registers it.

“Ah, hello, dear brother. To what do I owe the…”

“Mycroft, please.”

Mycroft immediately quiets down, probably because of that word alone. Please.

Sherlock would say it a thousand times. He almost wants to. For the first time in a long, long time, he feels a need for Mycroft to be his big brother. He wants to be small, taken care of, he wants Mycroft to solve this with a flick of his fingers while Sherlock huddles up in a ball and cries.

“He’s got John.”

Mycroft’s makes a barely visible flinch. There’s a frozen moment before he puts his cup back on the coffee table.

“I see.”

Pause. Say something. Solve this.

“Are there, to your knowledge, any major organizations that he hasn’t infiltrated yet?” Mycroft asks.

“I don’t know. My guess would be that his criminal web stretches further than I will ever know, and probably you, too.”

“That is probably true. Well, I shall make some calls, then. In the meantime, have a seat. Make yourself at home.”

Sherlock lowers his gaze, too tired to be irritated. He should probably be grateful for Mycroft letting him handle this in this completely unsentimental way, but he can’t. He won’t be able to sit down until they get John back. He’ll barely be able to move. He might break if he moves.

John. Stay with me. I don’t know what’d happen if…

“Don’t be stupid,” he finally says. “I have to get back to Baker Street, there might be a clue that I missed. He wants me to find him, no one else, but an extra set of hands doesn’t hurt. I expect three of your leading men to join me there shortly.”

“Of course.”

Another brief pause. Sherlock’s barely scared anymore. He feels numb, blank. This isn’t the first time John’s life is in danger because of him, but it hasn’t been like this. This is Moriarty, it was John’s blood, John is dying and it’s Sherlock’s fault. He got John caught up in this just by being his friend, should’ve known, he’s not meant to have friends. He breaks whatever he touches. His stupid, long fingers.

He should’ve taken me.

John is the first person Sherlock voluntarily prioritizes over himself, and the thought scares him. The insight of what he’s really afraid of settles in his chest like a cold, tiny shard of apocalypse.

“I never got to tell him.”

“What?”

“I never told him.”

He talks to himself rather than Mycroft. But when he looks up, he’s met with a look not nearly as surprised as he would’ve liked.

“He knows, Sherlock. Everyone does. And we’ll get him back, I promise you that.”

Sherlock doesn’t answer. Doesn’t know what to answer. He’s incomplete. John is a part of him, a piece torn off, he’s bleeding.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft says, emphasis. Sherlock looks up. “He knew. Trust me. Now, go home. There is nothing more you can do here.”

Sherlock nods. Then he turns around and goes back home, because there’s nothing else he can do. He’s never been much for believing, so he tries to convince himself of some kind of certain knowledge. He thinks of what’s going to happen, what he has to happen, what he knows will happen.

They’re going to get John back. He’ll have injuries, he’ll be in a hospital bed. If he’s fainted, Sherlock will be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. If he’s already awake, Sherlock will be the one never leaving his bedside. They’ll look at each other, Sherlock will break and hug John with everything he has, and he will tell him, finally tell him.

*cries*

Of course, that’s a comforting lie.

Mycroft’s men know the spatter pattern of an arterial bleed as well as Sherlock. They are, however, less quick to trace angles and patterns and probabilities. Three hours later, pressed far away from the mess, Sherlock can see it mapped out. Like a subway system, all the arteries and veins that had to be cut just so to produce the patterns, the drops and sprays and thick pools in the flat. There’s a sort of elegance, he supposes, in the way his brain narrows it down to a single conclusion. Despite his frequent, silent screams, his begging, - just this once, don’t let me solve it - he does. Of course.

Mycroft finds Sherlock in the corner of the flat, when the sun is setting and the hardwood is golden and warm. His umbrella taps slightly off rhythm, the click of his heels more precise. He stops in front of Sherlock, and he offers no comfort. A spot of ice in the sunset. The British Government doesn’t comfort its poor, broken, younger brother. It just tells him there’s a body in the morgue.

Sherlock knows he’s fast getting there, too. Out-running cabs, again. He knows Lestrade is going to try and stop him at the door of the morgue. He knows Lestrade will have a bruise where he hits the desk, stumbling backwards, caught off guard by the shove Sherlock knows is a bit not good as responses to “I’m so sorry - ” go. He doesn’t care.

The body on the table has been stitched back into a resemblance of John Watson, but it isn’t John Watson. There is no wry smile, no steady hands brushing inspection away, no look of frustration as Sherlock studies him. For some reason, Sherlock is having trouble gleaning information from him; the observations swim unnattached to deductions. His hair is short on his brow. He’s dead. He looks old, older than he did a day ago. My John is dead. Far older than when they met. That’s not a deduction at all. His skin is white. Anyone looking could tell. Lips are blue. Obvious he’s dead, god, move on. Odor of disinfectent overpowering the cheap laundry detergent Sherlock keeps telling him not to buy. Oh, John. Oh help me. I can’t. He’s struck by a sudden desire to bend over and press their foreheads together, or their lips. Should have done it before. The night with the handcuffs. Oh. I was an idiot, wasn’ t I? For a wild, reeling moment, he thinks he can bring John back like a fairy tale.

Fairy tales, Sherlock rationalises, usually do not include long stitched lines where they’ve sewn the flesh of his John back together in a desperate attempt to bring back fragile, unmarred skin.

rip my heart out on my own post, why don’t you

seems like two demons made a fanfic together

Don’t put this on me, I DIDN’T AGREE TO THIS SHIT!

NO IT CANT END LIKE THIS. SOMEONE DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING.

I am principally against character!death in Johnlock fics (even as awesomely written ones as this) and will make an effort to fix this as soon as possible.

Okay, I fixed it, AND THIS IS FINAL.

“Sherlock…”

“Get out.”

“I needed you to…”

“Get out.”

“I know it’s been…”

“Get the fuck out!”

Mycroft actually flinches at this. Sherlock can’t blame him; he rarely curses. John used to react the exact same way, before.

I won’t have you fucking this up. I don’t understand your bloody sentiments about this. John, what the hell…

No. Don’t.

Sherlock’s always had constant access to everything in his mind, as it’s his only real comfort zone. These past few weeks have been the only time period of his life when there’s been some sort of mental block, a door falling shut on certain memories. He tries to recollect them, sees it all so vividly, John’s smile, his hands, no, don’t.

John is everywhere. He’s inherited every inch of Baker Street, he can see a print of John’s hand on every place he’s touched. When he tries to go outside, he sees other things, a restaurant where they once ate, blackberry currant jam in the store, oh, he loved that. Memories attacking him, from every angle, he’s too tired to defend himself, and he doesn’t really want to, because he hates them almost as vividly as he loves them.

That’s the only reason he still lives here. The place that’s even more of a constant reminder than everything else. It hollows him out, kills him slowly, but also the only place they can be together. John is here with him. He is. The heart to his too-big-and-clunky of a brain.

Except that he’s not.

Moriarty got that right. He does have a heart, as hidden as he tried to hide it. For a whole year, he even got an extention to that heart, a big, full one, breathing and smiling, feeling things as intensely as Sherlock never would, never dared.

It seems like a waste now. His heart lies dead on a cold, sterilized slab in the morgue of St. Barts, and Sherlock’s left with his brain. The one getting him into all this to begin with, breaks everything he touches, he wants to tear the damn thing out of his head.

Sherlock doesn’t feel sad about it. He hasn’t felt a thing since the blood on the photograph, and isn’t planning to anytime soon He won’t be able to keep this up forever, though. One day, it’ll actually sink in, John is dead, it’s his fault, and then, he’ll probably kill himself. That’s okay. It’s okay.

This isn’t the first time Mycroft’s come to check up on him. It is, however, the first time he’s ever made an attempt to comfort him, if that’s what you should call this. The British government can stretch to standing in his doorway, seeing his little brother in a filthy dressing gown on the sofa.

John bought this for you.

Don’t.

“I can tell you’re not very receptive to apologies, so I won’t draw this out. I just want you to know that there was no other way to do this,” Mycroft finally says.

Sherlock doesn’t know what he means by that. It doesn’t matter.

“If you’d believed for a second that it wasn’t him in that morgue, Moriarty would’ve succeeded. I would’ve kept this from you longer, until we’ve uprooted his criminal web completely, but I’m concerned for you. I decided to let him back into your life, and let you two work it out.”

Sherlock closes his eyes. Can’t get angry, too tired. Mainly confused. Mycroft and he doesn’t get along very well, but he doesn’t understand why Mycroft hates him like this. Taunting him with bringing John back. He’d say he doesn’t deserve pain like that, but he does, he does now.

Your fault.

No. Please.

“You’ll probably have to become fugutives,” Mycroft goes on. Sherlock stares at the ceiling. “But that you can handle, I think. If you have each other. I don’t think you can handle another day of this.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Sherlock barely mumbles it out. He sees in his peripheral vision how Mycroft freezes, he knows what that means, he must.

It makes sense to Sherlock now. The thought doesn’t strike him, it slowly sinks in, pieces falling into place, and he welcomes it. It’s so obvious. He just needs to die.

He knows it’ll come to him one day. He’ll actually realize that it was his fault, John is dead and it’s his fault, and he doesn’t want to be here for that. He’ll kill himself then anyway, so why wait for it?

He just wishes they could’ve died together. He always thought they would.

“Sherlock.”

A different voice. Not Mycroft’s. What?

“You can’t talk like that.”

It’s him. John. No.

Sherlock would recognize that voice anywhere, anywhere. But no. It can’t be.

“I’m so sorry, but I…”

Sherlock doesn’t turn to look. It’s John, he knows it is. But if it’s not, if he’s imagining this, he’ll break.

“Sherlock, please forgive me. I’m so sorry it had to be this way, I am. But you have to…”

It’s him. It’s John. He’s not dead, he’s right here. Sherlock has to look at him. He can’t look at him.

All these weeks, these countless days. Drifting around. Couldn’t stand being in the flat, even less being away from it. John dead, but it might as well have been him.

How can it rebound from that? How can it all suddenly be normal again?

Sherlock has no idea how they’re going to do this. But there’s no blood flowing to the brain without the beating of a heart. Without this, he won’t survive.

So he turns to look at him. His heart, standing in the doorway, hair mussed and looking tired.