#(my wife is Eddie dear even though he is fully married)

[in-this-essay-i-wont]

Look. I know I am overthinking everything ever. I know. But there’s such a big fucking difference between howdys business and how it intertwines with his character and Eddie’s, because like LOOK BRO

The SMALL ASS TEXT THAT HAS EDDIES NAME???? COMPARED TO THE LARGE EMPHASIS THAT HOWDY HAS FOR HIS BUSINESS AND HIMSLEF???

Like Eddie’s name is so small and insignificant to the post office compared to howdys sign, like Eddie can barely find a place for himself and who he actually is outside of his function as a mailman- where as howdys name is the first thing for his sign! It’s huge! Like it’s a part of who he is, it’s a part of his love for jokes and laughter- compared to Eddie where it seems more of an all consuming way for him to lose himself in what he can function as, and not who he actually is. Which, ya know, kinda explains the whole breakdown before the party for home warming, because taking away his function leaves him with the little part of himself that he always seems too busy to express.

Chat this is devastating I need to be put down

[zodiyack]

Promises

Requested by anon: Omg hi again may I request a Sherlock Holmes x reader were they get married and have kids! Thank you <3

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader

Warnings: One smut-indication?, funny angst, fluffity fluff, no proof-reading

Words: 1,953

Summary: (See Request)

Note: I’m making this a continuation of Reminders if that’s ok with you-

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @missihart23, @beckster07890, @maan24

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

Tears were shed, laughs were scattered, cheers were shouted. Sherlock had made good on his promise and married the lovely beautiful artist. He couldn’t stray his eyes from hers the entire wedding. It was difficult to even form words with how breathtaking the angel in front of him looked. Did they really expect him to say vows with this gift from the heavens standing right before him?!

Although Sherlock found it hard, he managed to spit out the words that caught in his throat. You’d hardly be able to tell he was a nervous wreck; the loving words that should bind them in mere moments came from his lips like poetry.

As soon as they were wed, Sherlock was eager to have his wife to himself. The entire after-party, he sat beside her with his leg bouncing impatiently, and that night he’d made love to her more times than they’d ever done in a week. A new record. He made it known that his promise was good.

What was to come after, though, was surely to be expected.

“Rin, stop moving sweetie.” She begged calmly for what felt like the thousandth time. Her youngest daughter fidgeted in the chair. She looked like a baby-doll propped up in an adults’ chair with how small she was. Painting her children was not uncommon for Y/n. They loved to model for their mother but most of the time her children could just barely stay still.

Their oldest, Eddie, a nickname for Edward, was goofy and had a heart like his aunt’s, both Enola and Eddie more child-like than times would prefer. Second oldest, Will Claud, short for William Claud, was determined, like his father, but had a habit of over doing it. He was the strict and ...well, the nerd brother. Will Claud just wanted to impress his father and mother, but he seemed to listen to his uncle Mycroft too much.

Next born was Alice. She had her mother’s skill in art as well as her father’s skill in mystery. She and Will Claud were born not too long from each other, so it was no surprise that they were constantly wrestling for the spotlight. Alice didn’t try to outwit her brother as much as he did her, but she wasn’t new to winning.

Finally, the twins; Clayton and Catherine. Clayton was mischievous and didn’t hesitate to make it known, but Catherine, sitting in that chair across her mother as her soft skin is replicated by paint onto a canvas of color, was practically an angel.

While the other children would hurdle over each other to get to their father every time he stepped through the front doors, Cathy would wait beside her mother politely before walking to her father slowly. Her siblings would part, forming a walkway in the middle as if she were royalty.

So then the joke was made and the chair painting was currently underway. They had to find the right chair, and they did. It looked so elegant, so royally distinguished. It looked perfect. Fit for a queen.

And that was what the joke was. That Catherine was the “queen”. Not a very funny one without context, Cathy’s siblings later found out, but a good one to tease her with. However, queen Cathy didn’t mind it. In fact, she was quick to drop into character, the smoothest transition known to man-kind. 

While, yes, Catherine’s character was rather humorous, it still held some concerns. Would she become the lordly queen her siblings tried to paint her as? Would she ever realize it was all a joke her siblings made up? Growing up was never something she forced on her children, but she didn’t want to have them growing too used to a title like that. Y/n joked to her husband one night in bed as they held the sleeping majesty, whom had crawled into their bed without reason.

“I’m highly aware she’s ‘the queen’ and all, but I really hope she doesn’t decide she’d like to adopt the complete role. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if my baby became my nightmare. The other four are already so much work.” She chuckled as she brushed some of Catherine’s hair behind her ear.

Sherlock looked at his sleeping daughter. She looked so at peace, just as she always did, and he nodded yet noted his disagreement. “I doubt she’d ever become such a hassle. She’s been so patient and kind, I can’t see her actually devolving a bad side. Clayton, sure, but his sister?” Their eyes flicked up to meet each others. A beat later and they were in hushed snickers.

“Mummy?”

“Yes?”

“When will daddy be returning home?” She had relaxed her facial muscles, if only she’d done so with her limbs- make it easier for her mother, and held a casual tone of voice. Another thing with Catherine; she was harder to read than most.

“I’m not sure, my dear. He should be back before supper...” Y/n lifted her head to peak over the easel and watch her three older kids as they played with Clayton. He was a tough kid, but always overestimated how tough he really was. Y/n felt concern fill her gut when he first begged to play with his older siblings, but she let him anyways, Sherlock being the one to thank for that decision.

“Good. I want to sit next to him tonight. And you. I want to sit next to both of you, mummy.” She gave her mother a small smile, which she returned, before adjusting to her original pose.

Y/n paused after she finished the details involving the chair and Cathy. “Catherine, you do realize that I sit next to your father at dinner, right? And Eddie sits on his other side...that is, if Willy loses their fight tonight...I wonder why they don’t just take turns...” She muttered the last few sentences to herself in heavy contemplation.

“Mhm! You can sit next to him too!” The little girl watched her mother process her question with wide eyes of anticipation. She realized Y/n still didn’t quite understand and was quick to explain. “I can sit on your lap, mummy! Like when I was this big!” Catherine held up her hands to show an overexaggerated space between her small hands that supposedly represented her only one or two years ago.

“Well... Daddy and I can talk about it when he gets home. Is that alright with you?”

“Mhm! But I don’t want to crush the new me, so don’t be afraid to tell me no, mummy, okay?!” Her innocence was adorable, but not more than the grin that sat upon her lips.

Clayton rushed in, causing Y/n to instinctively reach for her easel protectively. He chortled to himself before announcing what was on his mind. “It’s not a new you, Cathy, it’s a new me! I’ll bet you on it, I’m shore I have the funs!”

“Clayton Luther Holmes!” Y/n’s eyes doubled in size. “Who taught you about betting?”

Her son ignored her question and continued, “Besides, what if I want to sit on mother’s lap?!”

“We can’t both sit on mummy- what about the baby?”

“Uhh, it can move, no doy?! It can move just like Will Claud tells me to. It doesn’t need to be shell-fish!” Clayton muttered bitterly. “If Will Claud really wants to call someone his funny names, he should call the baby them.” His time with the older kids was undoubtfully the reasoning behind the failed attempts of words he didn’t fully understand.

“Do you mean ‘selfish?’“

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Don’t you agree, mummy? See, she agrees!” Clayton tried to argue with his twin, but his words had no effect on her. Catherine stared at him blankly, confused like her mother.

“Mummy didn’t say anything, Clayton. She said we can talk about it when daddy gets home, so you can wait here with me.” She scooted over a bit in the chair and pat beside her. Clayton shot her a look of distaste and ran back out into the yard.

“That was...odd.” Y/n blinked. 

“He did remind me though, mummy... The baby can’t move... maybe I could sit with daddy instead?” Catherine sounded reassuring, her feathery voice calming her mother.

Which she really needed. She could hardly focus on her painting now. Her heart was begging for Sherlock to walk through the front doors already, spare her from another interruption that would throw her off-course for the fifth time that evening.

Like magic, her wish was granted and a knock sounded on the study door. Both Catherine and Y/n’s heads snapped toward Sherlock entering the room. “How’s her-majesty doing?” He smirked at Cathy as he set down his case. “I heard from two little competitive detectives that mummy is creating a masterpiece of her masterpiece! Are the rumors true?”

“That they are, detective. Seems you’ve found out the surprise before it could surprise you.” Catherine giggled as her father lifted her from the soft red chair and spun her around before planting a kiss on her forehead.

“So, my little queen, how are you?”

“Good.” She smiled brightly. “How are you? Did mummy ask you yet?”

Sherlock turned to face Y/n, who looked away as fast as she could- wide eyes and all. “Did mummy ask me what, Rin?”

“If I could sit with you or her during supper? I would sit on mummy’s lap, but I don’t want to hurt the baby, and even if I could, Clay wants to sit on her too. I don’t want to make it unfair!” Catherine frowned. “I told him he could wait with me until you were here to talk about it but he didn’t want to.”

“I’ll tell you what. Since mummy has the baby, you can sit with her and I’ll have Clayton sit with me.”

“Yeah! He moves around a lot and we want to be extra careful with mummy and mini-baby, right?” Sherlock nodded, Y/n still trying to figure out what her daughter was saying, and sent Cathy off to play with her siblings until Alice finished supper. It wasn’t intended for Y/n’s pregnancy, but it certainly helped. A system in which the kids could claim nights to help out with meals. Alice loved to make dinners while Edward loved to bake. The smell of a delicious homecooked meal was never lacking in the Holmes house.

“Hear that? Mini-baby gets to sit next to the queen tonight.”

“I’m jealous, quite frankly.” Sherlock’s grin never ceased to bring Y/n’s to her face. Though she was exhausted, her husband made her feel calm and peaceful. “So, our five little reminders never cease to remind you, do they?”

“No...and don’t forget the sixth, Mr. Holmes.”

“Believe me, I haven’t, Mrs. Holmes. I’m simply awaiting their arrival. Perhaps a few more before I needn’t anymore reminders?”

“Mayhaps...however- Let’s talk about it when I’m no longer expecting, please. I’m already resisting the urge to collapse.” Sherlock chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he watched his wife struggle to the doors before helping her. His arms scoop her up and carry her to their room. They passed the paintings that hung upon the walls, portraits of Sherlock, portraits of their children, a portrait by her mother in law of their wedding day. The wall was home to their present and past, providing room for their future as well.

They were in their room for only a few minutes before a loud chatter followed them. Both adults closed their eyes and prepared themselves for their little ones who would burst through their doors at any moment. His promise was good, and they had five, almost six, reminders to show for proof.

[justjessame]

Diamonds Are A Boy’s Best Friend Chapter 15

Ike seemed reluctant to take me home.  To leave me.  He took a risk, outside the gates of my father’s house to pull me back into his arms and kiss the breath out of me.  I shivered as my want for him, even after our detour from lunch, flared up just hot and bright.

“Elizabeth Diamond,” he breathed into my mouth.  “I love you.”  

I smiled against his lips, feeling wildly free at the words, and reminded him that I loved him too.  And then I pulled away, just as resistant to leave him, but knowing that I had to.  I promised to call him, or to answer when he called, and then shutting the car door behind me, I walked to the gate and buzzed myself in.

My father was waiting inside, clearly he’d had me followed, and he looked very happy with himself.  It had to be happiness for himself, since I had doubts that he held even a drop of empathy for anyone else.

“I see you fixed it.”  I shook my head and walked to the bar.  Pouring myself a drink, I waited for his narrative of my day to begin.  “Liz, I don’t think you understand how important this entire situation is-”

Turning to face him, I leaned against the bar.  “You want Ike to leave his wife, causing a scandal of epic proportions, and then marry your dear darling daughter so you can-”  I took a sip of my drink, letting the liquor burn away my irritation.  “That’s all I’ve worked through, though.  Do you want him to put me down as his beneficiary so you can kill him and rule through me?  Or are you prepared to welcome Ike to the family fold?”  

His grin was going fully engulf his face one day.  “Clever.  You didn’t really come to it on your own, but clever.”  So he had watched Lily and me chatting in that room.  “Yes, Liz, I want Ike to leave his wife.  Yes, I want him to be the scandal of Miami.”  He moved past me to refresh his own glass.  “The scandal won’t last, my darling daughter, Liz Taylor and Eddie Fisher’s ran its course, didn’t it?” Not quite the same caliber, but I waited.  “Then, Isaac, being the moral upstanding man he is will ask you to be his third bride.”  He came around and stood in front of me.  “You’ll marry him, hell you may even give him a brat or two, but one day in the not too distant future-”  My blood ran cold.  He’d kill the father of his grandchildren.  Without hesitation.  He’d leave me alone, without blinking.  

“Enough.” I breathed, not knowing if I was demanding his silence or begging for it.  “Keep your plans to yourself.”  I shot the rest of my drink down with a quick gulp.  “I don’t want to hear anymore.”

He chuckled, staring down at me.  “You take more after Doris than me.”  A complete compliment that I would savor forever.  “Let’s pray you don’t meet the same fate.”  A shiver of fear ran up my spine at the clear warning.  

I took a long bath, the second one of the day, but I needed privacy and quiet.  My own father had just threatened my life.  And I knew that he would follow through.  Without a doubt he would kill me as easily as he planned on killing Ike.  He’d leave me laying as though I were a stranger with no connection to him whatsoever.  

Lily was in my bedroom when I finished.  I hadn’t seen her all day, but seeing her seated at my vanity didn’t give me any comfort.  She looked up when I came in, saying nothing.

“I didn’t hear you knock.”  I offered, moving to the closet for a new outfit.  My dressing robe fluttered behind me and I took stock of the offerings before me.  

“I didn’t knock.”  That explains that.  “Liz, look-”  I didn’t turn around, I just kept sliding hangers right to left, looking for something to improve my mood.  “You need to know-”

“He’s going to kill me, Lily.”  I said it with the same inflection that I would if I was telling her the weather report.  “Not today, not tomorrow, but one day, I’ll die at my father’s hands.”  It was sobering, yet I couldn’t allow myself to focus too hard on it.  

“He won’t.”  A dark chuckle left me.  “Liz, you’re his daughter, he wouldn’t dare.”  

I turned then, and saw that she was completely sincere in her childish belief.  “I’m not completely certain he didn’t kill my mother.”  

She stood then and came closer.  “He didn’t.  He may have watched her die, but he didn’t kill her.”  I waited, she seemed close to telling me something important.  “Get dressed, we’ll go somewhere and have a drink.”  I closed my eyes.  “Not the hotel.”  Opening them, I saw that she looked more serious than I’d ever seen her.  “Get ready.”  And then she walked out of my room and I had to wonder if this was another of my father’s games.

She’d picked a dark place.  Quiet, where we could be tucked into a corner booth and not be seen or heard.  My interest peaked, but she said nothing illuminating until our drinks came and a beautiful voice began to sing, filling the room with melody.  

“Look, Liz,”  I was watching her and realized she was serious, but also nervous.  “Do you know your mom’s maiden name?”  I shook my head.  No one bothered to mention it, though I imagined it was somewhere in my school records.  “Remember how I told you she came from old money?”

“Chicago Rockefellers.”  I nodded, reiterating what she’d said.  

She took a long drink from her glass before sighing.  “It is old money, but not exactly straight money.”  I waited, letting her gather her thoughts.  “Your mom was Sy Berman’s daughter, Liz.”  When I didn’t gasp or show any sign of recognition she smiled.  “Sy is-”  Another drink from her glass for strength.  “Sy’s Ben’s boss.”  Wait, what?

“My father has a boss?”  Do mobsters have bosses?  Oh, she had to see the truth dawning on my face.  “He’s THE boss.”  She nodded.  “I didn’t know I had more family.”  

“Not only do you have more family, Liz, you have THE family.”  She shook her head, raised her glass to take another drink, but it was empty.  I passed her my glass and she took it gratefully.  “Ben wouldn’t dare hurt you, Liz.  Sy would never allow him to touch a hair on your head.”  

“How do you know that?”  Lily glanced around to be sure that we were far enough from prying ears.  “You’re in contact with him.”  It was barely above a breath and she looked relieved that she hadn’t had to say the words.  A small tilt of her head was all I had for confirmation.  “Does he know I’m here?” Another tilt.  “And?”  I needed more than head bobbing.

“And-” She took a deep breath.  “I think he’s coming.”  Oh. I sat back in the booth, stunned.  

We stayed at the bar long enough for it to look like we had gone out for a girls’ bonding trip.  Dinner, I was told, upon arriving back at the house would be at the Miramar.  I nodded, feeling numb.  I dressed in a fog.  I did my makeup and fixed my hair without even knowing I did it.  

Why did I feel like finding out who my grandfather was made things more complicated rather than less?  "Out of the frying pan and into the fire" was the phrase that kept rushing to the surface.