#better than peppa pig

[frozaru]

𝑴𝒆 𝑰𝒏 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒚 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆! 💙🐶

(Drawn by @atlantisportal2)

Okay, so I've watched a couple of episodes of this show so far and to my surprise as a adult...I loved it! The humour, the characters, and even scenery...Bluey has become a comfort show for me and is truly better than a lot of what's releasing these days for children. So much in fact, that I recently bought an all-in-one package of season 1 + 2 (which has the Australian originals and bonus bits also so like a suuuper good package ngl). I don't have a fav character atm but I'll find that one at some point. :3 well, time to for me to watch more! Catch ya later~ 😊

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This is a good song for real life. ▶️

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🎴My Carrd

[dashiellqvverty]

i try not to be too obnoxious about liking kids media but i will be honest my one thing that really gets on my nerves is when people compare shows like idk the owl house or whatever to shows like bluey or like talk about them as if they are similar. like yes i logically realize they are probably exaggerating in order to frame all cartoons as especially childish but it still makes me want to tear my hair out like do you know how wildly different the target demographics for these shows are!!! do you realize that preschool television is generally a whole different world from tv for older kids!!!!

[can-of-w0rmz]

Does anyone else have a weird irrational hatred of Bluey? Like I have to put it on for my younger siblings all the time, and I always see stuff online constantly that’s basically like “finally a kid’s show that isn’t bloody insufferable for everyone else in the room”, but like nine times out of ten I’ll usually leave the room immediately after putting it on because I do find it annoying as hell. I mean there’s nothing wrong with it or anything, it’s just a children’s show. Which I, at sixteen years old, generally unsurprisingly find annoying. What’s worse is that I have people I know my age who don’t have younger siblings or who don’t generally babysit at all who watch it on their own time??? I was so flabbergasted I genuinely sat down one 3am (insomnia what did I ever do to you) and tried to actually watch some of it and did NOT get it remotely. One of the biggest things I see constantly online is that it’s relatable??? But at least personally it definitely is not???

Alternative title: whole ass teenager complains about a popular children’s show that has absolutely and utterly no bearing on his life whatsoever if people enjoy it (seriously, do whatever you want I’m genuinely just confused what the appeal is)

[she-testa-my-burgers-till-i]

so many cartoons for young children nowadays have heroes fighting villains. but peppa the pig? peppa has no villains to face other than herself.

[aced-official]

Yknow. I'm not ashamed to admit it, Bluey is a good little show!

[nimomo-mo]

Vent

[sayyestoheavensayyestome]

people love to make fun of my walk it’s not my fault if I walk like a princess when I’m a princess

[leahsgirl]

can you write something else based in the homemade love universe :)

sun kissed escapade | leah williamson x reader

in which you and leah go on holiday with your three-year-old.

might make leah with kids fanfics my whole personality because im down bad for them

-

“and what do you think you’re doing?” the blonde stood at the bottom of the stairs, her arms folded over her chest as she shook her head disapprovingly.

“leah i’m capable of carrying wren’s case.” you replied carrying your daughters peppa pig suitcase down.

“and have the possibility of you falling? no can do princess.” she grabbed the luggage off you despite the protesting and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your lips. “are you going to let me help at all?”

“nope!” leah had without a doubt been very protective and helpful since finding out about your second pregnancy. but that also meant she didn’t let you do anything if she thought it involved the slightest bit of hard work.

“are we all set then?” you asked.

“yep, everything’s packed.” the defender scooped her daughter into her arms, making her squeal in delight. “we’re gonna have so much fun aren’t we baby?”

wren giggled and nodded enthusiastically, her tiny hands reaching out to play with leah’s hair.

after a few hours of travelling - a difficult task when trying to keep a toddler entertained, you made it to the beachfront hotel youse were staying at. Instantly revelling in the sun’s rays and the general smell of the heat abroad.

the three of you occupied yourselves with spending time at the pool, opting for just a chill first day. “bleedin’ hell they don’t make these easy do they?” leah sat on a sunbed catching her breath as she tried to blow up wren’s armbands.

“babe you’re letting all the air out.” pointing to the open cap that wasn’t covered. “oh for god’s sake.” despite the cursing and countless breaks the blonde managed to do it as you’d just finished lathering sun cream onto the little girl’s face.

“don’t go running off missus.” you tell wren before letting her waddle off to the kids pool. pulling your beach bag closer to you, you take out the book you’ve been reading and get yourself comfy on the sun lounger. “you not coming in?” leah motioning to the water as she throws off her sliders.

“i’m just gonna relax for a while, read my book.” not looking up as your eyes stayed fixed on the page in front of you. she pressed a kiss on your forehead “okay darlin’.”

not even ten minutes later and you find yourself being smothered by a dripping wet wren whose bombarded you in a hug. “oh my gosh! wrenny i’m soaked through now.”

the toddler shrugged apologetically “mama told me to do it.” your eyes darting over to the older girl who was at the edge of the pool laughing cheekily. “oh did she now?”

“oh come on it’s just a bit of a laugh, stop being boring and come join us.” leah chimed, wren joining in on the pleading.

you caved, making your way over to the steps and into the warm water. leah grabbed at your waist, dragging you closer to deep end. “see this is much better than your book.”

you rolled your eyes playfully “i’ll have you know it was getting to the good part before you decided to use our child for your scheming.”

the skipper just smirked “it worked no?” happy her plan to get you in the pool succeeded. “just this time williamson.”

she pressed you against the wall, staring directly into your orbs, a dopey grin on her face. “i love you.” the words falling effortlessly from her lips as you repeated them. her mouth attached to your neck, peppering delicate kisses up to the back of your ear, a place she knew you was sensitive. you were thankful the hotel was quiet and secluded, only a few other people around who were too wrapped up in their own worlds to notice the public display of affection.

—

“princess - wait up!” leah called out to a very excited wren who you chased after while the arsenal player was busy unloading stuff out the rental car.

the toddler made a beeline for the sand and sea, eager to splash about. “we can’t be running off like that sweetie.” you getting your breath back now caught up with the little one. “sorry mommy.”

leah now joining youse, she laid out beach towels for you all to lie down along with passing you a cold bottle of water; the two humans inside you making you thirsty like no man’s business.

you occupied yourself with building sandcastles with wren, soaking in the quality time of just the two of you - only a couple of months remaining until you’d be a family of five. the blonde watched on in admiration, sneaking a couple of cute photos that she’d be posting later on for her ‘holiday camera roll dump’.

a good hour had passed - and lord what an hour it had been. it turns out the day you decided to go to the beach was also the day they was offering surfing lessons, so of course leah had to participate, her competitive spirit just as prevalent 4,000 miles away here than it was back home. “be prepared to be blown away by your incredibly sexy, multi-talented fiancé.” the taller woman winked before running off to join the group.

you and wren watched on from a distance, the small blonde sat in between your legs with your arms wrapped loosely around her stomach. “what’s your mother got herself into now hm wrenny.”

the three year old just giggled, nuzzling herself closer to you.

now if there’s one word to describe your partner’s performance on the waves - it would be hilarious. the poor girl could not stay on the board to save her life despite the adamant determination. when she did eventually stand up on the thing she got too excited and fell straight back into the water, the taste of salt getting unbearable at this point.

she made her way back over to you, a small scowl on her face now that she received a bruise to the ego. “have fun?” you asked finding this very amusing. “stupid surfboard - it clearly had something wrong with it!”

you patted her back reassuringly “maybe just stick to football love.” managing to get a little smile out of her as you pecked her lips.

“you thought i was good didn’t you angel?” leah diverting her attention over to the toddler who avoided the question, nuzzling into you more. “well it looks like beach 1, leah williamson 0.”

the centre-back mocked offence “i’m gonna give you two 10 seconds to run before i get you.”

you matched wren’s childish squeals as you ran off hand in hand away from the blonde, it not taking it long for leah to catch up and swiftly lift her daughter into her arms tickling her all over. “oh no looks like you’ve been caught wrenny.” sticking your tongue out playfully.

“erh you’re not off the hook either.” using her freehand to rope you in closer and have your lips crash together for a bruising kiss. “don’t see how that was much of a punishment babe.” you say once breaking apart.

“just giving you a glimpse of tonight’s agenda.” smirking cockily and smacking your butt.

—

nearing the end of your relaxing getaway, the three of you chose to go on an evening walk into town to find a restaurant to eat at. your hand intertwined with leah’s as she pushed wren in her pram.

after reading countless outside menu’s, you finally agreed on a small italian, leah content at the fact there was the option of chicken nuggets. “such a child.” you teased while being escorted to your table.

before leah could counter back she was being tapped on her side, small hands pointing to a little playground area set up at the end of the restaurant “can we go play?”

leah exchanged a glance with you waiting for approval, your lips curling up in a tender smile. “sure thing sweetheart, go have some fun.”

wren wasted no time in scampering up the ladder of the slide before abruptly stopping once at the top, the five feet off the ground suddenly very daunting. "c'mon you've got it." leah encouraged noticing the uneasy facial expression on the girl's face. "can you do it with me?"

giving in, no one surviving the puppy eyes wren gave when we wanted something, leah sat at the top of the kid's apparatus and positioned wren on her lap. "here we go baby."

huge grins on the toddlers face as they slid down - until they hit a snag that is; leah's hips getting wedged either side of the slide's edges, leaving both girls in an awkward predicament.

"uh-oh." the blonde muttered, attempting to wriggle free to no avail. "i think we're stuck."

wren's eyebrows furrowing in concern as she glanced back in your direction where you sat down rubbing your bloated stomach, people watching. she manoeuvred out of leah's grip, descending down the remainder of the slide.

"mommy! mama's stuck!" she tugged at your shirt urging you to get up and follow her. "mama's what?" you asked but didn't need your daughter to reply as your eyes landed on a very grumpy looking leah.

"oh wow, what's happened here?" trying to contain your amusement but failing miserably when a laugh escaped your lips.

leah's frustration was only mounting as she struggled to free herself. "its not funny." she grumbled, shooting a glare your way. "a little help would be appreciated."

"right, sorry." you attempted to slot your hand between the slide and her thigh hoping it would loosen the grip but it was useless. "babe please hurry people are starting to stare." despite the woman's strength, it was like she was superglued in place as she tried to break free. "why does this stuff only happen to you?" racking your brain for another plan.

leah folded her arms "i don't know but I'm stopping being the fun parent that's for sure."

you rolled your eyes playfully. "i'm gonna have to ask for help." scanning around for someone to help you. "no! this is embarrassing enough." to say this was humiliating for the older woman was an understatement. "honey its the only way - i can't get you out and wren definitely can't."

huffing but ultimately having to accept, leah let you call over a waiter who noticed your struggle. and after what felt like an eternity and three staff members later, your fiancé was set free, slightly disheveled but unharmed. wren burst into a fit of giggles, finding the entire ordeal utterly amusing.

"don't you dare send that video to anyone." leah noticing how you discreetly (or so you thought) video taped her whole rescue mission. you kissed her cheek "never babe. come on lets go eat."

after a very delicious meal that the restaurant kindly offered to pay for due to the trauma leah just faced, the said girl whipped out her phone, it buzzing relentlessly for the past ten minutes.

"babe why do i have multiple texts asking about the slide incident? who did you send it to?"

innocently smiling at her you shrugged. "no one really - just your mum..and our england teammates..maybe a few arsenal girls."

leah gawped at you, stopping in her tracks "you wouldn't dare."

holding up your phone to show her the messages, her face drained in humiliation. "i do dare." the opportunity to showcase the side of leah people rarely see too good - how could you not?

"oh you are so dead."

[f1-stuff]

Girl dad Carlos please! I miss that fic so much 🥲

Okay. So.

I mustered up the energy to write a little vignette of this AU bc I also miss it and bc I didn't want to leave you two hanging! This is skipping ahead quite a bit to halfway through the season, but I'm still planning on writing and fleshing out that portion. I've just known for a while that this was gonna be an important part of the story and that I could jump into writing it right away!

It will probably be edited and adjusted for when the actual chapter is posted on ao3, but this is the 'rough draft' I guess! (Disclaimer: I know zero French and I haven’t had someone look over that bit yet!)

Anyway, enjoyyyy...

When there’s a knock on his door about two weeks into the summer break, his brain doesn’t compute for a full minute after he’s opened it.

Because why would Charles, his teammate, be here? In Spain? At his apartment? During their summer holiday, when they’re supposed to be ignoring any and all people and things related to F1, recharging their batteries, and remembering there’s more to life than racing cars? He and Charles have barely ever even texted during the summer break, let alone seen one another. So, again, why would Charles be at his front door.

Also, he’s a bit sleep deprived and delirious, so there’s every chance he’s hallucinating this.

“Uh...” he says, rather eloquently.

“Hey,” Charles says. And there’s a tentative smile on his face that Carlos can’t even begin to parse the meaning of. His brain isn’t just one step behind, it’s five steps. “Can...I come in?”

“Oh.” Again. Eloquent, Sainz. “Eh- yeah. Yes. Come in.”

“Sorry to stop by without a warning,” Charles is saying. But Carlos is too busy looking around in barely disguised panic at the absolute trash heap that is his home.

It’s not that he didn’t realize how much of a mess the apartment was before, but he sees it now through Charles’ eyes and feels a little like curling up and dying. There are bowls of half eaten food and dirty dishes piled in and around the sink. Various toys, games, books, and drawings are strewn over almost every surface, along with clothes (mostly socks, so many socks) littering the floor. Boxes and boxes of Lucy’s things that he hasn’t had time to sort through are stacked against the walls and in the corners. One of the only exposed walls by the couch has colorful marker all over it, Ana having done that particular masterpiece when he’d accidentally nodded off during Peppa Pig. (He’d been too tired to even properly get angry about it, which was perhaps a bad precedent to set if he didn’t want a repeat performance.)

It looks like a tornado has swept through his apartment. A tornado named Ana.

Not that Charles is much neater on a good day, and he doesn’t even have a kid as an excuse. But Carlos has a feeling that if this is the current state of his apartment, the state of his own appearance is probably no better. He hasn’t properly showered, shaved, or slept in days, and he doesn’t think he’s looked in the mirror in all that time either. For all he knows, he’s still got remnants of the braids Ana put in his hair yesterday. He certainly can’t remember taking them out...

Charles, on the other hand, looks fresh and groomed and sunkissed - everything Carlos would expect during the summer break.

He smells good, he thinks, unbidden. Then, immediately, Stop it.

Charles takes in the space around them, his eyes eventually settling on Carlos with an amused (and maybe slightly concerned) expression. But just as he’s opening his mouth to speak, there’s the sound of the bathroom door opening down the hall and the smattering of tiny feet running across the floor, before Ana declares in her tiny, yet surprisingly bold voice, “I didn’t have a diarrhea!”

Carlos doesn’t even have enough shame left to be embarrassed by his kid. His first instinct is just relief.

“Stomach virus,” he mumbles to Charles, by way of explanation. Then, to Ana, in Spanish, “That’s great, mi niña! Did you wash your hands?”

“Yeeeees!”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Good, because we, eh- we have a guest!”

It’s quiet for a moment, before Ana’s head pokes around the corner slowly. But her face lights up as soon as she sees who it is.

“Cha!” she shouts, but then immediately looks embarrassed by her own show of excitement.

“Coucou, Ana,” Charles says, amused. He kneels down and encourages Ana closer, accepting the tentative hug she gives him.

No matter how much they had bonded last time, it’s still been a while since they’ve seen one another, and some of Ana’s shyness has clearly returned. Still, it’s huge that she’s even initiated a hug, and Carlos feels a telltale twinge in his sternum at the image they both make.

“As-tu été bon pour papa?” Charles asks, cuffing her gently on the chin. Ana grins and nods. “J'ai un cadeau pour toi.”

Charles reaches into a bag that Carlos hadn’t even noticed he’d been carrying until he’d set it down to hug Ana, and he pulls out a pink rectangular thing, that Carlos squints in confusion at for a beat. He realizes what it is simultaneously with Charles’ next words.

“C'est une caméra. Pour que tu prennes des photos de ton papa.”

It’s a pink camera for kids, a unicorn adorning the front where the lens peeks out. Carlos almost rolls his eyes - of course Charles, with his recent photography kick, gifts his kid a camera. But the way Ana’s expression transforms with wonder as Charles demonstrates to her how it works is pretty precious.

Charles hands it over to her and she immediately points it at him. He pulls a silly expression, making her giggle. They both examine the photo, heads bowed close. Ana points it up at Carlos next.

“¡Sonríe, papá!”

He sticks out his tongue and her little finger presses the capture button. The joy on her face as the photo pops up on the screen, tilting it to show them even though it’s upside down, fills Carlos with so much warmth and love that he legitimately almost tears up.

God, he’s so freaking tired.

Ana bounds off to her room to gather her stuffed toys to take a ‘family picture,’ and Charles straightens back up, smile lingering on his cheeks even after Ana has disappeared down the hall.

Carlos wants to kiss him so bad. Becoming a father has turned him into such a sap.

“Ehm,” he clears his throat. “Thank you. That was- a nice gift.”

“No problems.”

“You know, you don’t have to buy her something every time you see her,” he says, humor lacing his words.

“I want to,” Charles insists, simply. They smile awkwardly for an extended beat, listening to the sounds of Ana down the hall in her room, talking to her animals. Charles’ eyes stray to his hair. “You have...something in your hair. Is that a braid-?”

“What are you doing here, Charles?” he asks, choosing to ignore the comment. “I thought you would be in Corsica, or somewhere.”

“I was. But I heard you and Ana had to cancel on the trip to Mallorca and-”

“Heard, how?” Charles looks sheepish, triggering his suspicion. So he repeats it. “Heard, how, Charles?”

“Your mum texted me-” 

He sighs, eyes shutting briefly in frustration. He wishes his mom would just stay out of this whole- thing with Charles. But, clearly, she knew he wouldn’t accept help from anyone else. And that he wouldn’t be able to turn Charles away…

“She didn’t tell me to come,” Charles rushes to say. “She was just worried because you refused to let her stay and help, and that you hadn’t found a sitter, or someone, yet. So I just offered-”

“Charles, please...” He breaks off with another sigh, rubbing his temples to stave off the oncoming headache. But it’s already too late, if the subtle pulsating pain, slowly increasing in intensity, is anything to go by. “You should not have come.”

“Carlos, don’t be stupid,” he scoffs. “Anyway, I am here.” And he supposes that’s true. Nothing can be done about it now. “You look tired.”

He huffs a small laugh, dropping his hands from his temples to meet Charles’ gaze.

“This is what someone looks like when their kid catches a stomach virus and then they catch that same virus from their kid, just when their kid is starting to feel better-”

“Why didn’t you let your mum help-?”

“I’m her dad,” he interrupts, breathing hard. But he softens his voice with his next words. “I can do this on my own. I just wanted to...”

He doesn’t really know how to finish that sentence, though. It sounds stubborn and stupid when he starts to say it out loud. None of this should be about him. It’s about Ana. And if he’d really needed help, he should’ve asked for it. For her.

Charles seems to know that he doesn’t have to say it - that Carlos is already thinking it. So, instead, he just claps a hand to his shoulder and squeezes.

“I think,” he says, “-you should get some rest.”

“Charles-”

“No, I’m serious. Go to your room, Mister Sainz.” A slow grin pulls over his features. And along with the genuine concern in his eyes, it’s almost enough to break through Carlos’ resolve. “You are exhausted. Ana will be fine - I will watch her. Just...rest for a minute. Okay? You don’t look like yourself.”

And he knows that must be true. He knows that he needs a lot more than just a few hours of sleep to feel somewhere close to normal again (a shower would be a good start). But it’s hard to even think of himself when he’s been so worried about Ana for days - researching how to get her fever to die down, trying to get her to drink fluids, watching her fitful face in sleep, his heart in his throat despite how the pediatrician had assured him she’d be fine.

But, then, he’d gotten sick, too. And instead of focusing on his own recovery, he’d had to fit in sessions of retching over the toilet in between caring for his kid and making sure she was properly fed. And the two of them had managed, even if it wasn’t ideal. They’d grown closer, he thought, by virtue of her needing him so much.

He couldn’t keep it together forever, though. Eventually, if he didn’t take a break, he’d fall apart completely.

It takes him a stubborn moment, the urge to argue bubbling up inside despite how glorious resting his head on a pillow sounds. But eventually he nods, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Thank you.”

Charles just looks at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “You are welcome, Carlos. Now, go. You look like you are going to fall over at any moment.”

“I feel like I’m going to fall over at any moment.”

Charles laughs under his breath, pushing Carlos’ shoulder gently to aim him toward the hallway. “Well, fall over into bed, then.”

“I’m going,” he insists, letting his tired limbs and the heavy touch of Charles at his shoulder guide him toward his room.

He can deal with how insane this situation is - Charles showing up here, and what the hell it means that he’d come at all - once he’s had some sleep. For now, he’ll happily take it for granted.

He doesn’t even really remember climbing into bed before the exhaustion takes over, his body surrendering to fatigue now that he knows his kid’s in good hands. Trustworthy hands. Charles’ hands.

He thinks he can hear the faint sounds of their French floating down the hallway. It makes him smile with the last vestiges of energy he has left.

God, he is in so over his head.

----

WIP ask game

Link to fic on ao3 -> (x)

[petite-madame]

Professional Courtesy - (2023)

“What do you mean exactly by ‘Larry has a better salary than you’?”

“Larry works at Downing Street, Gregory. His position as ‘Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office’ makes him, consequently and undeniably, your superior. Hence his high salary…and his Tier 5 Security Clearance as well.”

“Tier 5?! Are you kidding me?! Mine is only Tier 3! How?”

“Because you are a DI and he works for the Prime Minister, it is as simple as that.”

“He doesn’t ‘work’, Mycroft. It's a cat, and a pretty fat one at that! He doesn't do anything except for sleeping all day and stretching his paws in front of the press. And he's spending more time on our sofa snoring in front of Peppa Pig than catching mice at Number 10.”

“I would be grateful if you could go easy on the body shaming. You know that Larry is extremely sensitive about his body. So, that kind of language won't be tolerated. *sigh* And, as you well may know, things are getting pretty complicated at Downing Street at the moment. Welcoming Larry is just professional courtesy between civil servants.”

“Yes, my love, professional courtesy. I’m sure it has nothing to do with you being an absolute cat dad, but keep telling yourself that.*cronch*

A big thank you to @vegetadaily for the beta 💗

[baddingtonbitch]

honestly just keep making mia goth do every accent in the world anything is better than the peppa pig shit that comes out naturally

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompts Squad; in which there are many Holmeses and parenting is a contact sport]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) 20: do-over (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

It's a new week, and John declares on Monday he's certain it's going to be easier than the last one.

What an idiot.

---

By the time they reach Wednesday, they've not been back from hospital twenty-four hours when Sherlock's dear mama orders them onto a train. 

'Mother,' Sherlock hisses into his mobile, glancing across the room to where John is firmly planted on the sofa with his daughter tight in his arms, watching Peppa Pig. 'Rosamund just got out of A&E. We don't want to go down the street, let alone out to a place so far from an adequate hospital that--' 

'Oh, poppycock' 

'I'm sorry?' 

'Now, don't be angry at me, darling. I know you must be frightened to bits for your little girl--' 

Sherlock turns away from the sofa again, chest clenching for the approximately thousandth time in the past two days. 'She's not my little girl,' he says between his teeth, trying to keep his voice steady and quiet.

'--but I'm only trying to help.'

Sherlock knows it's one of those times John would be a much better fit for the task at hand. Unfortunately, she's stuck with her son instead. 'Mummy. Clearly, that would not help.'

'You're not planning on feeding her peanuts again, are you?'

Sherlock closes his eyes. 'I won't dignify that with an answer.'

'Then pack an epipen and come see your mother. I want to kiss that baby.'

---

John is doing his best, Sherlock observes once they're gathered round his parents' kitchen table, but he's clearly still feeling scads of parental guilt. He refuses to let Rosamund out of his sight, and his jaw keeps doing that jumpy bit that means he's repressing something. Several somethings, obviously, because he is John Watson.

And Sherlock almost abhors how much he cares for John Watson.

---

His mother, naturally, can't hold back for long. 

'Oh, John, I do hate to see you like this.'

John freezes like the proverbial deer in headlights, then carefully puts down his fork, stiff upper lip firmly in place. 'Thanks, Mrs Holmes, but I'm all right.' 

Sherlock, who knows better, shares a Look with Rosamund, who blurps his name(ish) then happily stuffs more pickle into her mouth. John's face softens momentarily, and she notices. 'Want some, Daddy?'

It's not a question; John is immediately handed a chubby fistful of globby green.

'She not a fan of spoons, then?' Sherlock's father says with a chuckle.

'Only as a weapon,' Sherlock replies without thinking, but luckily it's the correct audience, because beyond an eye roll, the reaction is mostly laughter.

Except for John, Sherlock notices immediately. Oh, dear.

His mother notices, too, and her lips purse. 'John, I know we're all very English, but I'm old enough that I can speak plainly.'

'As if you hadn't already,' Sherlock mutters.

She ignores him, instead reaching out to touch John's right hand where it rests on the table. 'You mustn't punish yourself. You've done nothing wrong.'

John's extreme discomfort would be crystal clear to anyone in a ten mile radius. 'Mrs Holmes…'

'I mean it.'

He puts down his fork, and Sherlock sees him inhale purposefully. 'All due respect, ma'am, but my daughter nearly died. She nearly died because I insisted she eat something she clearly and repeatedly did not want to eat.'

'And?'

John's mouth opens, then shuts, before he speaks again. 'Are you joking?'

'Everyone makes mistakes with their children, dear.'

'Not that sort of mistake.'

She makes a noise close to a ladylike snort, if such a thing existed. 'We almost drowned Sherlock when he was her age.'

Sherlock's front chair legs drop back to the floor with a thunk. 'Beg pardon?'

'Yes, you came frightfully close to dying, it was very unpleasant.'

John's facade breaks enough to give Sherlock a slight smirk. 'And you didn't recognise my facetiousness on that train?'

'Yes, yes, thank you, now what is this about me drowning, Mother?'

'We left you with another child, a girl of maybe twelve.' She shakes her head. 'That poor girl. She's never forgiven herself.'

'But I didn't die!'

'Sherlock,' his mother chides. 'Don't be unkind.'

'Wait. Why didn't I die?'

A curious silence falls over the group. 

Sherlock's chin drops, and he sighs. 'Mycroft.'

His mother nods. 'He was in the deeper end, and you were in the shallow end. Where you were meant to stay.'

John huffs a laugh. 'Right, good luck with that.'

She tuts. 'He's lucky his brother was watching.'

'You don't remember any of it?' John asks, clearly curious.

Sherlock thinks. 'I remember a pool, several pools, from childhood. Various ponds. I remember-- Yes, I think the first time I ventured into the deep end, I blinked and I was at the ladder.'

'Indeed,' his mother says.

'Right,' John says, bemused. 'So you've always hated pools, even before we nearly got blown up in one.'

His mother blinks. 'Beg pardon?'

'Oh don't fret, Mummy.' Sherlock waves a hand. 'It was ages ago.'

And worse things have happened since then, no one needs say.

Except his mother says it, sort of. 'She's going to have such unusual stories to tell,' she says, turning to Rosamund and touching her tiny nose briefly. 'Aren't you, darling?'

'Any hope of a normal childhood was gone long ago, I'm afraid,' John says, his voice only a little strained.

Sherlock's father, unexpectedly, speaks up. 'Perhaps, but what she's got is better.'

'I agree,' his mother says. 'John's normal enough for the three of you, anyway.'

Sherlock smirks privately. Yes, absolutely normal, building-jumping, gun-toting, life-saving John Watson.

As if he'd ever fall in love with "normal."

That's the end of the discussion, apparently, because his mother turns back to Rosamund with a smile. 'Now, precious girl, let's see if you can say "grandmama" yet.' 

---

John, still feeling slightly sour, pulls out his phone once he's put Rosie down. 'Mycroft.' His tone borders on Captainy, but he's too bloody tired to be polite. 'What are you playing at?'

'Couldn't possibly have any idea what you mean, Dr Watson.'

'First my daughter is calling you her uncle, and now your mum is teaching her "grandmama"?'

'I fail to see the problem. She's very intelligent.'

John pinches the bridge of his nose. He can't shout, because Rosie is asleep in her cot next to him, and though Sherlock is outside smoking, Sherlock's parents are somewhere on the other side of the guest room door.

'Your brother,' he finally says lowly, 'cares for Rosie a great deal, but has most definitely not voiced an interest in being her father, nor should he feel obligated to.'

'With all due respect, John, I must disagree.'

'How.' It's not a question.

Mycroft's voice isn't hard, but he enunciates every word very, very clearly. 'She is my niece. If you can't see it, then God help you... Although I am aware my brother has inherited more than his fair share of the Holmes reticence. But,' he concludes, implacable, 'lest you forget: He said it himself. You are family. And therein lies the obligation.' 

John's heart does a little twitch in his chest. 'Yeah, but--'

'No.'

'But--'

'Not to sound too much like my dear brother, but John?'

John exhales. 'Can't wait to hear this.'

'Don't be an idiot.'

'Oi--'

But the call is already over. Of course it is. Because Mycroft Holmes is a bastard.

He might also, maybe, just this once… be right.

[ <3 ]

[pool story lifted from my childhood: I literally remember nothing bad about nearly drowning; my five-years-elder brother saved me and I have loved swimming ever since]

[docholligay]

I HATE it. I mean, the wiggles was insanely annoying and I was not about it, but Peppa is straight-up a brat 90% of the time. The number of times I've been watching it with beeb and had to tell her, "we don't say things like that, do we? We don't act like that in public. We don't treat our friends like that" is ASTOUNDING.

There was one episode where one of her friends was really good at something she wasn't and the whole thing was about finding something she was better at instead of being like, "Let's celebrate how really cool our friends are!" So I'm over here telling her about the friends that I have that are better than me at a lot of things but they are my FRIENDS, so instead of trying to figure out the ways in which I'm superior, I want to cheerlead them and make them feel good about their accomplishments. I always watch beeb's TV time with her, but man do I hate that unlike Miss Rachel, after Peppa I always have to explain everything that sucked about Peppa's behavior.

And her parents GIVE HER WHAT SHE WANTS WHEN SHE WHINES. What??? in the fuck??? I'm sitting there with Jill going, "Peppa needs to get her ass beat, is what I think*" and everyone who knows me personally can hear exactly how I'm saying that and i stand by it, up to and including how I sound like my grandfather when i say it. My daughter is three and has already been at the receiving end of, "How's it feel to want?" because I am not raising a whiner, there is very very little I dislike more than people who are like, "It's hot, it's cold, it's crowded." bitch I know, I am standing here, shut the fuck up about it and don't add to the suffering. Buck up. PEPPA DOES NOT BUCK UP. EVER.

ANYWAY I LOATHE PEPPA GODDAMN PIG.

*No I don't spank my daughter but I would reconsider in Peppa's case.

[slycopersicum-in-disguise]

ABC: Sooooo.... Tim. Timothy. The Timster.

TIM: Yep?

ABC: What the fuck?

TIM: Ah, this is about yesterday's episode. Now hear me out, this story is going to go somewhere really interesting.

ABC: Eddie is going to hit rock bottom and finally let go of his misremembered idealised version of his marriage to Shannon, allowing him to finally move on to a healthy real relationship some day?

TIM: Oh you figured that out, huh.

ABC: As plot twists go it's not exactly at the level of "The Usual Suspects", Tim. It's barely "Peppa Pig Visits The Park". Wow, she ends up at the park, big shock. It's not Eddie's destination we're concerned about, it's the starting point.

TIM: The cheating thing?

ABC: Yes of course it's the cheating thing! Why did you think a misogynistic plotline wouldn't risk losing us a fuck load of viewers?

TIM: Hey! I am not misogynistic! I write empowered stories for strong female characters all the time!

ABC: Do you... do you genuinely think that just because you intend to write diverse stories, that means you are somehow the only person in the world free of cultural baggage? Oh my God, you do. This is worse than I thought.

TIM: I genuinely have no idea what you are talking about right now. Eddie's cheating story is not misogynistic, how could anyone see it that way? This is about Eddie's pain and Eddie's journey, it's not even about the women.

ABC: ....

TIM: Okay, I hear how that sounded...

ABC: Tim, a depressing proportion of the planet, and therefore of our audience, are women who's shitty ex-boyfriends have explained to her that he only cheated because he was going through a really hard time, and can't she see how painful this whole experience is for him? And those women are not going to like the story of two very nice lady characters being fucked around by a guy who's being an asshole, and then the nice lady characters disappearing because they are no longer useful to the plot, and then the story focusing on how sad fucking over those ladies made the man. And then the man having a better life as a consequence of fucking over those ladies. They will not like it one bit, Tim. And they won't write angry social media messages. They will just change the channel, like normal people, and watch one of the five thousand other procedurals that doesn't remind them of their shitty ex. And then, and I can't emphasise this enough Tim, they won't see our subtle product placement moments. That's bad, Tim. That's very bad.

TIM: That's.... that's not going to happen. Everyone is going to love this plot by the end of the season! Ryan agrees with me!

ABC: Ryan agreed with you that Eddie has a secret muscle car hidden somewhere. He is not the voice of wisdom that you think he is.

RYAN: Hi guys! Are we talking season 8? What if Eddie is secret painter?

[overthecl0uds]

💛☀️ Habits that help me in recovery ☀️💛

I watch a comfort show when I eat (The Big Bang Theory) or a kid's show (Peppa Pig, Bluey). It gets my mind off the food and the calories and it takes me back to simpler times 🎀

I keep my food in seperate containers or take off the labels. So I can't check the calories anymore. I put them away immediately after I bought them 🧸

After my grocery run, I immediately wash and cut my veggies and fruits. That way I have something healthy to snack on when I feel like it. Fruits and veggies are easier for me than sweets and candy sometimes 🪩

When I feel stressed or under pressure, I go for a run. It clears my head and I feel better about eating. I don't restrict myself anymore 🏵️

When I feel bad about my body, I draw on it with pens or water color. That helps me see that my body is indeed art 🪅

I practice self care, do my nails, skincare, take relaxing showers, journal, create pretty diary pages on canva, do my make up or do my hair and listen to some girlhood music (Taylor Swift, Meghan Trainor, Anne Marie, Demi Lovato, Selena Gomez,...) 🌱

[g5mlp]

Is there any info on G5’s performance financially? People have been saying it’s been doing poorly since 2021, but there hasn’t really been much evidence. There have been pictures and talk of stores getting rid of it through clearance sales and such, but I find that’s more regional thing; all of stores near me not only still carry MLP, but it rarely goes on clearance, too. To add onto the confusion, Hasbro themselves seems/claims to be confident and investing more money into G5. At the same time, they haven’t mentioned it in an quarterIy report since 2021. I don’t know what think. How do you personally think G5 is doing?

Hasbro has much bigger fish to fry, and they have been cutting costs for basically everything that they can. Wizards of the Coast is now the only part of Hasbro that isn't losing money and Hasbro still laid off lots of that division's staff in December 2023.

Because Hasbro is doing inventory reductions across all their franchises, and because a lot of people have switched to online shopping over the past decade, it's difficult to use anecdotal observations to judge MLP's success. There does seem to be a broad sentiment among MLP toy collectors that the franchise hasn't been doing as well.

The reason that MLP isn't mentioned in Hasbro's investor reports any more is primarily that in 2022 they changed their definition of "franchise brands" and started calling MLP a "portfolio brand" instead, reflecting that it was no longer one of Hasbro's seven biggest brands, but there could be any number of explanations for how that happened.

MLP's no longer been Hasbro's biggest "girl brand" since they got Peppa Pig in 2019.

MLP's growth was primarily because of Friendship Is Magic, and that growth mostly happened before 2015. (Hasbro avoids emphasizing revenue decreases, so that's probably why MLP's revenue wasn't mentioned as a dollar amount after 2015.)

The 2021 movie, My Little Pony: A New Generation, didn't have a properly measurable impact, because its originally-planned theatrical release was cancelled due to the pandemic.

Brian Goldner, who was Hasbro's CEO for about 13 years, died in 2021, and was replaced as CEO by Chris Cocks (yes, that's his real name). It's not clear if Cocks has made any good decisions yet.

It's obvious that both Hasbro and the MLP franchise have seen better days, at least financially, and Hasbro's level of investment into MLP has clearly been decreasing. However, the viral success of G4 isn't something that could be easily replicated, and G4 itself wasn't able to sustain its own viral or financial success. It would probably be fairer to compare G5 to other TV shows/toy lines based on standalone movies than to compare it to G4.