#bags etcetera

[trendinbags01]

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[justicecaballer]

i love watching a movie and enjoying it and then going to rotten tomatoes to see people write reviews that are so devoid of reading comprehension its like did we even watch the same film

[wellnesscard]

ive run out of all my usual sandalwood bergamot patchouli type oils so now im mixing clove bud peppermint eucalyptus and tea tree together to get that sweet ass apothecary scent. kind of reminds me of my grandpa, if you added leather

[jonesthebonelord]

I could fucking do it. I think.

I CANT FUCKING DO IT

[gnomewithalaptop]

Call me a macaroni portrait the way I'm about to come completely unglued

[sweetnans]

Pairing: f.reader/bakugo

t.warning: angst? war flashbacks and fluff

a/n: I'm sorry if I misspelled something. My hand hurts. Enjoy 💖

He be goddammed. Mina had asked specifically for a comic book to give Denki for his birthday, and none of the dumbasses on the squad have found it. So here he is, entering in the twelveth bookstore on his day off. Bakugo couldn't believe his position right now. The last time he had a day off was like ages ago, and now he has to find a stupid book for one of his friends.

He walked in with his usual scowl, looking for the labeled shelf with all the colorful spines highlighting above the bored ones.

The bookstore was empty. He was about to give up on his search when the building appeared on his way back home. It was a tiny store, cozy and brown. All shelves were made of wood, and the sitting area was no different. Brown chairs varnished with fluffy blankets on top. It was like a fairy forest magical paradise kind of shit. He liked the quietness.

"Hey, welcome! How may I help you?" The girl behind the desk spoke out of nothing, putting him in defense mode. He couldn't help it. He is a heroe, after all.

He saw the girl rising his hands in surrender with a comical smile on her face.

"Calm down, I'm only trying to help you," you said, putting your book down in a very slow movement.

"Shit, sorry" he apologized.

He couldn't help but notice how the smile on your face shifted to a weird look, scanning him from tip to toe.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" You tapped your chin while bending over your desk to have a better look on the man who was in front of you.

"Probably from the screen or magazines" He said nonchalantly. He was used to this kinda stuff.

"Mm yeah maybe" you were unsure about that. "So, what are you looking for?"

"Im looking for a comic book." He looked at you while you walked to the comics shelf, and he followed when he noticed that had no other information."It's a special edition, I haven't found it yet, and I'm starting to think that's not in stock"

"Just a few people have found this place, it's not even in the google map, so you have the odds to find it here, I like to keep my stock updated" you said, looking at him. God, where have you seen him? How could you forget such a guy like him?

While Bakugo kept searching the famous comic book on the giant shelf, you tried to search in your mind the sight of him.

"You told me that I could have seen you on magazines. Are you a hero, perhaps?"

Bakugo stopped his search in a bit. He wasn't full of himself like when he was younger, but it was difficult to believe that someone didn't recognize him.

"Yeah, I am"

The look on your face didn't change with realization like he expected. Your facade was even more puzzled than before.

You kept silent trying to think. You found Bakugo particularly special. He had features that weren't easy to forget, so why were you so confused?

"GOT IT!" The two of you screamed at the same time, sharing a look. Bakugo was confused, and you were extremely excited.

You two walked to the register, and he lent you the book he was holding.

"May I ask what you got?" He asked secretly, praying that you would give away the information.

"Oh yeah sorry, I remembered you" you scanned the code and put the book on a paper bag.

"Is that so?" Bakugo wasn't sure if you had like a dementia or a memory problem.

"Yeah" you simply said, "Also, you will love this book, it's so good" you said holding the bag to him after he paid.

"Have you read it?" He was curious. You didn't seem the type of girl fan of comics.

"Yes, I just did"

He would be amazed if he didn't live in society based on quirks. It was odd in the society working on a thing that wasn't related to the individual's quirk.

"How does it work?" Bakugo asked because he found that he liked the quietness your bookstore provided. He didn't want to leave.

"When I touch the book, I just know everything about it, the storyline, the plot, etcetera. It's pretty helpful. it works with people too, " you explained to him.

"That's pretty cool," he said, giving it a moment. "Wait, people? That would be pretty useful. Have you ever thought about working with the police? Or the Pro's?

You sighed with a smile on your face. He was getting used to your mannerisms.

"I worked with them for a while..." You intertwined your fingers above the counter. "When the war started, I was assigned to the special identification unit"

"I never heard of it." When the war started He was so busy fighting and being injured to notice anything else. "What was your job there?"

"I was in charge of the identification of dead and destroyed bodies"

Bakugo was shocked even if his face didn't give it away. You were about his age. He sympathized with you because he lived the same shit that you lived, the same trauma, watching people die and suffer in a different perspective.

"That's...-" He didn't know what to say.

"I know..., they pulled me out of the school to make me help them". It was raw, but the war made its havocs to everyone.

"So you were in the field..."

"Yeah, right after the heroes fought, we used to get the call and head to the battlefield"

"Why did you quit?"

You doubted. Maybe he wasn't ready for the upcoming truth...maybe he didn't even know what happened.

"You know, it all changed when I went to this battlefield. It was one of the last fights that occurred during the war. A lot of people were injured, some of them dead, some of them presumed to be dead...I was so excited when I remembered you because I never got the chance to thank you"

He was stunned. When you made a mention about him, his world stopped its rotation. You really knew him? Like outside the press?

"Thank me about what?" He asked curious.

"Your life vision," you said in a calm way. He didn't understand. "Fights and battles move out faster than you think, sometimes they're fighting in the sky, and then they're on the ground, so me and my team had to be quick following the main focus of them. I was looking for injured people to send them to the EMTs when I found you. I remember holding you in my arms. Your face was destroyed, and there was blood everywhere. I saw who you were, your failures, your accomplishments, your friends, your life, and it amazed me. You were just a kid fighting for the grown-up mistakes, but you liked it. You were devoted to your dreams. I never felt that while working with the police. " You stopped for a bit to breathe again. You couldn't look Bakugo to his eyes. "When I touch a corpse, I see everything in a gray hue, every memory fading away. It's sad. You were in my arms when that gray hue started to change to a bright and the most precious tone of orange and red, you were alive, I've never seen something like that before. I was, god, I didn't even know how to put it in words. I remember crying and thinking that it would be a chance for you to pursue your dreams. It wasn't over for you like it was for the other people I attended. Other colors started to appear as well. I felt your chest move again, and I took you to the EMTs. You were the most beautiful vision I saw during the war. You made me realize that i didn't want to watch other peoples crushed dreams. I wanted to live my own, you had your chance, I wanted a chance too, a chance far away from the sadness and catastrophe"

He kept himself quiet. For the first time in many years, he was out of words.

"This is head spinning, I don't know what to say." He was overwhelmed with everything you've said. He was well aware that someone must've saved him, but he never thought that he was presumed dead when it happened.

"Don't get me wrong, I feel like I did my duty as a citizen, and I'll do it again if they need me, but it was devastating touch those bodies and realize that there were people waiting for them at home or that they had kids that they never will be able to see grow up. I haven't done my peace with the war yet"

"I remember being carried to the ambulance. Was that you?" That was the first memory he had after he woke up. It was a blury one like those memories you don't know if they're real or not.

"Yeah, you were such a heavy lift. No offense, " you giggle a little.

"Not taken, how old were you?" Bakugo scratched the back of his neck, trying to assemble every piece of information.

"I was eighteen at that time. You were sixteen, i think, a major pain in the ass for what i saw. Before you woke up i was upset for you, the people you had around really loved you and cared about you, it was unfair and i started to feel guilty about the lives they would never be able to have, yours included"

"Dont be hard on yourself. It wasn't your fault. I was fighting for the grown-up mistakes, but you were definitely living the consequences of them"

The silence between you two was absolutely necessary. You dreamed about this day, you weren't looking forward to it, you didn't do your research or bother to look for him but it was happening. Bakugo couldn't piece the information right. You saved him. He didn't remember much of it, but he knew that someone, a girl, took him to the ambulance, but until a few hours ago, it was just a thought that appeared in his lonely nights. Now you were in front of him, sharing a crucial part of yourself and himself aligned.

"Fuck" That was the first thing he came up with. It was the perfect word to describe how he felt.

"Same," you said. You weren't sure how to feel either. You let it all out, and you were happy that He was alive. "Did you fulfill your dreams?"

He put a weird look that had you regretting your question.

"I'm the number two pro hero in Japan," You covered your face with your hands in absolute shame and laughed.

"I'm so sorry, I don't watch TV or anything." He smiled as well. Your laugh was contagious enough to make him smile. "I'm happy to see you alive"

You were cute. When he first saw you, he thought to himself that something, outside everything he had known, was pulling him to you, like an invisible string or something. You saved his life, and he didn't even attempt to find you sooner. He couldn't let you go.

"My friend's birthday is this saturday," he started. "I know it's not like a proper date or something, but if you don't have any plans or a boyfriend or something like-

Most of the time, he didn't get that nervous, but you were there, standing in front of him, looking at him with perfect eyes and trying to hide your smile.

"I'd love to," you answered before he could say anything else. He felt relieved for the interruption and for you saying yes.

"Good," he watched while you scribbled down your number in a paper.

You put the paper on his hand, and even though he was skeptical, most of the time, he would've swear that he felt a sort of electricity running up and down his spine.

"There you go," you said, batting slightly your lashes at him.

He felt weird. He didn't want this encounter to end. He wanted to tell you a lot of things. He wanted to vent about his life. He wanted to make you a part of him.

"Fuck the party" he muttered. "Are you free? Like right now? Let me buy you a coffee."

He was desperate.

"Let me think about it," you tapped your chin jokingly. "Help me close this thing, and I'm all yours"

The air that he was holding left his lungs. He didn't think that he was being impulsive with all this. He just knew that you were something that was meant to happen, but he never thought that he would have a second chance to meet you again.

Do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere! All rights reserved.

[lowkeyrobin]

Could I request, what dating sparrow!ben hargreeves would be living a peaceful life possible after season 4 (let’s pretend like it never happened) preference or one shot (you decide)

Peaceful life- like the plans he said to Jennifer in the car, moving away, etcetera

P.s I loveeeeeee your tua and descendants writing keep up the amazing work 🫶🏻🫶🏻



aweee stop this is so cute 💔💔💔 ; also yes went for hc cause no way am I figuring out how to oneshot that shit ; also thank you 🫶🫶 I appreciate it lol ; also if there's supposed to be an anon emoji down there I can't see it 💀💀 it's just an [obj] box, prob cause I have an android and we don't have the same emojis as iphones n shit lmao ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy! ; ps idk why I couldn't find that scene so I just kinda made some shit up lmfao

SPARROW! BEN ; runaways

summary ; your perfect life after running away with Ben except it doesn't end the world

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; no jail time for Ben / no s4 at all ig, reader isn't a brellie but refers to them as siblings + as kind of like an add on to them like lila

word count ; 363

masterlist

you and ben, after falling in love during the s3 era, decided you should just run away together

he'd taken a fond liking of you considering you were both so oddly peaceful when it came to just the two of you

the wedding at the end of the world really solidified it

and then you made out!

but after resetting the timeline and losing your powers, there was nothing to really stick around for

considering you wiped out all the marigold and sloane had disappeared (considering she would've never been born or was erased somehow) and your siblings had all gone off to live their lives, it was time you did too

you only knew Ben for like two weeks before you actually fell for each other so learning about one another was really fun

you packed up your bags (or what remained of them) and headed to wherever the back roads could take you

in the car you learned about each other's music taste and your hobbies, and all the sights you wanted to see around the world

the road took you to south carolina

you stayed on the beach for a week and it was honestly really nice

thank god you were able to steal thousands from sparrow-reggies secret stash lol

there you discovered Ben's hatred for water...

but after a week or so you packed up again and headed west

you drove around the country for about three years just sightseeing and living the most you could considering the two of you never really saw anything outside of home

but after a while, you had to settle down somewhere and make a proper life for yourselves

you both craved to be normal people, to pay bills and taxes and hold down jobs, maybe even make a family, as fucked as it was

I mean, trillionaires son moves to the middle of nowhere to live like a normal person? kinda crazy

you built a house on some old farmland on the outskirts of a little town, surrounded by forest and acres of empty land

you call around the family every once in a while, wanting to know how they're doing and what they're up to

ben couldn't really care tho, he only rlly cares for you, the others weirded him out

you couldn't blame him tho since he barely knew them and they knew a different version of him

when you're on the phone, head tilted as both hands are occupied by biscuit mix that you were mixing up, he stands by you with a soft smile on his face, helping you morph them into balls and put them on the tray

think a 90s type of house, very brown, window seats, etc

you live such a sweet ass life man

you sit on the front porch swing and drink coffee while you watch the sunrise

and in winter you cuddle up by the fireplace and watch shitty hallmark movies

you even started a YouTube channel for shits and giggles where you watch awful movies on cable TV and commentate over them because it's funny

you have a calico cat named sorbet

you have a strawberry garden in the backyard that surrounds the porch

and you go out to eat every friday

so many hugs from behind from the other when one is cooking

sweet kisses on the temple as well

so cavity causing sweet

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Preparing for Battle

Summary: It's that time of the month, but Jensen's ready to battle with you.

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Reader (You)

Warnings: None. Fluff. Jensen comfort. Implied smut.

Word Count: 616

A/N: So, I got this sort of request from a dear, sweet anon who I always love to see in my inbox. But she's ailing a bit because being a woman sucks sometimes. So, I wrote something that I hope will comfort and cheer her. ❤️ I wrote it pretty quick so it could get out to her, so sorry for all the likely mistakes.

A/N 2: Also, of course, as always this is a Jensen from within the multiverse who is single. This is a complete and utter work of fiction.

“Hey.” Jensen’s voice was soft and questioning as he came into your bedroom to see you sitting up in bed and crying.

He sat on the side of the bed, facing you, and noticed you were looking at your phone. He used his knuckle to brush a tear from your cheek. 

“Baby what’s wrong?”

He tried to see what was on your phone, so you showed it to him and he pressed play on the video you’d been watching. After viewing it for a minute he shook his head and looked at you. 

“Period started?” He asked. 

You nodded. “This morning.” You said with a sniffle. 

Jensen shut off your phone and hid it under your pillow. “Sweetheart, you know better than to watch ‘soldiers coming home to their dogs’ videos when you’re on your period. They make you cry at the best of times.”

You brushed your tears away. “It’s just proof, you know, of how pure their little puppy souls are.” The tears started again in earnest and Jensen reached over to grab you a tissue.

As you blew your nose, he kissed your forehead. “Okay, well I’m off work for the next few days, so be prepared for pampering.”

You shook your head. “Jensen, you don’t have to do that. You’re home to relax after working for two weeks straight, I don’t want you to-”

He cut you off and jumped up from the bed. “Nope, too late.I’ll be back in under twenty minutes.”

And like a flash he was gone, leaving you slightly flummoxed. 

True to his word he was back fifteen minutes later, hauling four overloaded bags into the bedroom. His smile was broad and happy. He began plucking things out of the bags and tossing them onto the bed.

“Okay, I got…chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.”

Every brand of chocolate bar, some with nuts, some with caramel, some with nougat, landed unceremoniously on top of the blanket.

He continued, pulling out a heating pad. He lifted it up. “A new one of these bad boys because the ancient one you inherited from your mom is bound to burn the house down one of these days.” He dropped it and dug into the next bag.

“Chips! Etcetera.” He said, pulling out a ridiculous amount of salty snacks, including pretzels and popcorn. He brought out a six pack of ginger ale. “For the nausea. Ooh!” 

He raised his finger and then dug in another bag, taking out two boxes of Midol. “But also this, for all the other shit that comes along with mean Aunt Flo.”

You giggled. “Aunt Flo?” 

He grinned and shrugged. “That’s what the women in my family called it.”

He finished emptying the bags, adding gummy bears and worms, chamomile tea, trashy magazines and 2 quarts of ice cream to the pile surrounding you. 

Then from the inside pocket of his jacket he pulled out a little paper bag, and inside were two small bottles of massage oil. He held them up and gave them a little shake. 

“Also, apparently massage is supposed to be very helpful.”

He brought them over and set them on the table beside the bed. He slipped out of his jacket, tossing it over the chair in the corner, and you sighed, admiring the way his black t-shirt clung to his broad shoulders, and pulled tight across his biceps.

Sitting down on the side of the bed again, he leaned forward and kissed you slowly. You let out a small whimper and Jensen moaned lightly and pulled back, letting his forehead rest against yours and speaking roughly.

“Apparently orgasms also work really well on cramps.” 

You laughed breathlessly. “Well, put away the ice cream and let's find out.”

Tags under the cut.

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused @jzackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma @luvr4miya

@arcannaa @viviwatchestv @winharry @ladysparkles78 @kr804573

@whimsyfinny @lastcallatrockysbar @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7

@hobby27 @waywardcheshire @libby99hb @k-slla @leigh70

@eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

@stoneyggirl2 @fanfic-n-tabulous @traiitorjoe @nancymcl

[princesssmars]

practical magick

a stiles stilinski x witch!reader

plot : just when stiles thought he had gotten used to the dramatics of the supernatual, he happens across you performing magic in the forest. when you fail to wipe his memory, his thursday afternoon gets a whole lot weirder.

wc : 4.678

contains : sfw. kissing at the end. the picture for look inspo is fair-skinned but the reader's skin color is not described! reader has hair! google translated latin sorry 😞i like my men loserish and obsessed sorry.

a/n : yasss a little halloween special. rewatching teen wolf for the third time bc idfk. is it obvious i love witch!reader's yet.

for the first time in over a decade, stiles stilinksi was bored out of his mind.

he had previously thought that given his adhd gave him a deep desire to be doing literally anything all the time that the word bored wouldn't enter his daily vocabulary until he died.

yet here he is, kicking his feet at the dead leaves on the ground as he searched for any hidden traces of wolfsbane. the only reasons this had even happened was because he had opened his big mouth too many times and was sent on a busy quest by deaton, to "make sure the surrounding areas were safe for werewolves."

just reminding himself of what led him here was enough to tick him off again. it wasn't like the past two years have been easy, being under the constant threat of werewolves, werewolf hunters, kanimas, etcetera etcetera. it was enough to stress out the most stable of adults, and stiles was the direct opposite of that, so of course he got nervous and started talking over people and pissing them off.

"stupid wolfsbane, stupid werewolves," he mumbles, kicking at more of the dead brown leaves on the forest floor, tearing a line of the familiar purple plant up from the ground and stuffing it into the brown sack in his other hand. once he was done it was likely it would either be tucked in jars in deaton's stash or burned. he wouldn't mind seeing the latter.

its another twenty moments of grumbling and scavenging before a sound in the distance stops him in his tracks. he stands still, making sure that he barely breathes before he relaxes, figuring his anger and memories are making him paranoid of the woods.

a minute later he wishes his mind was playing tricks on him, because he nears the noise again, but this this its louder.

"its closer," he thinks.

he barely even registers when his legs start running. he may have a bag full of wolfsbane, but there was no guarantee the threat was something the plant could harm. and he didn't feel like tempting fate today.

at this point he's slightly lost his direction, but when he passes the stunted redwood stump he and scott carved their names into during the fifth grade he starts to understand where he is, and as his heart beats in his hears he knows if he turns right here he'll come up onto the old willow tree-

in the span of ten seconds he smacks head on into a hard object, falling on his ass and gasping as the air is knocked from his lungs. he blinks quickly to try to rid of the black spots in his vision, and before he can comprehend it he's making eye contact with you.

he's slightly embarrassed that the first thought that races across his mind is how pretty you are. he knows he should be wary of you, but he can't help it. your hair is a rich (h/c), seeming to almost shine despite the sun being blocked by clouds. your skin is smooth and your eyes are gorgeous and big and still staring straight at him.

you both rush to stand up. he holds his hands out in a way that you would calm a wild animal, hoping it doesn't piss you off.

you continue to stare at him. which isn't helping calm down his racing pulse.

"uh, alright. look, i'm not gonna hurt you, alright? i'm just...looking for something..."

before he can finish his sentence, you raise your hands to cup the sides of his face. his words die in his mouth and he feels his cheeks warm up to the point he's surprised they haven't burned your palms. you look determined, and for a second he feels like he's gone to heaven

"convertere et perge quid agas. oblivisceris quid hic vidisti."

turn around and continue what you're doing. you will forget what you saw here.

his mouth opens and his brows scrunch in shock. he never thought those latin lessons he took online and with lydia would pay off, but he's really glad he did them now.

he considers doing what you said, just turning around and forgetting all about this encounter. but unfortunately his curiosity is getting the better of him, and if his suspicions are correct he needs to know more about you.

"i'm gonna guess you just tried to put a spell on me, right?"

your eyes widen so largely he's afraid they're going to pop out of your skull.

"i..i don't understand, that should have worked. are you a warlock? druid?"

"no, no. i'm just stiles." he tells. his guess that you were something supernatural is partially confirmed, since you know about druids and the whole tried to put a spell on him thing.

"well, stiles, unless you tell me why my spell didn't work on you i'm most likely going to have to kill you." you deadpan.

he thinks you're kidding so he eta out a strained laugh. you don't even twitch.

he wracks his brain for a good enough excuse that will save his life before his arm moves without command and thrusts the bag in your direction.

"well, i have a uh, a bag full of wolfsbane, if that matters at all. pretty sure it does since…yeah…wolfsbane”

yours eyes dart from him to the bag, most likely not trusting that their isn’t some insta-death powder that will pop out as soon as you open it, so he looses his thumbs grip and steps closer so you can see the purple herbs inside.

“hate to admit it but you’re right,” you sigh, pushing back some hair from your face. his eyes follow the movement before darting back to yours.“ that much wolfsbane would make most supernatural or magical doings wonky.”

"yes, yes! exactly. that makes sense. im sorry about that-"

"why would you even have that much wolfsbane anyway? are you a hunter?"

"what? no, no! im not, i swear to you im not a hunter. i can explain this, really i can." he nearly chokes on his words at the speed he speaks.

you stare at him for a few seconds more before crossing your arms over your chest, hopefully about to let him explain why he has a bag filled to the brim with a dangerous plant on a random afternoon.

when you start to walk directly past him into the forest he doesn’t think he’s ever been more confused.

"fine. you can explain it on the way back.”

he’s as still as a statue as he process your words. you just accused him of being a hunter and now you want him to follow you to whatever mysterious place your going? even for him this is weird, and he’s ten seconds from refusing-

“hurry up.”

he rushes to catch up behind you.

after around twenty minutes of stiles repeatedly asking where you were going followed by silence on your end, you finally reach a clearing in the woods filled by a large victorian-era house, fully black with large looming windows lit up by warm golden lighting coming from inside. there's a nearly fully glass sunroom/greenhouse on the right side, and he can see from here the varying flowers and plants that fill the room. he wants to ask how a house like this could be kept under wraps from the rest of the town, but then he remembers.

magic, duh.

you lead him through the threshold of the home and down a hallway until you arrive in what must be your living room, not giving him a chance to admire the room before you're pushing on his shoulders so he sits in a loveseat, taking your own seat across from him. your legs spread and you rest your elbows on your knees as you glare at him, causing him to shift in his seat.

"why are you carrying a bag full of wolfsbane?"

"my friend's boss, deaton. he asked me to pick up any wolfsbane in the woods to make it safer for them when they do the whole wolfing out thing."

"deaton's working with werewolves again? does he have a death wish?" your brow raises in confusion, he notes how the fingers on your right-hand scratch at the skin on your right.

"i'll be honest, you're kind of creeping me out."

"thank you. why is he doing it?"

"my friend, scott. he's a werewolf. and so are our friends erica and boyd. and derek and his weird uncle peter-"

"the fucking hale's are back? are you kidding?" a scoff leaves you and you get up out of your chair, starting to pace back and forth in front of his chair.

"yeah, it was this whole thing with peter being evil and killing his niece, and he turned scott but scott thought it was derek who turned him. it was a whole thing. not to mention how peter came back from the dead-"

you continue to walk around the room while occasionally pausing to pay attention as the boy details the events that have happened in the past year. despite you being a stranger it felt oddly cathartic to vent about everything that had happened to him. admitting to the countless times he felt scared out of his mind but had to stay strong lest his enemies take advantage of it.

"that's a lot for a normal human to go through in just a year with no prior knowledge of the supernatural. i'm surprised your brain didn't implode from the stress."

he blinks. "thanks. i guess."

"you're welcome. i'm going to make some tea. stay here," you say, moving from standing across from him to heading to a room near the side of the room, able to faintly see some dark counters and pots and herbs hanging from the ceiling, "not like you'd be able to leave anyway."

that's reassuring, stiles thinks to himself, bouncing his leg up and down where he sits. after a minute he figures you won’t kill him horrendously if hes looks around a bit, so he gets up and starts observing the countless pictures on the walls. some are old, like the people in them are wearing outfits from a few hundred years ago, while some are colored and recent. in most of the recent ones, you’re with three older women who look just as dark but ethereal as you do.

he continues looking at some pictures and hung-up trinkets when you come back into the room with two cups of tea, handing one with a smile to the wary boy with a halfhearted promise that it’s “totally not poisoned.”

“can i ask you a question?” he asks, sipping at his tea after he discovers it’s not poisoned and actually really good. he was never really fond of tea, always preferring coffee or energy drinks when he was in a low-energy period. he remembers his mom liked chamomile tea.

“you just did. but go ahead.”

“why would you let me in here? you could have just questioned me at the willow tree, you didn’t have to let me into your house. not that i don’t like your house. i like the whole victorian gothic vibe.”

you don’t answer for a solid minute, slowly drinking from your cup as you stare into the lite fireplace.

“witches pride ourselves on our knowledge. to be aware of our abilities and surroundings at all times to best stimulate our growth. and as much as i’d like to be this powerhouse who could take down any threat, i know i’m not. if you actually were powerful and i tried to take you on myself? who knows what would happen.”

“and i’m guessing that magical barrier around the house would protect you in case i really did try anything?” he gently asks, not wanting to talk too loudly to distract you from opening up to him.

“exactly. plus if you tried anything my aunts probably would have put a curse on you and your loved ones. something not too flashy to attract attention, but enough to cause great suffering.” he notices your soft sigh when you stop talking, almost like you’re disappointed you won’t get to see this suffering play out.

“plus it’s better to know where your talents excel,” you continue, setting your cup down on a skull patterned coaster on the coffee table in front of you. “i’ve always been better at using my magic to investigate my surroundings. helps to find materials or signs of psychos roaming around.”

something you two have in common. it makes his mouth quirk up.

“so, the werewolves and all the other things being back in town, that’s a problem for you and your aunts, right?”

“yup. if it was just werewolves it’d be normal for beacon hills, but kanimas and a whole pack of alphas? who knows how much that can disrupt the natural balance and what more they’ll bring.”

he thinks over his next words carefully. scott would likely be upset at first at him for trusting you, but he was also the nicest person stiles had ever met. if you could help them then it was worth the risk.

“then how about a trade. you help us with this alpha problem, and you get the experience you need to become a great and all powerful witch. pretty soon you'll be riding your broom to your heart's content."

you can’t help but scoff a laugh as you think it over. he starts to think you’re about to reject the offer as you stare him down before you get up and offer him a hand.

“you’ve got a deal.”

after shaking on it, you send the boy back with his bag of wolfsbane and a few more helpful weeds from your greenhouse, giving him a note to give to deaton so he won’t ask too many questions.

when he returns to the vets office he dumps the materials on the operating table, ignoring isaacs joke about how if he took any longer they’d all be alpha chow by now. he can tell deaton is concerned about where he got the vials of strange red and yellow herbs, but when he reads the note his eyes widen and he lets out a mix between a laugh and a sigh. scott asked insistently what was on the note but his boss refused to tell him what it said.

before he left to drive home, deaton pulled stiles to a corner and told him that he had been in close contact with one of your aunts before something happened a few years after the hale fire that caused them to go into hiding and cut contact with all supernaturals they had previously been helping, including him as the emissary of the hale family.

as he lay in bed that night staring up at his ceiling, all he could think about was you. you were a welcome distraction from the chaos of his current life, a pretty distraction at that. if not a bit scary. which he didn't mind all that much.

the both of you spent more time together in the following weeks. at first, it was just simple conversations by the willow tree talking about the werewolf situations and checking what materials deaton needed from your family. as time went on his curiosity got the best of him and he started to ask you more questions about your life.

"so hit me if this is stupid but did you have any family in salem? or can you like make a potion ina cauldron to see if I did because I could use that as massive bargaining power in fights with issac-ow! why'd you hit me?"

"you said i could."

"yeah but not so hard. jeez, ever thought of quitting this witch thing and trying boxing."

"never thought of it. maybe i should start now. with your face."

"really funny."

(your threats kind of reminded him of derek, but had less of an 'i'm about to rip your throat out and eat your esophagus vibe.' slightly.)

but as time went on it got deeper. as he told him more about himself you started to do the same, once even apologizing for "giving off psycho killer bitch vibes" and chalking it up to being so isolated from people for most of your life. he told you he didn't mind the vibes, assuring you he liked it maybe a little too excitedly.

he could really feel the shift when one day he came up to the willow tree and he saw you, standing with a frame photo in your hands and nearly on the brink of tears. he was so shocked at seeing you show such intense emotion he wasn't watching where he was going and stepped on a branch, alarming you as your head whipped to him like a deer in headlights.

"i...im sorry. i can leave if you want."

"no no, it's," you shook your head, looking down at the photo once again. "it's fine. it doesn't matter."

"well if it's enough to make you cry id say its world ending-"

"could you just shut up? for once in your life?"

it's quiet for a minute, the only sound in the air being the gentle breeze. even thought the comment stings stiles knows all too well you're just lashing out in anger and hurt.

"im sorry."

"don't apologize. i get it, i do." he moves closer until he's standing beside you, walking slowly so he doesn't make you lash out again.

he looks down at the photo and he gets it. its you, about six or seven with a bright smile on your face and standing with two people he can tell are your parents. he can see the resemblance. you have one of their smiles and hair color, the other's nose, and by their clothes, the same dark style.

"its been over ten years. since i lost them," you whisper, your voice sounding more weak than he's ever heard it. "itd be nice if I was staying with my aunts for some sabrina the teenage witch reason but no. i don't have a choice."

he gently puts a hand on your shoulder. "i get it, i do. i lost my mom. every day i remember things about her in things i do. it hurts but its better than forgetting."

you sniff and hes about to back up when you put your hand over his on your shoulder, gripping it tightly. it hurts a bit. he doesn't really care.

"its not fair."

"its not."

"...thank you."

"don't mention it."

you give him with the materials and he's about to leave when you stop him, your hand grasping his wrist. he wants to ask whats wrong but he stops. you're staring right at him, into his soul he thinks, and all he wants is to hold you and tell you any pain he's suffered the past few years is worth it because it led him to you, that even if you asked him to sacrifice himself on an alter for a spell that would make you happy for a minute he would do it-

"this bracelet. i want you to wear it and don't take it off no matter what, all right?"

hey, that works for him.

as soon as the bracelet was clasped around his wrist he felt different. like his nerves were tingling and his brain was warm. he felt like he was going to get the most powerful migraine in existence and reached to take it off when you took his hand again.

"please. just give it a minute."

and so he did.

only thirty seconds of dull pain later and he felt normal, if not better. like when you're a kid and have the best day of your life and return home to a good meal. a nice bath, and a great night's rest. he feels almost powerful.

"hey what is this thing? did you just give me powers? is this gonna make me your servant or something?"

"bye stiles."

he gives deaton the materials after telling scott where he was ignoring the weird look on his face before the boy goes back to examining an adorable beagle on the operating table.

deaton takes the bag and bottles with an appreciative smile, his eyebrows scrunching up when he notices the jewelry on stiles wrist.

"where'd you get that bracelet?"

"uhh, i found it. at a thrift shop. thought it looked cool. why?"

deaton clearly doesn't believe him but decides to entertain stiles anyway. "the band is a normal bracelet but the charms are what makes it special. they're pagan."

"could you explain them to me? just because you know."

the vet just shakes his head and laughs before pointing to each one.

"this one, the witchs knot. standard symbol for warding off evil. its mostly used as a protection charm."

stiles admires the charm, the metal silver with the symbol burned into it. it looks like a circle with a line roped in and out of four points of it.

"this, hecates wheel. a goddess of magic, as you probably already know. symbolizes the power of knowledge and life."

this charm is a bit heavier, the stone looking weathered with a scratched labyrinth engraved on it, a distinct 'x' in the middle of it.

"and this one is..." deaton starts before his words trail off. stiles looks at it. it looks like four combined circles, each with symbols inside them. the two across from each other on the side looking like two crescent moons, the one on the top holding a basic pentagram. but he doesn't recognize the one on the bottom-two perpendicular lines forming an 'x' with little swirly lines coming from the middle on the top and bottom.

"what? what does it mean? is it bad?"

"no, it's not bad at all, stiles. the crescents and pentagram are used in another basic protection spell. more protection for the user."

"and the one on the bottom?"

"well, i don't honestly know what it is. its most likely a personal sigil made by the person who made it. but by my guess, based on others I've seen before, it might mean whoever made it has a deep love and affection for whoever they gifted the bracelet to."

stiles thought he was keeping his cool, but scott made extra sure to remind him the following days and the dumbass look on his face when deaton explained the symbol to him.

he didnt know what to do. this had to mean you felt the same way he did about you, right? why else would you gift him a love sigil on a bracelet you insisted he wear? for a second he considered it was a love spell you tried to put on him, but he was feeling iffy about that. mostly about how he wouldn't care that much.

(he apparently admitted that in a sleepy haze when he was sleeping over at scotts, and he's never wanted to die more than when he woke up and realized issac of all people heard him.)

the next time he saw you he tried as hard as he could to act casual. you asked him about ten times if he was okay, and he eventually came up with a good enough 'just a slight stomach bug' lie and regretted it immensely when you invited him back to your house, telling him you'd been practicing making simple health remedies and you had the perfect thing to fix him.

the whole walk to your house he was on edge, his palms feeling sweaty for the first time in his life as he repeatedly wiped them off on his pants. just like the first meeting, you tell him to wait on the couch and he lets out a shaky breath when you leave into the kitchen.

what does he do? does he confess? does he need to? he was so scared that he was being too obvious and maybe that's why you put the sigil on the bracelet, to let him know you returned his affections. but what is he wasn't obvious? and he was basically telling you he only liked you because you liked him? what if-

"stop staring into space and drink this tea, dummy."

he laughs awkwardly and takes the ornate cup from your hand, sniffing the tea before he drinks it. it's sweet but savory, smelling like nutmeg and milk. he can see little flakes and leaves floating on the top. he takes a sip and hums at the taste.

"screw boxing, you should be a professional chef. i'm gonna need you to give me this recipe."

"yeah right. a witch never reveals her secrets." you scoff before sitting down next to him on the couch. you put your arm up on the back and rest your head on your wrist as you cross your legs, your foot brushing against his leg. he nearly spills the tea over his lap.

he can't help but admire you. he had given you a few magazines he'd gotten from stores and stuff to better show you how people were dressing these days, and while you'd hated most of it you took to some trends, wearing a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a pair of combat boots. he tried to focus on the rips in your jeans as to not let his eyes wander up, where you were wearing a leather halter camisole with nothing underneath. he can't help but laugh in his head when he thinks of the word camisole. maybe he was spending too much time around lydia.

"stiles? seriously are you possessed or something? normally you'd be talking my ear off trying to guess exactly what ingredients i used for the tea."

he sets the cup down after taking another long sip and turns his body to you, your eyebrows raising in what he can tell is amusement. most people could easily get annoyed by his theatrics, but after your near trauma bonding at the willow tree, you had always made sure to welcome them with a smile.

"look, i have something to say. which you probably already know, but i need to say it to you anyway to make sure you really know, y'know?"

you blink. "go ahead."

he breathes in and out a few times, his previous confidence suddenly disappearing.

"let me guess, you saw the sigil and now you're going to confess your love to me?"

he goes into a near coughing fit.

"how, well thanks because now i dont have to actually say it, but if you had given me a minute-"

before he knows it you're scooting closer, your faces just a few inches apart. you're staring at him with that same look you had when you gave him the bracelet. his breath is picking up and he bites his bottom lip, your eyes darting to the motion.

"can i kiss you?"

"yes, god yes-"

your hand grips his chin and brings his lips to yours, the intensity and plushness of it nearly driving him insane. he doesn't really know what to do with his hands, settling to just keep them on his lap before your other hand brings them to your waist and squeezes them in place. at this point you're nearly on his lap and that combined with the kiss and the fact he swears he just felt your tongue poke his lip is going to be the death of him.

he pulls away from the kiss and kneads his hands on your hips, able to feel the softness of your skin on the places where the camisole lifts up.

"wow. i mean just...arent you a recluse? where'd you learn to kiss like that? have you like, conjured up clones to practice with or something."

"stiles?"

"yeah?"

"shut up and kiss me again."

"whatever you say, babe."

for the first time in his life, stiles stilinksi thinks everything is gonna work out.

ty for reading! had to tell myself to get up off my ass and write at 3am and wrote about half of this so sorry for any dialogue inconsistencies. love you bye bye.

[roostersbby69]

Back to you

Summary: After having a son and graduating top gun, you get a call to come back. This may be a new opportunity for reconnection, and maybe for love.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x OC

OC name: Victoria

The drive to the Hard Deck was making my anxiety sky rocket. As soon as I turned the car off I could see through the window, a crowd of people wearing khaki uniforms were conversing and had drinks in their hands. It's been so long since i've seen them.

I got out of my truck and opened the back door to get Dallas, my son, out. Penny, who’s been there for me ever since I found out I was pregnant, was going to watch Dallas while we were in town.

I grabbed his bag and got him out of his car seat, he was previously asleep and waking him up wasn’t usually a good idea.

"Where we going mama?" He asked me rubbing his eyes.

"Miss. Penny is going to watch you remember?" I situated him on my hip comfortably. "You like Miss Penny."

"Yeah she gives me blue lemonade."

"Is that so?" I gasped. "I want some."

He giggled as I locked my truck and walked to the door taking a deep breath.

I adjusted his book bag on my shoulder and opened the door. The sound of chattering, glass clinking, and laughter filled my ears. Many people in uniform, just like me, shot pool and sat at the bar flirting with the bartenders.

Nobody noticed me yet, so I walked over to the bar to set his bag down by Pennys purse. She was nowhere to be seen. Great, just great.

"Let's go sit, yeah?" I asked Dallas.

Once we sat down at an empty spot at the bar I got out his cup and toy dinosaur and let him play and eat his snack. I looked around watching my people drink and laugh and have a good time. Sometimes I wondered what it was like. No priorities, no care in the world. I love my son to death and would do anything for him, but mama needs a break.

    Penny came into my view in front of us as her beautiful pearly white smile greeted us. "Miss Penny!" Dallas smiled. "Hi buddy!" her energy was equal to his as she smiled at him and ruffled his hair. "What's going on Tori?" she asked me as I was still staring into space at the other aviators.

    "Nothing much, just came here you know, business stuff." I blankly said.

"Why don't you go hang out? You know I've got him." She said, "Go have some fun." she poked my arm. "I don't know Penny." She shushed me and shooed me off with her hand. "I've got him, you go do your business. If you need me I'll be right here." I smiled at her and took a deep breath before walking over to one of my good friends, Phoenix.

    "Tori!" She pulled me in for a big hug as she laughed. "Oh my gosh it's been so long!" She squealed. "I know! I've missed you so much." I held onto her arms as I looked at her.

    "Well, well, well" a voice came from behind me, "if it isn't Tiny herself." I looked back to see a familiar face walking towards me. Hangman. His superstar face smiled big as he stopped right by me and Phoenix.

    "Miss me?" I asked him cocking an eyebrow.

    "Always, sweetheart." He smiled down at me slinging an arm around my shoulders.

"Want to introduce me to your friends?" I asked them.

    "Mickey Garcia, callsign Fanboy."

"Nice to meet you, Victoria Austine, callsign Tiny."

    "Tiny?" one of them asked me.

    "You can see where she gets that from." Hangman laughed.

I rolled my eyes and smiled. He was right, standing at 5ft I weigh no more than 110. Most of the women were five foot seven, eleven, etcetera etcetera.

    A little bit later I turned my head to check on Dallas when a certain someone caught my eye, just walking into the room.

    "Hey fellas!" he shouted, taking off his sunglasses. He hung them on his floral shirt as he walked over shaking hands with several of the guys.

    I stood back a little bit to hide myself but, too late. He spotted me.

"My, my Miss Tori." He spoke just for us to hear.

    "Hello Rooster." I greeted him. "Long time no see."

    "You ain't lying." He laughed as he gave me a side hug. I returned one back to him.

    "How've you been?" I asked him.

    "You know, here and there." He said as we pulled apart.

    "I don't know how to feel about that." I laughed.

    He laughed with me. "I've been good. How have you been? It's been a w-" he started to say but something tugged on my khaki pants. I looked down to see Dallas' fingers wrapped around the fabric tugging.

    No, not now. "Uhm, Dallas this is my good friend mister Bradley. Can you say hello?" I grabbed his hand gently.

    "Hello mister Bradley." He spoke to him.

    "Hello Dallas." Bradley spoke. He looked at me, "Is this your brother?" he asked me.

    "Uhm, son actually." I corrected him softly.

    "Oh! Oh, I didn't know you had one, uh kid." He stuttered. "I didn't know you were married." He said.

    I sucked in a breath, "Dallas, honey, why don't you go help miss penny. I'll be right there baby." I said as I looked down at him.

    "Okay mama." He said. I kissed his head as he ran off.

    "Uhm, I'm not. Married." I rubbed my arm.

    "Oh." He said rather loudly, surprised.

    "Yeah." I whispered. There was a long pause.

    "How old is he?" He asked me, changing the subject.

    "He just turned five." I smiled.

    "Wow." he whispered watching Dallas run off. "You're a mama." he looked back down to me.

    "I'm a mama." I smiled.

    "So who's the lucky guy?" He asked.

I hated that question. Because there was no lucky guy. I was young and thought I was in love with this guy. Got pregnant and a year after I had Dallas I found out he cheated on me with my cousin. Yep, word gets around fast in a small town.

    "It's been so long since I've seen you." I said. "Used to be best friends." I looked down.

    "We still are."

    I looked up at him and smiled a small smile.

    "You got any other little ones running around anywhere?" he asked me.

    "Nope, it's just Dallas" I looked over at him, "just me and Dallas."

I looked back up to Rooster who was looking down at me with a frown. I rubbed my hands together and took a deep breath. "So, you want me to buy you a drink or something?" I asked him.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Tori?" He smirked at me.

"I'm trying to be nice, Rooster." I frowned and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Bradshaw, as they live and breathe." Hangman came up to us holding a few beers. He handed one to Bradley and tried to hand me one.

"No thank you, I'm driving tonight." I politely declined him.

"Hangman, you look...good." Bradley said.

"Well, I'm very good, Rooster." He took a pool stick from a nearby guy. "I am very good. In fact, I am too good to be true."

Me and Rooster made eye contact and I rolled my eyes. Maybe our friendship is still there somewhere.

"Does anyone have any idea what this special detachment is about?" Payback asked.

"A mission is a mission. They don't confront me." Hangman said walking away to go play pool. "What I want to know, whos going to be the team leader?" He bent down to line the stick up. "And who's gonna have the guts to follow me."

"Hangman, the only place you'll lead anyone is an early grave." Rooster said from beside me. I forgot he was there.

"Well, anyone who follows you is gonna run out of fuel." He stood up with a shit eating grin. "I love this song." he said as he dropped the pool stick and walked off.

"He hasn't changed, not one bit." I said with folded arms to Rooster and Phoenix.

"Nope, not one bit." Phoenix said.

Me, Rooster, Hangman, and Phoenix all went to Top Gun together. Good times. We were like teenagers, dumb, ruthless, and unstoppable.

    I heard a piano playing and a specific voice that snapped my head into its direction.

"You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain!" he sang as his fingers danced along the piano.

"Too much love drives a man insane! You broke my will, oh what a thrill. Goodness gracious great balls of fire!" Everyone in the room yelled.

    It's good to be back.

—————————————————————

Authors note: It’s good to be back.

[vonne-inc]

product: yandere boss - stolen shirt.

gender neutral reader. masturbation with clothing. typical pervert stuff. (a little bit of) yandere behavior.

the day was quiet— the only sound was the clock ticking on the wall. tick, tick, tick, tick. a small reminder, one all too evident, that you weren't around. not now, at least.

even if your absence was temporary, he couldn't stand it. the growing need to see you was growing, and it was becoming unbearable. the only thing that kept him under control was knowing when you'd be back.

his body grew tense, looking at the ticking clock. five hours, nine minutes, and fifty-three seconds. it was still too long... still too much.

"sir?" his eyes snapped to the voice, his dilated pupils contracting. heels clicked against the floor, and soon, a plastic bag was set on his desk, "your lunch." staring at the bag, a familiar logo stamped on it, he quietly hummed.

as quickly as the substitute assistant came, she left. he paid no mind, focusing on the food. pulling the take-out container, his fingers skillfully opened it as he wafted in the smell. it was nothing expensive, rather cheap from a nearby restaurant. although it was special; a dish you commonly ordered.

ah, right. you.

his eyes flickered back to the clock. five hours, three minutes, and thirty-one seconds. only six minutes passed, "fuck..." he mumbled, the itching feeling growing again. his skin tingled, brows narrowed, and shoulders tensed.

pushing aside his lunch, letting it touch the end of his desk. he pulled his desk drawer out; a black, clean chest is shown into view. with a diligent motion, he grabs the key from his pocket and opens it with eager hands.

a sigh leaves his lips, pupils dilating once more as he spots the items inside. clothing, candid photos, perfumes, etcetera. all of it being yours. things to keep him managing whenever you're not around.

picking up one of the shirts he'd collected, unzipping it from its ziploc bag, he carefully takes the cloth and inhales your smell. it smelt just like you; your natural musk mixed with perfume.

the more he breathed in, his pants tightened as it showed his evident arousal. his legs spread wider, cock twitching, as his mind began to wander.

what would you do if you found him like this? force him to his knees and degrade him as he shows you how sorry he is? worshipping your sex with his mouth as he pleas for forgiveness.

would you let him bend you over his desk, fucking you with primal need? him whispering each perverted fantasy he's had of you; his assistant. praising you as he rips an orgasm from you repeatedly.

without thinking about it, his hands drag down his buttons shirt and toward his black pants. working at his belt, it falls loose as he slides his pants down— enough to free his cock.

the tip red, leaking with precum already, he begins to trace the veins of his length. his head throws back, eyes snapping shut as he continues. the stolen shirt had fallen from his grasp and hung on his lap, the smell still reaching his senses.

he reaches for it again, grasping it in his hand, while bucking his hip into the fabric. the loud groan resounded throughout his office. the act of your clothing being wrapped around his cock was enough to get him a needy mess.

his hand begins to stroke the cloth along his shaft, meeting the tip as it soaked in the precum forming. hips bucking up, digits balling into a fist around himself, he couldn't resist fucking into the shirt.

all he could imagine was what you'd look like with his cock thrusting inside of you. the way your face would contort, how your moans and gasps would sound, how stunning you would look riding him with his cum soaking your stomach and chest.

at that thought, he could feel the coil tightening. his grunts grew louder, eyes rolling into his skull. his thrusts became more erratic whilst his office chair squeaked underneath him.

ropes of white shot from his slit, soaking into the shirt and coating the end of his desk. cum hit his clothes, and he choked back a sob at the relief.

once he calmed down, he stared at the shirt in his grip that was still wrapped around his cock. before he thought about another perverted fantasy and become hard, he grabbed the ziploc and secured it back into the chest as he closed the drawer.

and while those hours without you were still unbearable, all that surrounded his thoughts was how much he couldn't wait to leave his newfound gift at your doorstep. he just knows that you'll be surprised to see your favorite shirt covered in his cum.

[toovaeloe]

errands and no game 𝝑𝝔 “Wooooaaahhh!! Oookay, he did not mean to say that.”

fluffy fluff drabble

genderneutral!reader x Satoru Gojo

Gojo and Megumi annoying big brother and annoyed little brother activities

Satoru visits the Fushiguro kiddos, and helps Megumi run an errand for his sister. Gojo however gets distracted by a gorgeous you— although charming you into giving him your number doesn’t exactly go as planned with Megumi around.

☁️🤍☁️

Question: 21 is supposed to be one of your best years, isn’t it? So why was Satoru spending it working, working, working, and oh, walking this stinker to and from the store??

Answer: Megumi wanted to do something nice for his sister, aka the chore of grocery shopping. And Satoru had oh-so graciously volunteered to check in on those kids every once and awhile…(mostly to get out of missions.)

“Hey Megumi, Megumi, let’s get ice cream!” Satoru chirped exuberantly as they walked by the parlor, the 8 year old’s grip on his pant leg the only thing stringing him along the sidewalk and keeping him from stopping in for a frozen treat. “C’moonnn you’re in, like, 3rd grade! 3rd graders love ice cream!!!”

“Tsumiki’s waiting for me. We have to get back.” Megumi dismissed- far too dutifully for a child as he tugged on the white haired oaf’s trousers near his knee, a plastic grocery bag clutched in his other tiny hand. “And I don’t wanna get a treat without her.”

“Awwwwwww,” Satoru whined with melodramatic crankiness, his shoulders dropping and hands shoving into his pockets with a huff as he continued to trudge along, practically curved into the posture of a dissatisfied shrimp. “You’re the most boring, levelheaded kid ever. Seriously, I should hire a babysitter to cart you around…or maybe a prison warden since you’re so ruthless and cruel,” Satoru muttered sulkily.

The little Megumi echoed his huff, irritation creasing his brows. He felt like the one carting Gojo around if anything. “I said I could go by myself. You’re the one who was whining about going with me.”

Just as Gojo was about to give his grand explanation of why he couldn’t let an 8 year old roam the streets by himself, something, or rather someone caught his eye. You.

Within seconds, Satoru was rerouting Megumi with a yank under his armpit towards you. He wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to chat with a beautiful stranger- lay on the charm, woo you with his otherworldly beauty, etcetera etcetera. And to top it all off, he had Megumi with him. Dudes and Chicks dig kids, right? Makes him seem like a down to earth, kind hearted guy.

“Yeah, he’s like a little brother to me. ‘Just taking him out to shop for his sister. Me and the little guy are like this,” Satoru explained to you after stopping you before you could cross the street, speaking as if he was the most charitable philanthropist on earth, crossing his fingers in a show of supposedly how close he and Megumi were. Megumi however, looked at Gojo with the kind of grouchy, wrinkly frown only a child- or perhaps a sphynx cat- could muster.

He had the sole goal of getting home to complete this kind deed he’s done for his sister and see the cheerful smile she would have at his show of appreciation for her. And he wasn’t about to have that be delayed by Gojo’s pathetic attempt at scoring a date.

“Your eyes look weird on your face.”

Megumi pointed straight at you as he bluntly stated his critique. “Seriously, it looks like a 4 year old drew you-“

“Wooooaaahhh!! Oookay,” Satoru quickly covered the cynical kid’s mouth with a nervous chuckle, waving off his words. “Silly little bugger,” He playfully scolded in an attempt to salvage the interaction.

Satoru whipped his head over to Megumi as he moved his hand away from covering his mouth and to his hair, ruffling it into an even worse ebony mess as the boy warded off the giant palm with indignant swats. He was speaking to you, but his words were meant as a reprimand for the mini Fushiguro.“He did not mean to say that,” He’d grit through his teeth with a denotative glare.

“What he probably meant to tell you is how radiant your eyes are- I could stare into them forever, at least,” Gojo recuperated his charm quickly, flashing you an easily dazzling grin that he hoped would get you to at least crack a tiny smile.

“No, they creep me out. In fact, you should wear sunglasses to cover them- like this freak does.” The young tween continued his merciless and unsolicited attack on you with a gesture now to Gojo, before he strolled off with far too much nonchalance for an ankle biter. “I’m going home. Losers.”

You’re too stunned to speak. This is probably the last interaction you’ve expected to have on your way to the store.

“…kids say the darndest things, don’t they?” Gojo hums with an absentminded grin now that the entire run-in has fallen completely flat. “Such creative young minds.”

“Don't go forgetting me, alright? I’ll see you around!!!” He’d shout over his shoulder, a halfhearted promise before sprinting off after the little tike. You can hear the fading sobbing of the guy complaining about the failure, as well attempting to assert his “grown-up status” to the child that ambled on like he had mentally tuned-out his chaser.

What a weird family, you’d probably think to yourself, left to ponder this odd encounter later as you sorted through the produce section.

a/n:

omg I posted writing for my tumblr againn 😛 Gojo adopts the Geto walk in the drabble uhhhh because I said so

Jokes aside I would absolutely cry if I received a creative insult from a child 😔

based off this request on a diff platform that I thought would do better as a minific 🤍

Have a wonderful day/night

[spechblend]

My Guide to Patch/Crust DIY Pants That No One Asked For:

(If you see this guide go through changes, you’re not crazy, I update it all the time)

I’ve noticed that my DIY pants had been noticed on here, so I’d thought I make a guide for new punks getting into the scene 💖

I’ve been in the punk scene for a little over two years now, so don’t take everything I say to heart, I’ve got lots to learn.

Typically, you want to start out with a good base. For instance, the pants you choose can make or break your project. I don’t suggest buying super expensive pants, but don’t buy them super low quality either. You want something that lasts, as crust or patch pants are meant to be your only pair.

EDIT: Before I start any new project, I look around my stuff to see if I can repurpose anything. Old T shirts, bed sheets, bags, you name it. It’s so much easier to repurpose your stuff before buying new things, and you save money doing it. Before you buy pants, see if you can find a pair you already own! I had to buy new ones because I only had one other pair of jeans that I wear to work.

I’ve seen some tutorials floating around for DIY can spikes. Please be very careful doing this. If you’re moshing in a vest made with cut up aluminum, you can seriously hurt someone if you’re not careful. Be on the safe side and either borrow/buy pre made studs and spikes or save the DIY can spikes for non-moshing vests/pants/cuffs.

If you’re moshing with any studs or spikes at ALL, they should be blunt!!!

Good places to buy pants

Thrift (it’s a bit of a crapshoot if you have a hard time finding sizes, but if they’ve lasted long enough to end up in a thrift store, then it means they’re more likely good quality. Check the tags!!)

Edited above, been informed of how Goodwill treats disabled employees

ASOS (I recommend if you have a hard time finding your size. I can’t guarantee the sustainability of this site though.)

Mercari (Like an online goodwill. I find a lot of awesome clothes on here. You can download the app.)

Depop (I seldom shop on here, but similar to Mercari with a wider range of brands.)

How the Pants Should Fit

The fit of your pants can also affect how they lay on you. I suggest buying pants slightly larger on you, if you’re covering them in patches. When you start sewing, you’re going to find that they’re going to shrink a little bit. So please avoid tight fitting jeans if you can! Straight or relaxed fit are the best.

EDIT: If skinny/fitting pants are all you got, sometimes making relief cuts at the knees help when you try to bend down.

Patches

Patches are going to be what makes your pants unique! There’s quite a few you can choose from: plain patches, band patches, politics patches, etcetera. If you’re going to cover the entirety of your pants, I suggest going to Joann’s or Michaels (fuck Hobby Lobby) for fabric. Buy a yard or two canvas or pleather (or both). Otherwise, I usually cut up old T-shirts for my fabric.

How to Make Your Own Patches

Stencil (very straightforward, here’s a guide) (please check out Anarchostensilism on insta/Tiktok/Deviantart)

Paint (Buy white/black stencil fabric paint. I don’t suggest acrylic, since it’s not made to move with fabric)

Where to Buy Pre Printed Patches

crustpunks.com (Hella good, fast shipping, affordable!! Made by punks for punks)

nuclearwasteunderground.com (I found this one randomly)

Etsy (While I hate them for the way they treat their sellers, unfortunately this can be a main source of income for some.)

Shows, punk meets, friends

If you’re going to make crust pants, it’s imperative that you have crust bands on your patches, that’s what makes them crust! (Apart from never washing them)

Edit: I would do your own research on the crust punk subculture, there’s a lot of discourse out there on what makes punks crust punks and so on.

Washing your pants is not a black and white rule, but you can ruin the integrity of your work if you carelessly throw them in the washer. Like if you were to throw a suede jacket into the washer, there’s certain steps to take!

Here’s an enlightening guide on crust.

Here’s some crust band recs!

Nausea

Anti Cimex

Dystopia (my favorite)

disrupt

Doom

Heresy

Discharge

Amebix

Things to Add to Your Pants

Buttons (you can buy or make your own. Here’s a guide for DIY bottle cap buttons)

Pockets (easy to monkey wrench with a few spare patches, but here’s a pattern)

Handkerchiefs (the hankey code, much like the lace code, is pretty much dead. But it’s up to you if you want to signal something with it.)

Wallet chains (here’s a cool guide to making your own!)

Bum flap (by far the coolest thing on this list. Makes your ass not hurt when you sit on the sidewalk. Here’s a video)

Make them convertible (I made mine into zip off shorts. Here’s a video)

I made this up, but I added removable knee pads to mine.

Pant Inspiration

Have no shame in taking reference! Here’s are some cool accounts with awesome pants!

carnifexofhate

dontditchitstitchit

no_name_no_reason

okshrimpet

annals_of_the_crustwar

a_lifeisabuse_e

That’s all I got! Remember to never wash your pants ✨

[paikothecateater]

Very long overdue, but here are some whale brothers headcanons.

-they both like... Hate the indoors. It could be pouring rain outside and they'd just sit there in raincoats (and sometimes they don't even wear them) getting soaked. They both really love doing extreme outdoorsy things. Norway goes on massive hikes and does mountain climbing regularly, Iceland goes base jumping all the time, he could literally camp outside for a month straight no problem.

-they both have set rules for who is allowed to touch them, when, and how. Fantastic, right? Only they never tell anyone. One moment, they're completely fine with something and the next it's like you committed a cardinal sin.

-whenever they're in any social situation, these two are sticking together like superglue. They literally do not get separated until they're back in the safety of their social shut in den... I mean house.

-they both have very fast metabolisms. That means Norway is almost always constantly snacking. While Iceland on the other hand, doesn't really... Realise that eating is something that he kinda has to do until he realises 'damn... I'm like... Starving'

-Norway is very passive aggressive, Iceland is blatantly aggressive. Whenever these two are in a fight, it's pretty much a death sentence to be anywhere near them.

-I know I mentioned this before, but I feel the need to say it again. I know a lot of people HC Norway as not being very expressive, but I think he's the exact opposite. If he's thinking something you're going to see it on his face. Iceland has a similar issue, but it comes in the form of intense RBF.

-Iceland is a huge code switcher and it confuses the heck out of Norway. Whenever he's around the other Nordics, he talks very casually, regularly dropping in curses and generally using some slang. Whenever he's around other nations he doesn't know very well he's using a very calculated tone, a much more elegant vocabulary and he tries to keep any personality or emotion out of his speech.

-their message logs (regardless of which app) would literally make no sense to anyone who isn't them. Not to mention they send each other some of the most diabolical images ever. It's funny because sometimes it'll be something sweet like a picture of those cute little flowers that grow out of concrete and sometimes it'll be a screenshot of an ugly video-game monster. They do not give a shit how weird their texts are.

-Norway has absolutely unhinged ways of sitting on a sofa. One of his favourites being sitting literally upside down with his fit sticking out of the back of the sofa. Iceland on the other hand just kind of.. Hides in a corner because people = Ew.

-speaking of not liking people, Iceland is actually an Ambivert. Sometimes he likes hanging out with people and sometimes he'd rather claw his eyeballs out with acid coating his hands than even make eye contact with someone. Norway hates everyone equally and at all times.

-Norway uses Iceland as a kettle, cooler, microwave, etcetera because as I've mentioned before, Iceland can change his body temperature at will, so Norway will just hand him a tepid mug of water with a tea bag in it, and Iceland would just heat it up for him. It's the same for when he wants to freeze something quickly.

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Twenty-Four

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twenty-Four: Torturous Choice

Summary: (Y/N) gets their turn in Eurus's game.

            Eurus’s declaration hung in the air. Sherlock looked at his child in worry, John’s eyes widened in shock, and Mycroft stiffened at the words.

            (Y/N) remained silent and still. If they were being “tested” next in this experiment, then they had to be focused. They couldn’t afford the anxious reactions Eurus wanted to provoke.

            “Coffin,” said Eurus, drawing their attention to the coffin in the center of the room. “Problem, someone is about to die. It will be, as I understand it, a tragedy. So many days not lived. So many words unsaid. Etcetera, etcetera. Etcetera, etcetera.”

            “And this will be their coffin,” said (Y/N).

            “Whose coffin, (Y/N)?” said Eurus. “Start the deductions. I will apply some context in a moment.”

            Context means death. (Y/N)’s hands flexed, and they looked at the coffin. “It’s for someone approximately 5’3”. Size indicates a woman, not a child, price range means someone with money, made ornamentally, which suggests taste and someone with connections…” (Y/N) paused as a face flashed into their mind. They straightened. “John, can you look at the lid. I need all information available to me.”

            “Yeah,” said John.

            He took the lid and leaned it back. He frowned. He turned it around. The plaque on top read “I LOVE YOU.”

            “So, it’s for somebody who loves somebody?” said John.

            “It’s for someone who loves (Y/N),” said Mycroft. He looked at them. “Who loves you? I’m assuming it’s not a long list.”

            “You know who it is,” said Sherlock. “You’ve already figured it out.” He wasn’t sure, but he could see (Y/N)’s gaze.

            “Irene. This coffin is meant for Irene Adler,” said (Y/N).

            “She’s perfectly safe for the moment,” said Eurus. A video of an apartment Irene was walking around in and a timer with three minutes on it flashed onto the screen. “Her current flat is rigged to explode in approximately three minutes, unless I hear the release code from her lips.

            “Moriarty said you are talented at cutting people down, seeing their weak points. Let’s see if the same talent can be applied to getting people to ‘care,’ or however you define saying the release code willingly,” said Eurus.

            Again, an experiment based on emotion, this time on comparing (Y/N) seeing weak points and using it to hurt and judging if it can be used in a heartfelt way.

            “I’m calling her on Sherlock’s phone,” said Eurus. “Make her see it.”

            “Say what?” said Sherlock, stepping to (Y/N’s side protectively.

            “Obvious, Sherly,” said Eurus.

            (Y/N) looked at the words on top of the coffin. I love you. That’s what Irene needed to say.

            “Oh, one important restriction. You’re not allowed to mention in any way at all that her life is in danger,” said Eurus. “You may not, at any point, suggest that there is any form of crisis. If you do, I will end this session and her life. Are we clear?”

            (Y/N) nodded.

            The phone rang, and the sound was jarring as (Y/N) stood, silently waiting for Irene to pick up. The countdown had begun.

            “Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock,” sang Moriarty.

            The line rang, and (Y/N) watched Irene cross to the bag with her phone. She picked it up and looked at it long and hard.

            Please. Pick up, thought (Y/N).

            Irene pressed the accept call button. “Dinner?”

            “Sorry. Not Sherlock,” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N)?” said Irene, frowning before smiling. “This is unexpected. Stealing Sherlock’s phone, too. Very mischievous.”

            “Irene, I need your help,” said (Y/N).

            Irene’s face fell again. “Are you alright?”

            “Can you-Can you tell me that you love me?” said (Y/N).

            “What?” Irene paused uncomfortably. “(Y/N), I—”

            “Please,” said (Y/N). “Please, Irene.”

            “(Y/N), those words…I’ve never said them,” said Irene. “With who I am—I can’t afford to.”

            (Y/N) sucked in a breath, and John and Sherlock tensed.

            “Please, Irene,” said (Y/N). “I need to hear them. Please.”

            “Why? (Y/N), you know I—respect you. You’re a kind person with a good heart,” said Irene. “But those words—”

            “I know you told my dad Moriarty was my biological father,” said (Y/N). “Why?”

            “Because he saved my life. I owed him,” said Irene.

            “No you didn’t,” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N), don’t you use your deductions on me,” said Irene, tensing.

            “You told him because you wanted to help me,” said (Y/N). “Because you care.”

            Irene was silent, and (Y/N) went on.

            “But I wanted to say thank you,” said (Y/N). “Because-Because my biological mom messed up. A lot. All the time. She never tried to do the right thing for me. But you…even when you messed up and worked with Moriarty, you tried to help me. You cared.” They swallowed. “And I wanted to thank you. Because that matters to me. Because you’re the only example of a good mom I’ve ever had.”

            “(Y/N),” said Irene softly.

            “Even if you don’t feel the same,” said (Y/N). “I love you.”

            Silence. Sherlock stared at (Y/N). He could see them speaking truthfully, not just pushing the right buttons to get Irene to respond.

            “Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock,” said Moriarty.

            “Irene?” said (Y/N) quietly, hesitantly.

            “Final thirty seconds,” said Eurus.

            “…Mom?” whispered (Y/N).

            “I love you,” said Irene softly.

            The beeping stopped, and (Y/N) stumbled as their tense body relaxed in abrupt relief. Sherlock caught them and held them. Mycroft and John sighed in relief.

            “Thank—”

            The line disconnected, and the video of Irene disappeared. (Y/N) was silent and swallowed.

            Sherlock gazed at them worriedly, knowing just how hard they had just pushed themself. “(Y/N), are you—”

            “I won, Eurus,” said (Y/N), their voice becoming cold. “I played your game, and I won. Let us speak to the girl again, the girl on the plane. We played your game and won. I saved Irene.

            Eurus scoffed. “Saved her? From what? Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little flat. Why would I be so clumsy? You didn’t win. You lost. You had to bear your heart as people say, for nothing. All those complicated little emotions. You found her pressure points, but you cost yourself. Hm. Interesting.

            “And Sherlock. You and your little emotions, I lost count,” said Eurus. “Emotional context destroys you every time. Especially when it involves (Y/N).”

            Sherlock let out a long, low breath as he held (Y/N) close as they just stared into space. They had been honest. They had told Irene how they His grip tightened, and his gaze went to the tv screen with furious rage in his eyes. Eurus had made (Y/N) go through so much emotional distress to test him in the end, to see that he couldn’t stand it when (Y/N) got hurt. Once again, she had conducted an experiment to hurt people, and now it hurt people he knew and loved—it hurt (Y/N).

            “Now, please, pull yourself together,” said Eurus to Sherlock. “I need you at peak efficiency. The next one isn’t going to be so easy for you. You’ll have to be active, not just observing.” The next door slid open. “In your own time.”

            “Dad…” said (Y/N) quietly. Sherlock looked at them. (Y/N) met his gaze, and their eyes were filled with a cold rage. “Tear her game to hell.”

            Sherlock looked at them and nodded. He would. For them. For Eurus hurting them. For Eurus playing with their feelings.

            No one hurt his kid and won.

            Sherlock let go of (Y/N). John and Mycroft took it as a cue and walked towards the door. Sherlock picked up the lid of the coffin and placed it on top. John and Mycroft looked back. Sherlock looked at (Y/N). They gazed back.

            Sherlock smashed his fist through the coffin. Once, twice, three times, four, a dozen, fifty. He lost count as he kicked and hit the coffin. The wood shattered, splintered, and flew around the room. He screamed with rage as he destroyed it and the only piece of Eurus’s game he could get at. Sherlock broke apart what had hurt (Y/N).

            He stood in the middle of the mess and panted.

            “Sherlock—” said John. He stopped and started it again. “We have to keep it together. For the girl. For (Y/N). I know it’s torture, but…we’re soldiers today.”

            He knew it was hard and what had just happened was damaging and more traumatic for (Y/N) than anything else in this game yet, but he also knew it was his responsibility to make sure Sherlock didn’t lose himself. That would be the ultimate loss.

            “This isn’t torture,” said Sherlock. “This is vivisection. We’re experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats.” He looked at John. He swallowed. “Soldiers.”

            “Soldiers,” confirmed John, thankful to have Sherlock a little stabler once more.

            Sherlock walked to the next door and led the way to the next room.

            “Tick-tock. Tickets, please,” announced Moriarty.

            The room had grey walls, no windows, and four screens circling the group.

            “Hey, sis, don’t mean to complain, but this one’s empty,” said Sherlock. “What happened? Did you run out of ideas?”

            “It’s not empty, Sherlock,” said Eurus, appearing on all four tvs. “You’ve still got the gun, haven’t you? I told you you’d need it because only two can play the next game. Just two of you go on from here. It’s your choice. It’s make-your-mind-up time. Whose help do you need the most? John, Mycroft, or (Y/N)? It’s an elimination round. You choose one and kill the others.”

            Two bullets. Three loved people. One terrible, horrible game.

            John sucked in a breath, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened.

            “You have to choose friend, brother, or child,” said Eurus. “John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, or (Y/N) Holmes.”

            Sherlock turned and stared at them all, face blank.

            “Tick, tick, tick,” taunted Moriarty.

            “Eurus, enough!” said Mycroft.

            “Not yet, I think, but nearly there,” said Eurus. “Remember, there’s a plane in the sky, and it’s not going to land.”

            (Y/N) looked at Sherlock, a thousand thoughts in their head. There was only one choice. They wouldn’t make him choose, they had to be one of the people to die, they’d offer it so that he wouldn’t torture himself—

            “Well.” Mycroft stepped forward.

            “Well what?” snapped Sherlock.

            “We’re not actually going to discuss this, are we?” said Mycroft imperiously. “I’m sorry. Dr. Watson, you are a fine man in many respects, and (Y/N), you have a fine mind but you are not real family. Not blood.” He looked at Sherlock. “Make your goodbyes and shoot them. Shoot them.”

            “What?” said John.

            “What?” said (Y/N), staring at him. They couldn’t believe he had said they weren’t family—Oh.

            “Shoot Dr. Watson and (Y/N),” said Mycroft. “There’s no questioning who has to continue from here. It’s us. You and me. Whatever lies ahead requires brain power, Sherlock. Not sentiment. Don’t prolong their agony. Shoot them.”

            “Do we get a say in this?” snapped John. “(Y/N) is a child, they should get to go forward.”

            “John, you have a child, you’re a father,” said (Y/N). “You have to—”

            “Today we are soldiers,” said Mycroft. “Soldiers die for their country. I regret that that privilege is now yours.”

            “Shit. He’s right.” John swallowed. “But it’s mine and yours, not (Y/N)’s. Not a child.”

            “And I say not a father,” said (Y/N), looking at John.

            “Make it swift, Sherlock,” said Mycroft. “No need to prolong their agony. Get it over with, and we can get to work.”

            Sherlock looked down and swallowed.

            “God!” scoffed Mycroft derisively. “I should have expected this. Pathetic. You always were the slow one. The idiot. That’s why I’ve always despised you. You shame us all. You shame the family name. Now, for once in your life, do the right thing. Put this stupid little man and unnecessary addition to the family out of all our misery. Shoot them.”

            “Stop it,” said Sherlock softly.

            “Look at them. What are they?” said Mycroft. “Nothing more than distractions, little scraps of people for you to impress, to dazzle with your cleverness. You’ll find more.”

            “Please, for God’s sake, just stop it,” said Sherlock, shaking his head.

            “Why?” said Mycroft.

            “Because on balance even your Lady Bracknell was more convincing,” said Sherlock, facing Mycroft. He looked at John and (Y/N). “Ignore everything he said. He was trying to be kind. He’s trying to make it easier to kill him so I don’t have to choose twice.” Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. “Which is why this is going to be so much harder.” He lifted the gun and pointed at Mycroft.

            “You said you liked my Lady Bracknell.” Mycroft seemed unconcerned about dying. He had tried to protect Sherlock from feeling grief and having to choose two people. He had tried to take away guilt. He had tried to be a good older brother and a good uncle. He had no regrets.”

            “Dad—”

            “Not in the face, though. Please,” said Mycroft politely. “I promised my brain to the Royal Society.”

            On the screens, Eurus leaned in, watching with interest.

            “Where would you suggest?” said Sherlock.

            “Well, I suppose there is a heart somewhere inside me,” said Mycroft, straightening his tie. “I don’t imagine it’s much of a target, but why don’t we try for that?”

            “Dad,” said (Y/N) again.

            “This is my fault,” said Mycroft firmly. He paused. “Moriarty.”

            “Moriarty?” said Sherlock.

            “Her Christmas treat,” said Mycroft. “Five minutes’ conversation with Jim Moriarty five years ago.”

            “What did they discuss?” said Sherlock.

            “Five minutes’ conversation, unsupervised,” admitted Mycroft.

            (Y/N)’s eyes closed in disappointment at the choice, and John turned away.

            “Goodbye, brother mine,” said Mycroft. “No flowers. By request.”

            Sherlock took a deep breath and leveled the gun at Mycroft’s heart.

            “Jim Moriarty thought you’d make this choice,” remarked Eurus. “He was so excited. He had plans in life, but he was satisfied with this if he died. Pity. He was interesting. He had plans for his child. But here we are.” She still had no intonation, no emotions.

            “And here we are, at the end of the line,” said Moriarty, appearing on the screen. “Holmes killing Holmes. Wonder who you’ll kill next? My child? Or your pet?” He leaned to the camera. “This is where I get off.”

            “Dad,” said (Y/N), and Sherlock looked at them. “Tear her game to hell.” Even if they died here, now, in this room, they wanted him to win. They wanted Eurus to lose.

            Sherlock looked at them, his dear child, his family, and he came to a decision. He would tear the game to hell.

            “Five minutes,” he said. “It took her just five minutes to do all of this to us.” He looked at (Y/N). “And it took five words to wake me up.” Tear her game to hell. His arm dropped.

            “What are you doing?” said Eurus.

            “A moment ago, a brave man asked to be remembered,” said Sherlock. “I’m remembering the director.” He lifted the gun to his chin. “Ten.” He started his own countdown.

            “No!” said (Y/N), lunging for their dad. John and Mycroft grabbed them and pulled them back.

            “Nine,” said Sherlock.

            “No, no, Sherlock,” said Eurus, her voice gaining some inflection. She hadn’t anticipated this.

            “Eight.”

            “You can’t,” said Eurus.

            “Seven.”

            “You don’t know about Redbeard yet,” said Eurus, trying to entice him with information.

            “Six.”

            “Dad!” said (Y/N), straining desperately against John and Mycroft.

            “Five.”

            “Sherlock, stop that at once.”

            A hole in the wall opened, and—thwip!—a dart landed in Sherlock’s neck.

            “Four.”

            Thwip. (Y/N) groaned.

            “Three…” Sherlock’s words slurred.

            Twhip, thwip. John and Mycroft slapped a hand over their necks.

            “Two…”

            (Y/N)’s head spun, then the world whirled around them, and then they were falling.

            Their consciousness left them before they hit the ground.

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