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Sherlockin 2. tuottarin merkeissä.


Joo, eka jakso ilmesty jo 1. päivä (siis Englannissa, Suomessa nähtäneen töllöstä joskus vuoden 2013 puolella [edit: ookoo, twitterin uusien tietojen mukaan näköjään 2012 kesällä, mutta SILTI siihen on liian kauan]), mutta meikäläinen vasta viime yönä, kun ei nukuttanut, jaksoi ladata kyseisen jakson ja katsoa sen netistä silmät verestäen.

Kannatti. <3

Hihittelin ja hykertelin ja päästin säälittäviä fanityttökiljahduksia, ja siinä jaksossa oli niiiiiin paljon kaikkea minkä tahtoisin jakaa kaikkien kanssa, jotta kellekään ei jäisi epäselväksi, miten upea sarja on kyseessä. ><

Ja kerronkin pätkiä sieltä ja täältä, joten spoilereita välttää haluavat, poistukoot nyt.

Ensinnäkin, vuoropuhelut oli aivan mahtavia monin paikoin. Kuten nyt tämä:

Sherlock: “Yes, punch me, in the face. Didn’t you hear me?”
John: “I always hear punch me in the face when you’re speaking, but it’s usually subtext.”

Tai sitten se, että jopa Irene shippaa Sherlockia ja Johnia:

Irene: “Does that make me special?”
John: “I don’t know, maybe.”
Irene: “Are you jealous?”
John: “We’re not a couple.”
Irene: “Yes, you are.”
John: ”For the record, if anyone out there still cares, I'm not actually gay.”
Irene: ”Well I am. Look at us both.”

Hahaaaaaaaaaaaaa kyllä.
Jos lesbo dominatrix voi rakastua mieheen, niin miksei sitten hetero armeijatohtorikin...? ;D

Plus kaikki muut upeat kohdat mitä kyseisessä jaksossa oli. Kuten joulun vietto Baker Streetillä ja se seikka, että Lestradekin oli siellä (joulu on perhejuhla, mutta tämä se hengailee "sosiopaatin" kämpillä mieluummin, outoa siitä huolimatta, että onkin riitaa muijan kanssa o_O), ja se miten Sherlock soittaa viululla joululauluja ja kaikki nggggh. >> <<

Ja se miten KUKAAN EI SATUTA MRS HUDSONIA tai lentää alas toisen kerroksen ikkunasta. <3

Ja se miten Lestrade, tunnollinen poliisi, kysyy pokkana tämän tapahtuman jälkimainingeissa: "Exactly how many times did he fall out the window?" 8D

Ja se miten oblivious Sherlock on, mitä tulee flirttailuun. Sille voi ehdotella mitä vaan ja ei mene perille. Lähestulkoon tähän malliin:

ja paras:
Ja joku joka ei jostain syystä tajua viimeistä, katsokoon tämän pätkän:

XDDD

Ainut mitä mulla oikeastaan on huonoa sanottavaa, liittyy Mycroftiin ja sen vittuiluun Sherlockille. Joo joo, Sherlock on neitsyt. So what?! Tukehdu sateenvarjoosi, paskiainen. Osakkeesi laskivat ja pysyvästi. D:<

Nyt pitäs varmaan seuraavaks ottaa työn alle seuraava jakso.

Ja odottaa itku kurkussa tuottarin kolmatta ja viimeistä. T^T


Siinä kaikki tältä erää.

day 23| mitä ulkonäössäsi on eniten kehuttu
day 24| mitä harrastat/aiot harrastaa
day 25| jokin mitä kammoat
day 26| joku jota ihailet
day 27| ensimmäinen kuva googlesta sukunimestäsi
day 28| toive ammattisi
day 29| huonoin näkemäsi elokuva

Tämän leffan (Beat) jos minkä tahdon nähdä. ♥

Älkää kysykö mitä on tapahtunut kammolleni karvaisia miehiä kohtaan. Jostain syystä se kammo ei päde, mitä tulee Pansy Boy Kiifferiin. :'D

^w^

*squeee!*

Että ihan hyvin on viikonloppu menny.... :DDD Ens viikonlopuks mulle saa keksii parempaa tekemistä, kitoooos! ^^

Neljä Word-sivullista kaikensorttista masentavuutta eri fandomeista.

~~~

The people around him were all alien. He felt like he had been cracked into a million pieces but had been glued together again. He didn't want to be stuck together anymore, he wanted to fall apart.

The stupidest part of all was that some tiny little part of him wanted to cry and he didn´t know why.

The thought actually made him laugh, but by the time he'd had some considerable amusement, tears were running down his cheeks, and he was too sad to remember the joke.

The stone beneath his fingers was cool and smooth, and he was arguing with himself, and he didn't even remember what the argument was about.
(Bond by Anna Fugazzi)

Pity is such a remorseless, wrenching thing. Something you offer when you see something weak, and cannot summon up the energy for contempt. Something so far away from love.
(Underwater Light by Maya)

Harry was incredibly tired. Not the sort of tired that was 'I need to sleep. I can't keep my eyes open.' but more like 'I don't want to be here anymore. I don't think I can stand to keep my eyes open without them welling up with tears.'
(Beautiful World by Cinnemon)

The boy's grey eyes were so sad and Harry's mind informed him that it was not fair, no one as young as them should have that look in their eyes. The thing was he had seen it before, he saw it every day when he looked in the mirror.
(Gold Tinted Spectacles by Beren (aka Didi))

"I'm perfectly fine," he said firmly, refusing to acknowledge the tears that were making their way down his cheeks.
He wished he didn't feel so very cold.
(Absolution by Rushlight)

He thinks bleeding is a lot like flying. Every time, he bleeds a little more and makes sure none of it lands on his crisp white sheets. More than once he notices that the blood matches the red duvet on his bed. Ironic, really, he thinks as a few drops disappear and converge with the blanket. Sometimes he heals the wounds but other times he lets them heal naturally; scar his skin. He likes to look at them. They bring him happiness and a little bit of pain.
(Book of Shadows by Lux)

Usually it's nothing but Harry likes to pretend that someone would come looking for him if he did disappear. As much as he wants to be left alone, he also likes to dream about someone caring about him and looking for him. It feels insane to him that he's so indecisive about his feelings.
(Book of Shadows by Lux)

He hurts himself because there's no one else to do it. He never thought that he would like pain so much. But maybe it's not the pain that is so fulfilling, maybe it's that he does it. He does it to himself. He can stop when he wants, he can whisper the safe-word when it becomes too much for him. At the same time, though, he doesn't know when to stop and he doesn't know what the safe-word is.
(Book of Shadows by Lux)

"I'm not insane," he whispers. "Crazy, perhaps, but insanity can only be proclaimed by a court of law." He begins to laugh and laughing feels so right so he keeps doing it until he thinks that maybe he is insane.
(Book of Shadows by Lux)

Every evening I would look into those empty eyes, wondering if he could hear me, if he simply was unable to react or so withdrawn into himself that it did not matter at all whether or not I was here.
Every evening I would feel myself die a little more.
(To Regain Lost Time by lordhellebore)

And, most of all, happiness was seeing the shadow of a smile on the lips of a man who probably did not even know that he was smiling, or why. Sometimes, I allowed myself to imagine that he smiled because of me.
(To Regain Lost Time by lordhellebore)

Harry wants to say, 'can't you see the darkness in the cracks of the wall, under the doorstep?' He can't. He sits down at a checked tablecloth and eats apple pie that tastes of dust and ashes.
(Black Story by Jay Tryfanstone)

Draco wishes illusions didn't have to be shattered before you could grow up and start being real.
(Broken Down by halfofme)

"What were you dreaming about, I wonder?"
Dreaming...
No. No.
Something inside Harry seemed to crack open at the question, sucking the last of his soul away.
(A Fracture of the Mind's Eye by Rushlight)

He shivers and curls up further into the corner. Maybe he'll be lucky and freeze to death, they won't find him for a week and it'll be okay.
(As Children Often Do by Lux)

They were all just dolls at a tea party, animated by psychopathic children who forced words in their mouths and made them dance to whatever tune they chose, and when the game was over they were thrown in the corner, dirty, broken, unloved; forgotten.
(The Playroom)

I'm doing this for a purpose, but sometimes at night the agony overwhelms me, and I find myself kneeling pathetically on the hard flagstones, wishing there was a higher power I could pray to, someone to ask for forgiveness.
(Dragonweed by Penguin)

Tobias lifted his eyes and scanned his own personal hell. Not one willing to stop what they knew was happening. Not one. Tobias wondered fleetingly whether if he cried out to God, God would have don't involve me plastered on his fucking forehead, too.
(Cat and Mouse at lovethatdares.com)

"Will you hold my hand in there?" Davey asked. "I don't want to die alone."
(Auschwitz: Finding Love In Hell. by IceAngel)

Robin turns back towards him. "Nice."
Wilson smiles, attempting to look at ease, and gives a mild shrug. "It'll do."
The story of my life, he thinks bitterly.
(Reverberation by cryptictac)

"I finally came up with an answer to my own question."
"Question, what question?"
"Am I happy. I know the answer."
"Where are you?"
"I'm not happy."
"Where. Are. You?"
"I'm not happy and I never really have been. I've just been putting up, playing with masks, trying to find one to suit me. But I couldn't. Do you know why?"
"I'm not kidding.."
"Neither am I. I couldn't find a mask because masks aren't real, and I'm real. I am."

In his dreams, Donnie doesn't think at all. He just takes Frank's blank slate of a face in his hands and presses it to his. Closes his eyes and kisses that regretful mouth and doesn't think about the fact that he can taste blood.
(He Dreams)

Davey reached his hand up and touched it to Adam's cheek for comfort. He really didn't know what to say to him to make him feel better because everything that people said to those that were losing loved ones were just polite statements because in reality there really was nothing you could say to take the pain away or make a loss hurt less.
(Permanent by Havoksangel)

He felt empty now. He no longer wanted to get out of here. Now he wanted more than anything to be seen. He wanted someone to notice him and hold him like the secretary had done, tell him that it would be all right. That he wasn't alone. That maybe he even mattered.
(Days Before You Came by Trillie)

He could taste himself as they savoured him, not just his anatomy but his thoughts, his feelings, and his panic tasted like battery acid.
(Days Before You Came by Trillie)

Jade laid the rose down gently next to Hunter's pale hand, wiping tears away from his eyes furiously.
"Be careful of the thorns," Jade whispered, voice cracking as he stood up abruptly. "I know you've always loved roses, but you've got to look out for the thorns."
(But you promised me by scarredsodeep)

“I wonder what she’ll do when you realize you can’t run from yourself anymore. When you can’t keep up with this lie anymore. You know you will. You live in fear of that fact. You’ve gotten yourself so deep in your denial that you’re drowning in it. And God knows I won’t be the one to save you this time.”
(Lies by sparkinside)

He figured out a long time ago that he would always be stuck in a box, clawing at the walls to try and break free as everyone around him watched in disappointment.
(Definitions by Maj)

It was that someone could live this way, and never once show any signs that they were suffering. That someone could endure this sort of existence, and still smile at the rest of the world, still laugh at the rest of the world, feeling completely hollow and empty, never knowing what it was like to smile and really mean it.

Finally he just kept going, almost like a violinist swiping his bow across the instrument, playing a lovely, pretty tune. Yet Jade was no artist, and there was no music. There was nothing beautiful about this. It was ugly. Just as he was.

It only made him hate himself that much more. That his pain and insecurities were so visible, letting others know immediately that he was not worth the effort, and had never been worth the effort.

What do they want from him? What is it that he’s apparently supposed to be doing, because he had always thought that he was trying? Short of slitting his wrists and telling everyone around him to drink, to take every drop of him into themselves until there is nothing left of him, he’s not sure what else he can do. He’s not sure if there’s anything left of him to take.
(Mahlus Gardens by Maj)

Everyone thinks he’s nothing but a liar, a fake, when he’s not. Sometimes he just wants to stand before them and rip his own heart out, hold it out to them so they can see every beat, every twitch, that way they would know that he does have a heart. That he does feel.

He can feel that his body is on the verge of betraying him, but yet he cannot find the motivation to do what he needs to do to protect it, to nourish it.
It is somewhat difficult to find a reason to take care of himself, though, when there is nothing to look forward to, in general.

He is reminded of his most fatal flaw of all; his sensitivity to the things that have not personally happened to him. He has been slighted, tossed around, burned more times than he can count, yet it is the things like abandoned parks that sits heavily on his heart. It is the things such as empty swing sets and dry, brittle leaves that brings tears to his eyes, that makes him weep for so much loss and rejection.
You don’t have a heart, he’s been told several times before. You care for nothing. You feel nothing.
That isn’t true. He’s just missing that spark, that remote part of the brain that allows connection to the living and the breathing.
He cares. Just about the wrong things.

A suspicion clicks into place, he thinks shit, Tosh, and starts stroking her hair.
“It will all be ok,” he whispers, and for one horrible moment, he can’t remember who he’s talking to.
(That Old Black Magic by paperclipbitch)