#expensive beaker

[shegottosayit]

[omedapixel]

MORE DEBUG OBJECTS

By poular demand, here are the rest of the prop and miscellaneous objects enabled for decorating! I don't have any pics right now, but the full list of objects is below the cut, and each package is merged by expansion pack.

As with my other debug objects, these can all be found under DEBUG > MISC. The catalog names are often something weird, because I haven't edited or added any strings.

These objects are technically not CC, it just allows you to access and decorate with objects that are already in game. Therefore you can uninstall these overrides, share worlds and lots using them, and they'll still remain wherever you've placed them.

Also, if you have a default replacement for any of these props, for example a plate default, then the object will also be updated to reflect that.

I highly reccomment using this in conjunction with my S3DT mod, since some of the objects are half sunk into the ground by default.

DOWNLOAD HERE

Object List Below

BASE GAME:

Guitar Case

Amplifier

Bottle Spigot (unused asset)

Child Ladle

Child Mixing Bowl

Cutting Board (slots do no work, unfortunately)

Fire Extinguisher

Fire Poker

Fire Lighter

Hammer

Bartending Bottle Prop

Ice Cream Cone

Microwave Meal

Paper Plate

Screwdiver

Sponge

Toilet Brush

Wedding Ring

Wrench

WORLD ADVENTURES:

Canteen

Chopsticks

Dig Site Brush

Flour Bag

Fortune Cookie

Map (looks like plain parchment)

Nectar Glass

Nectar Tray

Pamphlet

Pickaxe

Pungi (snake charming instrument)

AMBITIONS:

Chisel

Fire Axe

Blowtorch

Chainsaw

Detonator

Gnubb Bunny

Gnubb King

Junk Pipe Piece

Magnifying Glass

Notepad

Shovel

Tape Measure

Tattoo Gun

Triangle Ruler

Walkie Talkie

LATE NIGHT:

Drink Shaker

Drumstick

Party Glass

Round Party Glass

Bartending Bottle Prop

Juice Can

GENERATIONS:

Envelope

Love Letter Envelope

Cheap RAM Disk

Expensive RAM Disk

Beaker

Rolled Diploma

Flashlight

Game Controller

Greeting Card

Round Flask

Sparkling Juice (champagne)

PETS:

Hoofpick

Adult Pitchfork

Child Pitchfork

Plastic Pet Food Bowl

Cat Hunting Chip Bag

Cat Hunting Feather

Cat Hunting Leaf

Dog Treat

Foal Bottle

Horse Brush

Litter Scoop

Pet Brush

Stick (for playing fetch)

Freezer Bunny Ice Cream

Kitty Litter Pile

Rainbow Ice Cream

(forgot to do the chocolate ice cream, sorry!)

SHOWTIME:

CD Case

Record

Golf Ball

Juggling Pin

Microphone (grey)

Snack Bowl

Headphones

Golf Club Average

Golf Club Expert

Golf Club Old

Firefly Jar

FireflyJar Lid

Juggling Knife

Magician Sword

SUPERNATURAL:

Fly Swatter

White Glove

Bonehilda Key

Alchemy Bowl

Alchemy Package

Beehive Smoker

SEASONS:

Horseshoe

Child Rake

Adult Rake

Barista Bar Cup

Egg Hunt Basket

Trick or Treat Basket

Carving Knife

Fruit Punch

Hot Beverage Cup

Stack of Hot Dogs

Love Letter

Pie (from eating contest)

Snow Cone Syrup

Soccer Ball

Tissue

Spooky Day Candy

UNIVERSITY:

Clipboard

Red Juice Cup

Art Scanner

Bonfire Logs

Candy Bar

Cold One

College Letter

Energy Drink

Manilla Envelope

Macot Plushy

Ping Pong Ball

Ping Pong Paddle

Mistletoe (unused asset)

Protest Banners (3 versions)

Protest Flyer

Smartphone

Soda Can

Paint Sray Can

Suitcase

Whiteboard Eraser

Whiteboard Marker

ISLAND PARADISE:

Broom

Coconut Drink

Cold Beverage

Grim Reaper Trident

Pineapple Drink

Rescue Tube

Glass Bottle Pool Bar

Pool Bar Juice Can

INTO THE FUTURE:

Microphone (black)

OIl Puddle

Stardust

Paper Bag

[budgieflitter]

WELCOME TO PLEASANTOWN

PART 1 part 2!!! this took much more thinking than the previous one but i hope it turned out just as engaging :) i'll likely make another post with more details also big thanks to al-pomegranate-seeds for the ideas you sent me earlier, it really helped! the descriptions are below 🔽

GRUNT = DREAMER Professor Buzz Grunt is a respected researcher in his field, as well as an aspiring history novel author. However, after the unfortunate fire accident and the loss of his wife it became harder to provide proper education to his sons. Can his golden child Tank prove his worth to this demanding dad? Is he really ready to make a commitment to the new Specter heiress for the sake of the family?

SMITH = PLEASANT

Jenny always knew that there will be difficulties with cross-cultural relationships, but between juggling family and career problems, her way too secretive husband is just too much to keep track of. What is he hiding? Will Johnny be able to fit in and reconcile with his little sister? SPECTER = GOTH

When the head of Specter Industries was about to retire and pass the business to her son, he disappeared without a trace. Is there a possibility that this is the doing of someone with eyes set on her fortune? Can Olive really entrust the inheritance to her niece Ophelia?

CURIOUS = BROKE

Economy is tough and passion for science is expensive, so the Curious brothers have to share the living space to get by. After the birth of Tycho things have become especially challenging. While Lazlo is invested in dubious hacking activity, and with Vidcund eager to fund another one of his “secret science projects”, can Pascal cope with his new role as a cosmic parent? And what about the rumor that the Specter heir was last seen scaling the deck of their house?

SINGLES = CALIENTE

Lola and Chloe arrived to Pleasantown to reconnect with their roots, or so they claim. Have they really been missing the fatherly affection, or do they have ulterior, fiscal motives?

LOSTE = LOTHARIO

Kristen doesn’t particularly care for Pleasantown, but she has to admit that people here are quite the attraction. She is committed to her dream of becoming a world famous sports champion. Is her commitment to Erin Beaker just as genuine?

BEAKER = BURB

After graduating from college, Erin moved in with her brother and his wife while she’s trying to adjust to adult life. While Loki is being hospitable, Circe is growing tired of tarot readings and psychic seances. Can Erin’s newfound love help out before Circe turns her into a makeup testing animal?

💬 i hope there is enough drama to make this work hahaha i'm also planning to post a couple of other characters and notable townies swapped separately

[phoenixblaze1412]

I think I need more Dadttore. What will he do on his childs birthday?

He forgets :3

You do too but everyday is already a special day for you as long as you get to spend time with your father and the segments.

But good thing the segments are there and they always check the calendar!

They start preparations at two in the morning. Some already tasked themselves with the things needed for your surprise.

Sigma and Upsilon, being the only female segments your father created with the help of Sandrone, helped out with getting your outfit ready for the day.

Epsilon and Zeta stayed in the kitchen to bake you your favorite cake while also baking small treats for you to munch on, cookies, cupcakes, macaroons.

Prime (also a segment) and Omega distract your father by helping him work inside his office instead so he wouldn't know what the others are doing in the laboratory.

Theta and Beta would put away the beakers and test tubes, making sure there won't be any chemicals that can harm you. They don't want you to get any injury or get spilled by acid, they adore you too much. If they find out you got poisoned by inhaling something toxic then they're gonna strangle themselves and join you in your death bed.

Kappa and Eta cleans the laboratory floors, making sure there's no spills here and there and sterilizing the whole place.

Delta and Gamma hangs up the streamers and balloons. Delta had to stop Gamma from popping the balloons and it took them a while longer which is why Theta and Beta had to help them finish.

Iota was tasked to waking you up and being your personal assistant for the day. The segments all played rock-paper-scissors just to fight to get to be your assistant of the day and Iota won, which the others were upset about it.

Iota woke you up ten minutes later after he got in your room, he was too busy taking pictures of you with the kamera he was given and was gushing at how adorable you are. He got you ready for the day, even brushing your hair and styling it.

Meanwhile Dottore was already waiting for you in his office, holding a little gift he created for you. Omega and Prime just surprised that he even remembers what day it is today before getting scolded by their creator that 'he's not that old to forget.' Despite all that, Dottore still appreciates all the segments efforts just for his child.

Theta and Beta were the first ones to greet you the moment you stepped into the lab, they were the first ones to meet you back then before the others did.

To say you were happy was an understatement, you were euphoric at the whole surprise the segments had done out for you. They say to save the best for last and that's what you did, walking up to your father as he stood in the back of the crowd of segments with a soft smile on his face. He wasn't wearing his mask today so you can see his tired eyes as clear as day.

You grinned and ran up to your father, letting out a laugh as he held you and handed you the gift he made. No gift is more special and expensive than handmade ones is what you told him back then and he does exactly as so.

Family picture? Yes. Iota set the kamera up as all the segments crowded around you and your father, both of you being in the middle as all of you smiled once the kamera goes off.

"Happy birthday, my child."

[sleepymccoy]

Taking part in this

[nardo-headcanons]

Writing Scientist Characters

this post is mainly an excuse to post a certain list of lab supplies I've made for a friend and infodump about lab work. but feel free to use this as a little resource when writing characters who are scientists and/or lab nerds. who knows, maybe it'll be of use.

General thoughts

Many people think it's a stereotype that scientist or nerd characters talk using complex technical jargon. While that is true to an extent, there actually is some kind of lab jargon. It varies across different labs and fields, but one thing they have in common is that it seeks to simplify, not the other way around.

gelelectrophoresis becomes elpho

microbiology becomes mibi

deioninized water becomes aqua dist

biochemistry becomes BC

sodium hydroxide becomes NaOH

They will probably not call a glass of water "silicon dioxide and h2o".

...and more. feel free to get creative. If you're writing in any other language than English, you can throw in one or two anglicisms as well. Also, most scientists will never gatekeep their work, and in an opposite fashion, will not shut up about it unless you make them. And no, most chemists do not know the entire periodic table by heart, only the most relevant elements. (main groups and a few commonly used metals of the subgroups) When it comes to characters doing the lab work, keep in mind that there are a lot more people involved than the scientist themself. Most scientists are more occupied with paperwork and data analysis, it is the laboratory technicians and assistants that do most of the practical work. They often have more lab experience than the scientists themselves.

Things you can have your lab nerd character do instead of making random chemicals explode

writing a lab report (and losing their mind over excel)

degreasing the glass bevel stoppers

removing the permanent marker from beakers (labeling is important)

complaining about the lack of funding of [their field] research

cleaning glassware

preparing specimen for examination

googling the most basic equations for their report

checking if the glassware and utensil collections are complete

steal single use plastic pipettes from their lab

pirating expensive textbooks

A list of laboratory supplies and utensils you can have them work with

Laboratory general (chem + bio)

Erlenmayer flasks, beakers, precision scales (3 digits), glass rods, metal spoons/spatulas, screw on glass flasks (autoclave compatible) test tubes, stopcock grease, dispensers with sanitizer and hand cream, gas burners, heating plates, eppendorf pipettes, pipette tips, Peleus pipetting aids, squirting bottles, liquid and powder funnels, incubator/drying chamber, round watch glasses, magnet stirring plates.

Microbiology Autoclave, petri dishes, agar plates, innoculation loops (reusable and metal), clean bench, microscope slides, microscope, drigalski-spatula, test tubes with clamping lids

Histology

Paraffin bath, water bath, scalpels, scissors, razor blades, microtomes (rotating microtome, slide microtome and freezing microtome), histocinette, tweezers (various kinds), ocular

Biochemistry

Sequencing robots, eppendorf tubes, gelelectrophoresis chambers, centrifuge

Analytical Chemistry

Photometer, kuvettes, burettes, mass spectro meters, UV bank (for chromatogrophies), pyknometers, melting point meter, porcelain mortars, pH paper, analytical scales (4 or more digits)

Prep Chemistry

Tripod/standing material, miniature lifting platforms, spiral condenser, colon condenser, round bottom flask (three necked and y- necked), filtration material, Separating funnel

Electrical engineering

Electric generators, Soldering iron, Clamp connectors, plugin connectors, ohm’s resistors, plug in lamps, condensers, transistors, PCBs, amperemeters, voltmeters, multimeters

Mechanics

Tripod/standing material, metal hooks, metal rods, mechanical stop watches, marbles, metal springs, Newton meters, laser motion detectors

Optics

Prisma (various kinds), various glass lenses (concave, convex, biconcave, biconvex), laser pointers, optical bench, mechanical iris diaphragm, looking glasses, monochrome lamps, lamp filters

Most used chemicals

Deionized water, ethanol, NaOH, HCl, H3PO4, NaCl (+ physiological NaCl solution 0.9)

Useful websites for writing science stuff

DNA sequence generator (simple): http://www.faculty.ucr.edu/~mmaduro/random.htm

DNA, RNA and protein sequence generator: https://molbiotools.com/randomsequencegenerator.php Annealing temperature calculator: https://tmcalculator.neb.com/#!/main

Medicine name generator: https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/medicine-names.php Anything chemistry related: https://www.wolframalpha.com/input?i=chemistry

Commonly used software:

MS Excel

Yenka

CASSY Lab

LabView

SpectraLab

LIMS

LaTex

Slack

Scientist friends, feel free to add onto this.

Have fun writing!

[pinetreesandportals]

I just read your Ford Pines headcanons and my heart has melted!!! You did say you’re taking requests, so I was wondering if I could request a quick Ford and Dipper bonding moment where Ford calls his great nephew “son” for the first time?

No pressure whatsoever! I love your stuff, and as long as you love making your stuff, everyone will appreciate and enjoy it! Thank you :3!

Hi I am so sorry this was so late!! I’m a full time college student but here you go!!!

——————————————————————————

Stanford Pines never wanted children. They bumped into expensive lab equipment and broke boiling beakers, shattered cylinders, and bumped into levers. He never wanted them. It wasn’t for lack of women, though. They loved a nerd.

Thirty years in a portal meant that he couldn’t have children. He didn’t want to, either. With Bill on the loose, he couldn’t fathom endangering a child in the triangle’s presence.

Stanford Pines never had an heir. An heir meant a child, and children meant messes and broken glasses. They were stained clothing and messy floors, having to feed them thrice a day as well.

Dipper-

Dipper was his son. He was his son in everything but name. His son, his true pride and joy. He might have been Shermie’s grandson, but he was his great-nephew. He willed everything to Dipper.

His son.

He begged him to let him stay. Even if it was just in the lab. Mabel had to stay too. Ford gave a sad smile.

“If your parents want you home, then you have to go home.”

“It’s- it’s not like that Gruncle Ford!” He shouted. “They’re not together!”

“They’re divorced?” He asked.

“Why do you think we ended up here?” He asked incredulously. “Nobody comes here on accident!”

“Who will you go to?” Ford asked.

“We don’t know! They’re not separated yet!”

“I suppose you could stay-“

Son.

“We don’t want to go back.”

Ford could buy two spare mattresses. Dipper would want to stay in the lab with Ford. Mabel would stay upstairs for the most part.

“Let me talk to you parents-“

Son.

“Really?” Dipper asked. Ford smiled again.

“Really.”

“Thanks Gruncle Ford!” He exclaimed.

“Anytime, son.”

Ford never wanted children. At all. Ever. But now, he had a son and a daughter. And he would fight furiously for them.

[hyperions-light]

Ooooo 8 Rook going on a mission where they need to serve as bait in some capacity

?

Hi, Uchidachi! Thanks for asking! The de Riva ask game is {here} ! I have completed 15, 8 and I have requests for 2, 5, 10, 13, 20, 22 ! I know this ask is a little out of order, but I was already thinking about this one from the other ask— those of you waiting, I promise I’ll get to them! Thanks for your patience!

CW: murder, unwanted touching

15. Rook being captured by an enemy

Leth walks into the study to a familiar sight; Viago glaring at a piece of paper as though it has personally offended him.

"What is it?" they ask, circling around to peer over his shoulder.

He covers it with a hand, redirecting his ire at Leth.

"It's private. Talon business."

Leth straightens, putting one hand on their hip.

"Okay, well go play with your poisons or something,"— they wave a hand at his chemistry equipment— "it'll still be private without your supervision."

He continues to frown at them.

They raise their eyebrows expectantly.

Viago huffs, and goes to the table; begins aimlessly moving beakers and tubes around.

Leth waits until his back is turned— for deniability— then leans over the desk, reading quickly.

They wrinkle their nose.

"Well, he sounds like a bastard. But Teia can definitely handle him."

Viago says nothing.

Leth watches his gloved hand curl into a fist on the table.

"But you don't want her to," they guess.

He doesn't answer.

"You can't be jealous of this guy! She's going to fucking kill him!"

He lines up a series of beakers in order of descending height.

"Who gives a shit if she has to seduce him! You know he'll be dead before anything happens."

Viago goes over to the cabinet on the left and unlocks a drawer.

"Are you even together, right now? I thought you pissed her off, again."

He grabs a vial, and shuts the drawer with more force than necessary.

They sigh loudly.

"I hate dresses. How am I supposed to stab him effectively?"

"You don't have to wear one. He isn't particular," Viago says, finally turning around. He leans back against the table, arms crossed.

"Then you do it!"

Viago looks like he's swallowed a lemon.

"Vìbora—"

"Don't you 'Vìbora' me! I'm not even supposed to know about this— and it's not our contract! Teia would be furious with you!"

Viago frowns.

"Fucking… fine," they groan. "Give me whatever that is."

They hold out their hand for the vial and receive it.

"I'm telling Teia it was your idea, when she asks," they say, huffily, leaving the room.

**

The upside of missions like this is that Leth gets new clothes— that Viago has to pay for. They made sure to pick something suitably expensive, for the occasion.

The target— a Marquis— is making his way through the ballroom, near-visibly salivating over his various guests, all dressed to impress— for him.

They need to capture his attention— and how better, than to capture everyone's?

They stride confidently across the room, iridescent cape swirling behind them, and straight to the Marquis' wife.

They can already hear the scandalized murmurs.

They bow at the waist, holding out their hand.

"My Lady, would you grant me the honor of a dance?"

The marriage between her and Leth's target was arranged. The Marquis' hands and eyes have a notorious tendency to wander, but the Marquess has never followed his example— at least, not indescretely.

Leth wonders if she can resist this opportunity for some public revenge.

They look up at her. Wink.

She smiles faintly; places her hand in Leth's.

"I accept," she says— and the room fairly hisses with gossip.

Leth leads her onto the floor and is glad, for once, that Viago insisted on teaching them popular ballroom dances. As they twirl her they spy the Marquis staring, furious— and covetous.

When the orchestra rests their bows, Leth delivers the Marquess back to her place at the head of the gathering, bowing to kiss the back of her hand.

"Thank you, My Lady. You were stunning— grace incarnate!"

They feel him, then, at their back.

They straighten, turn; are met with the unnerving blue of his eyes.

"You'd be remiss not to allow me to try and best my wife's skills, my friend," he says, extending a hand.

They grin.

"I would," they say, and take the hand— they hear the whispers as they go.

He leads. They turn the ring on their pointer finger inward before they place their hand on his shoulder. The poison is contact; they shouldn't even need to pierce the skin, if Viago is to be believed.

As he maneuvers them around the room, Leth understands why Viago was displeased to hear that Teia would be taking this contract; the Marquis is quite… proprietary, his hands low and grasping.

Irritating— but Leth reminds themself that he will soon die horribly, and endures.

As they whirl over the floor, Leth happens to look towards the upper balcony and finds a familiar, unexpected set of eyes watching them— Teia's.

She has a crossbow. She smiles.

Again, the Marquis takes them around the the floor, with great, sweeping strides, his hands trailing toward ever more intimate places. The next time his back is to the balcony, Leth sees the muzzle of the crossbow.

They let go of him and bend backward, forcing him to dip them to continue the dance.

The bolt pierces his neck— he jerks forward— the audience gasps, and someone shrieks.

Leth bends farther back, kicking off against his chest into a backflip. He falls dramatically to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him.

They land on their feet again, their cape unfurling in a shimmering cascade behind them.

They look up, ignoring the panicking guests, to find Teia. They put one hand over their heart, the other behind their back, and bow to her.

When they stand up, she blows a kiss to them, and vanishes onto the balcony in a swirl of red silk.

Leth follows her example, disappearing into the throng of party guests as they flood into the night, pleased they managed to find a solution to satisfy everyone.

[shhtickerbook]

Burnt Sugar

Wonka agere one shot fic! for all those asking for more CG! lofty content. This was very self indulgent and comforting for me heh. As always A03 link below or just read under cut!

-

Willy Wonka was sitting at his workbench, his chocolate making case taking up the whole table. A line of multicoloured corked bottles sitting on a shelf beside, each labelled with a symbol. (it was much easier than reading small lettering)

With extreme care he used a pipette to sample out just a few drops of liquid sunlight, dropping it into the glass spiral condenser. The amber bead travelling down the clear corkscrew before it made contact into a heated flask filled with a light blue serum. It was supposed to turn an aqua hue, but instead it became more of a mint green. Willy frowned in annoyance, tapping the glass gently to try and encourage it to mix further. Stubbornly it remained the same, it didn’t make sense, he was sure his measurements were correct. Biting in his lower lip as his foot shook up and down as he concentrated.

Very carefully again, he transferred one more drop of the golden liquid through the pipette. But squeezed the dropper a little too hard with his shaking hands, Willy cursing under his breath. He was exhausted to say the least, the past few days had been filled with constant recipe revisions and experiments. This batch was to be of his new idea! Mood lollipops, the idea was that with each lick the candy would change hue and flavour to match your mood. But the mechanics of it were proving to be insanely complex. Scattered papers and sketches of blueprints and experiments littered all around the tabletop and room.

With the excess force added to the dropper, far more than what he wanted poured into the mix. The aqua base quickly turned bright, almost neon green, not before it began to bubble worryingly.

“Nonono-“

Wonka muttered, pulling at his hair anxiously. Quickly he scrambled through his case in search of an ingredient to try and balance out the PH of the elixir. Just managing to find something that could work, but by the time he had turned around the solution was boiling furiously, a foam starting to build and ride up through the glass tubing. Willy didn’t know what to do, he was about to lose hours of work. He pressed his thumb against the neck of the tube, but the green candy mixture rose up to meet his skin, which was burning hot.

“Owwwch!”

He yelped as he removed his hand, the molten sugar having burned a small circle onto his thumb. Sucking on it hard to try and relieve the pain, having to watch in defeat as his hours of work pumped out of the tubing, emerald foam spilling out across his desk. Molten candy mixture spreading over everything, his plans and other important equipment.

Wonka’s face screwed up, clenched hands shaking in frustration. All that work for nothing, the experiments and a complete waste of expensive ingredients, all for him to mess it up and ruin all of it. It wasn’t often Willy got angry, it just wasn’t the kind of person he was. But this was too much, frustration bubbling over just like the melted candy had. In one sweep he attacked his work station, the spiral conductor being thrown from the table and smashing into splinters against the floor. Thick molten candy also exploding into his wall and floor, fusing itself to the surface. Willy scared himself with the noise, flinching away in alarm. He hadn’t meant to destroy it, instantly regretting his decision. The glass spiral now lying in three pieces across the floor.

Said conductor was one of his first pieces of equipment he got, it was whilst he was travelling through Germany in search of ingredients. He’d been feeling under the weather and visited a local chemist, who then introduced him to his laboratory equipment. A world of beakers, flasks, and more. Upon discussion he had the idea of using the them to expand his chocolate making. The old man sold him that conductor for half the usual price, as well as the exchange of a few chocolates of course.

Willy stood in silence as he stared at what he’d done. The smell of burning sugar filling the room horribly. The realisation of what he’d done only made him feel even worse, holding the back of his chair before kicking it over. He didn’t care anymore. Mood lollipops were a stupid idea anyways, he tried to reassure himself. He stepped back before falling to floor, biting hard on his lip. Childish tears threatening to fall, but he squeezed his eyes shut tight to keep them at bay.

He was so caught up in his misery that he didn’t notice the door creaking open, the sound of very small boots entering. Followed by a shocked exclaim in a pertinent voice.

“Willy Wonka what on EARTH has happened in here.”

The Oompa Loompa had heard such commotion from the workshop, having to come investigate. He wasn’t expecting to see such carnage inside, glass and melted sugar everywhere. Putting down a teacup he had in hand, he carefully stepped over broken glass as he looked around in horror at the mess. Willy groaned at the arrival of Lofty, his head buried in his hands. It was the last person he wanted to be around right now.

“Go-way”

He mumbled miserably, he didn’t have the brain to deal with Loftys judgment. But he wasn’t going to get out of it that easily, especially not from Lofty of all people.

“Not a chance, look at the mess you’ve made in here? Why there’s melted sugar stuck to the ceiling of all places!”

He looked up in horror, kicking away pieces of glass as he approached the chocolatier. Who was curled up on himself in complete defeat. Even Lofty realised that he was clearly feeling quite woeful right now, sighing sympathetically.

“Nevermind, we can deal with all this later. Out you get before you break anything else”

The Oompa Loompa barked out the order as he pinched his brow, tugging at Wonkas sleeve. He knew that Willy had been working himself too hard over the last couple days, and was clearly in need of some TLC. But yet again he was ignored, which he didn’t appreciate in the slightest. Placing two hands on his hips he spoke again, more firmly.

“Willy Wonka you are to get up immediately, you’ve been working yourself silly and this nonsense is clearly a direct result of it.”

He gestured again to the mess, Willy lifting his head to look at it apprehensively. It somehow looked even worse, and the state of his favourite conductor broken on the floor just upset him further.

“Leave me ‘lone”

He murmured wearily, glaring at the Oompa Loompa. Who just returned the expression with a glare, meaning business. From the tone of his voice, Lofty began to suspect the boys current state of mind. His tone of voice and body language giving it away.

“I’m not going anywhere, now. OUT.”

His voice rising sternly, Willy jumping at the noise. Before glaring hard and standing to his feet, towering over Lofty as he snarled.

“FINE!”

Wonka yelled back, stomping his way out of room. Nearly bowling the Oompa Loompa right over. Whilst leaving, his boot collided with the last remaining spiral of his conductor. Splintering entirely underneath his shoe, he paused for a moment before continuing outside. Willy felt as if his body was filled with boiling oil, ready to explode just like his chemistry supplies. He marched through his flat, not even sure what to do with himself. He felt overwhelmed, tired, frustrated and any other possible word for just plain horrible! It didn’t help when the set of small footsteps followed behind him curtly.

“Careful! You’re going to track glass throughout the house with that stomping.”

Lofty commented, but it only further aggravated Wonkas mood. His pretentious tone of voice feeling like nails on a chalkboard to his already sour mood. Turning around suddenly as he stopped him in his tracks, Lofty looking up cool as ever with his teacup back in hand.

“Oh don’t you ever SHUT UP!”

Willy threw out his arm, accidently hitting the teacup from Loftys hand. It smashed against the door frame before exploding into ceramic shards.

-

There was a terrible long silence for a moment, once again Willy highly regretting what he’d just done in a temper. Lofty looked at the remains on the floor as his took a breath in, trying to keep his own composure. It was one of his cups from Loompa Land, he had a few others, but it was still a sentimental item from his home. The clay itself collected from the river that ran through the island, before being fired in a uniquely designed Loompa kiln. It was a lengthy process, but the island produced some of the most beautiful ceramic.

He looked right up, making eye contact with the chocolatier. His face was unnervingly neutral in expression, that’s when Willy realised just how big a trouble he was in. Lofty lifted a hand and motioned for Willy to lean down, remaining his stone cold expression.

“Whilst I can understand that you’re feeling upset, that wasn’t acceptable behaviour.”

His tone was slightly different, extremely serious but still gentle. As if someone slowly poured a glass of icy cold water down the back of his shirt. Willy felt his sleeve being pulled, before being taken by surprise as Lofty briskly lead him away. He had to hunch over due to his tiny stature, and tried to pull away. Somehow Lofty’s grip was incredibly strong regardless of his size.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

Willy had meant for his tone to come off commanding, but it came out instead as pathetic and whiny. Giving the exact opposite impression he wanted to convey.

“If you are so intent on behaving like a child, then you are going to be treated as such.”

Lofty continued as he led the man into the sitting room, pointing towards the corner where a circular woven rug sat. Willy looking in complete bewilderment, wondering what in the world Lofty was playing at.

“Sit. There. Ten minutes”

Willy frowned in confusion before chuckling in utter disbelief. Once again trying to jerk away from the iron grip on his sleeve.

“You’ve got to be joking me-“

“Oh I certainly am not. If you are choosing to act out like this then you’re going to be treated accordingly.”

He stated, no longer willing to tolerate this misbehaviour. He was well aware that Wonka had times in which he felt younger than his physical age, and all this behaviour pointed towards him feeling so. Acting like a complete brat must be his way to communicate said emotions.

“I-Im not going to be put into a timeout”

Willy said defensively, hating it even more so when he could feel his defensives starting to crumble. The tone of voice and instructions making him feel very vulnerable. His reaction only furthered Lofty’s suspicions of his dwindling headspace.

“Are you sure about that? Because I disagree.”

Lofty firmly pulled him to the corner, before tugging hard down. It was remarkable how strong he was, considering his size. The jolt unsteadying Wonka as he fell onto his rear. It didn’t hurt, but paired with Lofty’s firm expression and his already sensitive emotions?

It made him feel too vulnerable and small, swallowing hard to keep down any tears. But even still against his own self control, a few dribbled over. Curling in on himself as he sniffled to himself miserably, it seemed to be the last straw for his headspace slipping.

Even Lofty sympathetically shook his head at the sorry sight, but had a suspicion that it was what he needed. Wonka was the type of person who far too often bottled up any negative emotion, always trying to keep his signature (and often irritating optimism)

So pulling a pocket watch from his waistcoat, he checked the time.

“Your ten minutes begin now”

Willy looked up with a glare, he didn’t want to wait ten minutes. It wasn’t fair, he hadn’t meant to break Loftys silly teacup. Although there was a part of him that felt guilty about it, it was a pretty teacup. He watched as the Oompa Loompa turned on his heel, gathering each shard of ceramic from the floor.

Wonka didn’t even know why he had even entertained this silly idea, but with his current headspace Willy couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears, mixed with self pity and overwhelm. Whining and groaning from pure frustration, wanting any kind of attention. He wanted Lofty to come over and apologise for putting him here, or at least offer some kind of response. But Lofty didn’t react at all, just continuing to clean. The lack of any kind of reaction though infuriated Willy further.

He’d been placed onto the oval rug, legs tucked up to his chest. So with a huff he kicked both his legs out from underneath him, boots slamming onto the floorboards with a loud clunk. Lofty was faced away as he swept the broken crockery, but sighed before responding.

“Please remove your shoes from the floor, I don’t want you leaving scuff marks on the mahogany”

He sternly requested, Willy swallowing and instinctively pulling his feet back. Cursing himself for being so easily scolded, it was something about his tone of voice that just cut through him like butter. It just built even more anger and frustration within himself. He was scowling to himself when he thought came to mind, remove his shoes Lofty told him.

Fine. He’ll remove his shoes alright. Fumbling a little with the laces, Willy untangled the lace from his boot. Grabbing ahold of the sole he pulled hard to get it off, holding the boot to his chest with a frown. Before he could change his mind, he raised the boot high above his head. And in one angry motion he hurled the shoe hard, colliding with the doorway where Lofty was disposing of the mess. A chunk of the skirting board chipped off from the projectile hitting from such force.

The Oompa Loompa jumped in surprise at the projectile, but still retained his cool exterior. Taking another deep breath to regulate himself, he knew a reaction was exactly what Wonka was trying to get out of him. So he calmly just pulled out his pocket watch once again, resetting the timer with a sigh and a shaking head.

“Congratulations Mr Wonka, you have now had your time reset , with an added five minutes for throwing that shoe. Even think about doing the same with the other one, and you can trust me when I say you’ll be spending the rest of the evening on that mat.”

He spoke with a dead serious tone, turning to look Willy directly in the eye to show he really really meant it. Wonka’s angry body language visibly deflating like a balloon, shrinking down. He knew that Lofty wasn’t taking any more of his tricks. He couldn’t even be naughty properly, just like how he couldn’t finish that stupid recipe. With only one boot on he tucked his legs back under his chin, sniffing as he felt his eyes watering. This time he couldn’t hold it in, bursting into floods of tears. Quickly escalating into bubbling sobs, everything all at once crashing in on itself.

Willy couldn’t even tell what he was crying about, whether it breaking his condenser, yelling at Lofty or being scolded at for throwing the stupid shoe. It seemed to be days of pent up emotion just exploding out of him. His cries ended up hitching and hiccuping , making his head throb horribly. It felt as if he’d been marooned on this silly carpet for hours. After five minutes his sorrowful howling had escalated to the point where he wasn’t sure if he could breathe, any time he tried to stop he just dissolved into panicked sobs again.

Lofty knew that he had no option but to intervene at this point, regardless of his punishment. Slowly walking over before sitting down across from him on the floor.

“Alright you’re going to make yourself sick at this rate, you’re not taking in enough air with your silly gasping.”

Willy looked up through his tears to see the Oompa Loompa sitting across from him. Although still amongst the meltdown, he glared at him.

“Go-a-WAY!”

He yelled as best he could, but his voice cracked and whimpered which ruined the effect he wanted yet again.

“Not happening I’m afraid. Now try take in some deep breaths with me, before you keel over from lack of oxygen.”

Willy’s head was in-fact feeling a bit dizzy, as were his hands that were beginning to tingle with pins and needles. As if he had a fizzy soda pop running through his veins. It was difficult to try and break out of the cycle of hyperventilation, watching closely as Lofty demonstrated. Who placed an orange hand to his stomach, before breathing in deeply.

“Copy as such, hold a hand over your belly and breathe in, hold it for a few moments before letting go. Feel your stomach rise in and out the way as you do so.”

Willy found this all rather silly sounding, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Even if Lofty had been so mean as to put him in timeout. He took in the breath, but halfway through it hitched again. Falling back into the unhelpful gasping.

“Try again, with me this time”

Loftys tone was still firm, but gentle also. Willy swallowing as fat tears kept on spilling over. He nodded and tried again, holding his hands over his belly. This time successfully taking in a deep breath and feeling his stomach rising and falling. He carried on following Lofty’s example for a couple minutes, and although the torrent of tears hadn’t stopped, Willy had managed to calm down a little.

“That’s much better, now would you say we’re done with the tantrum at last? I fear for the house’s interior if we plan on throwing any more shoes.”

Willy nodded tearfully, looking over at the ceramic shards that had been swept into a pile, sitting to the chunk that had been chipped from the skirting board from the boot. Then remembering the mess in his workshop he caused, he just ruined everything.

“Mmso-sorry..”

Face screwing up again, swallowing to try keep himself from falling to pieces again. Lofty sighed sympathetically, shaking his head as he unfolded a handkerchief from his waistcoat.

“Now that’s enough of that, I know it was an accident- well at least some of it was. Regardless, from the look of it you’ve served your time anyways.”

Lofty checking his pocket and watch before he stood up to daub around the chocolatiers hot teary face. A surprisingly gentle and kind action that was quite unheard of coming from Lofty. The fabric was extremely soft, there was even a pretty design embroidered onto it. He was then handed the cloth once Lofty was satisfied with his mopped up eyes.

“Now blow that nose of yours, you’ve probably given yourself a terrible headache.”

Wonka sniffed with a nod, but felt the pretty stitching with his fingers. It felt a little sacrilegious to make it gross by blowing his nose into it.

“It’s too- pretty”

Willy mumbled, the corners were stitched with tiny little exotic flowers and vines. Maybe they were the ones you got in Loompa land. It was a shame that he didn’t spend too much time there on his travels, only a quick stop in search of cocoa beans.

“It’s quite alright, keep it if you’d like. I can always make another.”

Lofty said flippantly, seeing a flicker of a smile in Wonka’s face at the gift. Although it wasn’t like he deserved it from how miserable he’d been acting. It was clear that with Lofty’s small hands he could then create the smallest and most intricate detail.

Even still, Willy didn’t want to ruin it. Stuffing the hanky into his pocket before resolving to use his sleeve to wipe his nose. Much to Loftys utter disgust, Willy just hoping that he wouldn’t change his mind on the gift.

“Ugh, and I give you a perfectly good handkerchief for nothing”

Lofty spoke, shaking his head in disappointment. For the first time Willy letting out a small chuckle, although still between the tears dribbling down his cheeks. Even Lofty couldn’t help but smirk, pleased to see that his spirits had lifted even a little.

“I suppose you can get off that mat now, I gather you’ve certainly learned your lesson.”

Loftys small hand patted Willy’s knee, who took in a deep breath as he nodded. Apart from the headache he already had, Willys head was feeling extremely fuzzy. The outburst had caused him to slip very small, very quickly. Thankfully Lofty had already connected the dots on that matter, and it was very clear Wonka was going to need some caring for this evening. Willy knuckled his bloodshot eyes as he stood up, feeling a slight head rush as he did so.

“Careful! Don’t need to add falling over and flattening me to the list of trouble today.”

Lofty warned, standing and dusting himself off. Looking up at Willy as he stood fidgeting with his hands. Not quite sure what to do with himself, thankfully Lofty took charge again. Despite his towering size over him, all he could see above him was a tired little child. One that seemed to be in desperate need of some comfort and rest.

“Come on then, let’s get you settled and into bed.”

Lofty held up his hand, just high enough so that Willy could hook a finger into the palm of his small hand. Willy allowing himself to be lead through the flat, his other hand making its way to his lips as he chewed on his thumbnail. It was only early evening, but Wonka felt exhausted regardless. The upset had taken all the energy from his system and left him drained and weary. Lofty swiftly delivered the boy to his bedroom, greeted by the warm red and pink tones decorated throughout.

Similar to his childhood home, Willy had a bed built into the wall much like his mother’s canal boat. The structure having a short ornate barrier that on the boat was meant to prevent one from falling out during a storm. Although no longer on the water, it was an aspect that Willy always found comforting. The raised sides creating a safe barrier, he often fell out of his ramshackle bed at scrubbits during the night when he stayed there. The hardboard flooring extremely unforgiving to your body when you fell upon it. Even still, there was also a homemade rag rug sitting on the floor beside. Noodle and her Mother had made it for him as a housewarming gift for when he first moved into his new home.

Willy let go of Lofty’s hand to kneel down on the floor to run his hand over said item. It was made from scrap pieces of multiple kinds of fabric tied together, he liked the texture of it.

All the while Lofty tutted at the rooms lack of organisation, disapprovingly picking up a discarded vest that was lying on the ground.

“Really Mr Wonka, you’re too old to be keeping your room in such a sorry state”

Lofty couldn’t help but comment, before looking over at the little chocolatier who was just kneeling on the carpet, running his hand over its surface, the other chewing on his thumb. Lofty realised his own irony of his comment, chuckling to himself.

“Well, perhaps not at the moment I see”

There was something endearing about Wonka like this, well apart from the tantrum. That part he could live without, but you can’t exactly pick and choose these things. Willy himself was feeling very small, head fuzzy and little. But especially tired, he was so sleepy. He hadn’t been sleeping properly for the past couple days, mind too busy with calculations for new candies and chocolate.

“You need to get into bed, get changed into your nightclothes and I’ll return in a few minutes with some sustenance.”

Lofty called, Willy turning away from the rug to look over with a weak nod. Eating and drinking properly was yet another matter that he’d been neglecting. By his bed sat a drawer containing his nightclothes, deciding to just shuffle on his rear over rather than walk.

Willy ended up deciding on his favourite pair, an incredibly soft magenta material. It had small gold buttons down the middle though, and he had a little trouble getting them done up. The fabric felt heavenly against his skin, the material reminding him of one of his mother’s old smocks. With his eyes closed he held the sleeve close to his cheek, just imagining the sweet smell of her perfume, a soft gentle tune being hummed.

On his bed he spied a familiar looking companion, a navy knitted toucan was peaking his beak from beneath the blanket. Willy pulling himself up to crawl onto his bed, carefully collecting his bird friend, Chester. Both button eyes looking up at his own red bloodshot ones from crying. He manoeuvred his wing to reach up and wipe his own eyes.

don’t cry willy, it’s okay

As Willy continued his imaginary conversation with the stuffed animal, Lofty re-entered the room. Holding a wooden tray with him, he couldn’t help a fond chuckle at seeing the man in some kind of whispered conversation with the inanimate object. Wonka heard said laugh though, head whipping around as he threw the plush behind him. His face burning scarlet, Lofty must find him so silly.

But the Oompa Loompa wasn’t phased in the slightest, shaking his head with a small knowing smile.

“I believe I’ve already met- Charles is it? Before, no need to throw him away in my presence”

He reassured indifferently with a shrug, Willy feeling a little better.

“Chester! name is Chester.”

He had to correct the mistake, frustrated that Lofty had once again forgotten his name. Lofty simply looked up and shook his head.

“My apologies Chester”

Willy then turned to pick up the toucan again, whose eyes had been a bit skewed by being thrown. Which gave him a very understandable expression of annoyance.

ouch! You’re lucky I didn’t split a seam there. Charles though huh? Makes me sound fancy, don’t mind it.

Willy held the bird close to his chest in apology, who thankfully was very forgiving. Lofty approaching and placing the tray on the side table. On it sat two drinks, one small mug of tea, and a glass bottle of what looked to be hot chocolate.

Willy blushed a little again at the sight of it, remembering it had been something Abacus had purchased for him. A rubber nipple was stretched over the neck of the glass bottle to keep it sealed.

“Abacus already warned me of your capability of spilling drinks when you’re feeling young, I thought especially right now, it’s what you need”

Lofty stated matter of factly, not willing to risk Wonka creating any more mess tonight. Willy looked down played with his fingers, feeling a bit torn on whether he wanted it or not. But before he could make a decision, Lofty caught sight of something, clicking his tongue.

“Oh for heavens sake let me fix those buttons, you’ve created quite a mess of it.”

Without hesitation he reached forward to fix them, unbuttoning and rebuttoning each row. Willy hasn’t even realised he’d buttoned each row into the wrong buttonhole, looking down to watch as Lofty small hands fixed the error. Chuffing to himself smugly when finished, Willy didn’t think he could feel any smaller. The simple action had sunk him even further into headspace, but he appreciated how Lofty took charge like this. There was no room for him to start second guessing or feel self conscious.

So when Lofty did offer the bottle afterwards, he didn’t hesitate and took it with both hands. It was hot, but not so hot that it burned. It was filled with a milky sweet hot chocolate, whilst Lofty sipped on his own dark mocha.

“Cmon, into bed now. I do say there may be a possibility of a story if you get settled quickly.”

With widened eyes Willy quickly scrambled beneath his blanket, he did love stories so. Abacus always read in his comforting baritone rumble, but he’d never had a story yet from Lofty. There was a small stack of hardback books piled underneath a shelf, yet another gift from Noodle. She knew how much Willy enjoyed books, whilst both little and big now. But he had a soft spot for these picture books, they were short and had easy rounded lettering.

Pointing at the stack once settled inside bed, Lofty began to sift through them. Smiling at the charming watercolour illustrations, each book was its own story but they seemed to all share the theme of the characters being animals who acted much the same as humans. Beginning to understand now that Willy struggled with decision making at the moment, Lofty chose one of the books himself. Settling on one which depicted a family of kittens performing household chores.

Willy smiled when recognising the title, reaching out to trace the covers illustration when Lofty perched on the bed beside him.

“Now are we all comfortable?”

Lofty turned to see the chocolatier tucked into bed, the small toucans beak hooked over the covers. Willy held the bottle in both hands, only realising now that he was quite peckish. The hot chocolate was soothing against his raw throat from crying, and he guzzled it down eagerly. Although he was quickly interrupted with a gentle nudge of the elbow from Lofty.

“You’ll give yourself hiccups again if you drink it too fast Wonka, it’s not going anywhere.”

He chastised, Willy releasing the grip on the bottle with a sheepish giggle. Lofty then returning to the book, reading out the title in a clear gentle tone.

“Five little Kittens…”

By the end of the story, the rest of the bottle had been drained to nothing. Willy loved the book, even more so with Lofty reading. He would often pause between pages to rely his own thoughts and comments, which made Willy laugh. Surprisingly Lofty also did voices! Lowering his pitch up and down for each of the different feline characters.

“Alright then, how about one more and you try get some rest.”

Lofty spoke quietly, wanting to settle the boy in hopes he would fall asleep. Willy’s eyelids were beginning to flutter, the hot chocolate having filled his belly with a bloom of warmth. Lofty just chose the next book in the stack, this one’s cover featuring a squirrel in a blizzard whilst he hid inside a tree trunk.

By the time that Lofty had gotten through the middle of the story, he heard a gentle rumbling from beside him. Willy Wonka completely out for the count, snoring softly with one hand still ahold of the glass bottle. It was an endearing sight, even Lofty couldn’t lie. With a fond chuckle, he laid a hand to gently stroke his brown curly hair from his face.

“I do say, I definitely prefer you like this.”

[whencyclopedia]

Chocolate in Mesoamerica

Chocolate was one of the most desired foods of Mesoamerica and was consumed by the Olmec, Maya, and Aztec civilizations, amongst others. Its consumption even spread via trade routes to other parts of the Americas including the Chaco Canyon in modern New Mexico. The earliest known use of chocolate was by the Olmec around 1900 BCE and, enjoyed as a drink, it was drunk from special round jars known as tecomates. The Maya used tall cylinder beakers for drinking chocolate, and these very often had text on the rim indicating their intended use. The Aztecs also had richly decorated tall cups specifically reserved for chocolate drinks. It may be that such conspicuous vessels were designed to impress onlookers that the drinker had the means and status to enjoy such a prized drink.

Cultivation & Value

Chocolate is made from the beans of cacao pods from the Theobroma cacao tree (actually native to South America) which was first cultivated in extensive orchards near the Pacific and Gulf coasts of Central America, especially in the Xoconusco region and the valleys of the Sarstoon, Polochic, and Motagua Rivers (modern Guatemala and Belize), where the tree thrives in the warm and humid climate. There were, in fact, four varieties of cacao bean or cacahuatl, as the Aztecs knew them, and the corruption of this word or their term for the chocolate drink - xocolatl - is probably the origin of the word chocolate.

So esteemed was chocolate that beans were a commonly traded item, very often demanded as tribute from subject tribes and even used as a form of currency by the Aztecs. In fact, cacao beans were so valuable that they were even counterfeited either to pass as currency or, even more fiendishly, hollowed out of their valuable interior and refilled with a substitute such as sand. As a currency, we know that in the Aztec markets one cacao bean could buy you a single tomato, 30 beans got you a rabbit and, for the more ambitious shopper, a turkey could be had for 200 beans.

As an expensive import then, chocolate was drunk mainly by the upper classes and consumed after meals, typically accompanied by the smoking of tobacco. It may have been enjoyed mixed with maize gruel by the poorer classes at important events such as weddings, but some scholars maintain that the pure chocolate drink was an exclusive status symbol of the nobility. Curiously, it could even be given to favoured sacrificial victims as a final treat before they departed this world, for example, at the annual Aztec festival of Panquetzaliztli held in honour of Huitzilopochtli.

Continue reading...

[missingmayuri]

At Midnight

Mayuri X Reader

It wasn't often you were asked to stay behind for extra work, Captain Kurotsuchi usually preferring the company of someone he trusted more. Someone like Akon or Hiyosu. In the past Mayuri was very reluctant to let regular workers into the lab past hours but more recently he began to do just that for reasons unknown. Most of the time he called upon you, unable to really understand why. Not only that but your late nights with the Captain always played out much different to what others in the squad experienced. Some experienced anger, most experienced dismissal.

Not you though.

You experienced intelligent conversation and consideration, sometimes even an acknowledgement of your skills and smarts. It was very unlike him, that much you knew but you appreciated having a mostly quiet and spacious place to work in. You had no reason to complain and one day you would thank the captain for the opportunity to work in such conditions.

Standing at the cold steel table you place your scalpel to the side, wiping off the specs of blood with your stained cloth. Tonight the Captain needed help dissecting some specimens, claiming he needed a steady hand for more delicate veins and arteries. Despite knowing Mayuri had steady enough hands you didn't question his choice, doing as he asked every time. It was always the best to stay on his good side.

You wrap a cleaner cloth around the dismantled miniature hollow to stop it being exposed to open air, placing it in a nearby cooler box for even more protection and writing down your findings in the notebook Mayuri had supplied you with. It was black leather and guilded gold down the spine, filled to the brim with knowledge the Captain insisted you commit to memory. You had once questioned him many moons ago about the nature of such a gift, knowing nobody else had received a thing. Let alone something so beautiful. You were met with a huff and a wave of a ghostly white hand in response.

"Have you ever considered I want my squad members to take pride in their research? To display it in the proper manner and with the upmost respect?"

You still didn't understand weeks later if he was being sarcastic or genuine but knowing Mayuri Kurotsuchi it was probably the latter.

You take the specimen over to the shelf, alphabetized by species name and size, making sure you placed the container on the correct shelf. The Captain seemed in a better mood today and you wanted to keep it that way, able to hear little chuckles and noises of excitement and exhilaration from the other side of the room as he looked closely at the hollow before him with a large gleeful grin, mixing various compounds into his beaker close by.

"Yes! Excellent! What a fantastic subject!"

You watch him closely, always fascinated by the love of his work and the care those slender and nimble hands put into it. You find a soft smile making it's way onto your face as you continue to stare, getting lost in those deep golden eyes that shone through the dim lights.

It doesn't last long, your smile suddenly replaced with a deep blush upon being noticed. You frantically apologise, turning back to the shelf as you suddenly hear sandals tapping on the cold lab floor. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, thoughts all over the place and unable to pin one down. All you knew is all of them involved Mayuri.

Would he be mad at you staring?

Was be going to shout, blame you for breaking his concentration?

Everything was swirling like bloody water down a sink and in your sheer panic and hearing the footsteps halt did your mind piece everything together.

All the late shifts, just you and him.

The expensive notebook.

The lack of a raised voice and the compliments.

He couldn't be. Right?

"Care to explain why you were staring?"

His voice was calm, yet had a slight amused edge to it, shocking you so much no words could exit your mouth. You could produce no more then mumbles and stutters, his mere voice taking the wind out of your sails completely. You could hear him chuckling behind you, breath hitching as he turns you to face him. Your face surly couldn't get any hotter, immediately proven wrong when Mayuri takes your hand gently and pulls you to the table he was working at.

You couldn't think, mind a foggy mess as a scalpel is once again placed in your hand but this time over the specimen the Captain had been working on.

"I have a little experiment I want to try. It's going to take a few nights to complete"

Your hand was shaking over the hollow, unable to find a decent grip as you tried to focus on both it and the Captain's words.

What sort of experiment did he want to try and why did it involve you?

A pair of slender arms wrapping around your waist, kiss to your cheek leaving a black lip mark was enough to freeze you completely and grip the tool tighter.

"I want to see how well my best worker works with distinctions"

The blush depends but this time accompanying a smile.

You wouldn't mind a few more late night shifts after all.

[sandcobangevent]

sherlock and co flashbang submission!!

‘Drop the case.

Or I will let the whole world know how hopelessly in love you are with your precious doctor.’

- Show Your Hand by @drinkingmelonwater !!!

“Sherlock, have you seen my socks?” John asked, emerging from his room. “My stripey yellow one’s missing its pair. Have you- oh my god what are you doing with my sock.”

Sherlock, who was in the process of dipping John’s sock into a beaker of acid, didn’t reply.

“Sherlock! What are you doing?! I wear that, you know?!” John yelled, attempting to rescue his sock to no avail.

“Apologies, but I’m afraid this is important,” Sherlock replied briskly.

“Important enough to destroy my stuff?” John snapped. “Couldn’t you have used your own?”

Sherlock hesitated. “If that’s what you want.”

John sighed, “Nevermind, you can have it. Keep the other one too, if you want. No use having one sock without the other.”

Sherlock brightened instantly, resuming his experiment with vigor, at the expense of John’s stripy yellow sock. John sat down on the sofa, now sock-less, and stared out the window at the rainy sky outside. It was a downcast sort of Tuesday, the kind that made you want to sleep in and enjoy a nice mug of hot chocolate. He would get no sort of rest, however, for he was interrupted by a case.

“Sherlock, John?” Mariana knocked and opened the door. “We have a client.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock replied. “Tell them to leave their damp shoes and belongings by the door.”

“How did you- nevermind, just get down here as soon as possible,” Mariana said before retreating.

“Another client already?” John exclaimed. “Excellent. Wait, let me get the microphone.”

“Grab a towel too,” Sherlock called. “The client will have absorbed a significant amount of rainwater, if how much rubbed off on Mrs. Hudson in their brief interaction is anything to go by.”

When John returned, towel in one hand and microphone in the other, Sherlock was waiting for him by the door. Together, they went downstairs to meet their new client.

“Boys,” Mariana said, “This is Flora Hawkins. She’s our new client.”

Sherlock was right. Flora was drenched in rainwater. She’d removed her boots and raincoat by the door, but water still dripped from her hair in rivulets, leaving damp spots on the floorboards.

John handed her the towel, “Hi, Flora. Why, exactly, are you covered in water?”

Flora didn’t dignify his question with a reply.

“What I want to know,” Sherlock said, “Is what exactly prompted someone to run from Camberwell to Central London in the middle of a rainstorm.”

“Jesus Christ, Camberwell? You walked that far?” John gasped.

“I like walking,” Flora said defensively. “It’s better for you.”

“What brings you here today, Flora Hawkins?” Sherlock asked.

“I’ve got a case for you,” she replied. “But, I suppose you already know that. Recently, I’ve gotten in a spot of trouble. In Surrey, there’s this lovely nature reserve. I’ve been several times, and it has this gorgeous lake and forest. But, about a month ago, some company or another bought up the land and started cutting it down to build a factory! Right on top of the wildlife living there, like it was no better than mud! So, I called up some old friends from Uni. We were part of this activist club, and all cared deeply about nature. So we went to the construction site to protest.

“Only, when we got there, the site was abandoned. Turns out the workers have Sundays off. We basically showed up to nothing. A few members started getting worked up, and before I knew it, a riot broke out. People were smashing construction equipment, yelling, screaming, causing a huge ruckus. Monkeywrenching is crazy illegal, and I saw cameras all over the place. So I smashed them. I work for a tech company, I know my way around cameras, and how to destroy the data they store. After that, we ran off. They still don’t know who did it, last time I checked.”

“Hey, um, you know I’m recording this, right? For the podcast. It’ll be on the internet and, well, you know,” John asked.

Flora sighed, “I know. I might have minded, if not for what happened next.”

“What happened next?” Sherlock leaned forward eagerly.

“Well, I started getting emails. I dunno from who, they were always just… strings of random letters. Attached were photos of…”

“Blackmail,” John breathed.

“Right. The sender threatened to release the photos to the police and the press if I didn’t cough up £100,000,” Flora said.

“And what did you do about them?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, nothing. I wasn’t like I could go to the police, they’d arrest me for vandalism. So I ignored them. The emails kept arriving, all from different addresses, once a week, and I did nothing. Until one day, I didn’t receive an email. I received a letter.”

From her pocket, Flora produced a letter. It had been sealed in a plastic bag to keep it dry, which was a good call. The outside of the bag shimmered with water droplets. Sherlock snatched the bag, ripped it open, and handed the letter to John.

“Watson, read the letter aloud for us,” he instructed.

John stared at the letter, neatly typed and printed. He read it aloud.

“Hawkins,

This is your final warning. Drop the money off at the Peckham Road petrol station on Saturday, 2pm. Fail to comply, and there will be consequences. I will be watching.”

“That’s why I came to you,” Flora explained. “I live with my mother, and I was worried. If I didn’t do something… who knows if the consequences might be more than jail?”

“Don’t worry,” John reassured, placing a hand on Flora’s shoulder. “We’ll find the culprit, right, Sherlock?”

“Hm,” Sherlock closed his eyes, deep in thought. “Watson, hand over the letter. Hawkins, may we see the emails sent to you?”

“Sure, I’ll pull them up now, and forward them to you later,” Flora replied, tapping at her phone. “Here.”

Sherlock took Flora’s phone and compared it to the letter. “South London Gallery postage stamp, bought at Camberwell, perpetrator likely lives in the area. Standard A4 paper, office quality. Typed, not handwritten; even the envelope. Could be a show of excess caution, but there could be a specific reason for the blackmailer to conceal their handwriting… Then, there’s the location.”

“What is it?” Mariana asked. “Did you notice something?”

“I believe so,” Sherlock said. “When did the letter arrive?”

“Yesterday.”

“Inconsistent with the emails,” Sherlock muttered thoughtfully. Then, he stood. “I believe I have solved part of the case.”

“Already?! Christ, Sherlock, what is it?” John exclaimed.

“The email blackmailer is not the letter blackmailer.”

“How’d you know that?” Flora asked.

“Simple, really,” Sherlock said. “There are many discrepancies between the emails and the letter. For one, the delivery date. The emails always arrived on Wednesday, at 11am on the dot. However, the letter arrived on Monday. The letter also requests a different drop off location for the money. It doesn’t add up.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean it’s a completely different person,” John argued.

“Perhaps not. However, it’s enough to raise suspicion. If there is someone already aware of the blackmail, then we may have our culprit,” Sherlock turned to Flora expectantly.

“…You think it’s Tom?” Flora asked.

“Wait, hold on. Who’s Tom?” John interrupted, confused.

“An ex-boyfriend,” Sherlock explained. “The breakup was recent too. It wouldn’t be difficult to reason that Hawkins here fought with ‘Tom’ over the blackmailing incident, and broke up with him when they refused to see eye-to-eye. It makes sense that he did it. Bitter over the breakup, he decided to get revenge. It would explain why the blackmailer knew your address, and why the letter was typed. He knew you would recognize his handwriting. I doubt he really expected you to pay up, but he offered an avenue just in case.”

“That piece of shit!” Flora cursed. “I knew he was shady, but to take advantage like that- I ought to give him a piece of my mind!” With that, she gathered her belongings and stormed away.

John coughed, disrupting the silence that ensued after Flora’s dramatic departure. “So… is that it? Because that’s barely enough for an episode. Heck, Sherlock, you hardly even had to leave your chair!”

“This is hardly the end, Watson. The email blackmailer is still very much at large,” Sherlock rose from his chair and turned for 221B. “Grab your raincoat. We’re going to Surrey.”

—

“Sherlock, did we really have to take a train to Surrey in the middle of a rainstorm? I mean, couldn’t we have waited a few hours for the weather to clear? Feels like it’d be a whole lot easier to investigate when you can see more than a dozen feet in front of you,” John winced as he trudged through the slurry of mud that was once a working path.

“Contrary to your belief, this was entirely necessary. The construction crew will have cleared out due to the rain. This is our chance to investigate uninterrupted,” Sherlock explained.

“The last time the construction crew left, all their cameras were smashed. There’s no way they’ll leave the place unattended,” John countered.

“They won’t. But they won’t have cameras either. After the cameras proved themselves faulty, the company would have found alternative methods of protection, such as a security guard. A security guard that we can fool.”

“Brilliant. So what’s the plan, walk up and tell the guard we’re investigating the vandalism?”

“Precisely, Watson. Precisely.”

-

“Hey! What are you two doing here?!” a voice cut through the rain and fog.

John whirled around to find himself face-to-face with what he supposed was meant to be a security guard. It wasn’t a very impressive security guard. He was gangly, his too-large uniform hanging off his shoulders and pooling at his boots. The acne and scraggly beard only made him look more like a teenager. The man- boy, really- had squared his shoulders to look bigger and more menacing, but with rain-drenched hair and clothes, he looked more like a wet cat. The only vaguely intimidating thing about him was the taser strapped to his belt, which he hovered his hand over in warning.

“Hey- look, we were just-“

“We are investigators, hired by the company to look into-“

“The lights? Finally! I’ve been trying to get someone to look into that for ages, but nobody seemed to believe me,” the guard interrupted.

“Sorry- what lights?” John asked. He exchanged a glance with Sherlock, who simply shrugged in response.

“You don’t know? Well, I’ve been stationed out here for a few weeks- ever since the cameras were smashed. The name’s Adam, by the way. I usually work night shifts, and this past week, I’ve been seeing lights in the distance. Brief, flashing lights. I’ve reported the incidents dozens of times, but it always gets waved off. Not anymore, though. They finally sent you two to investigate,” the guard was so eager, John almost felt bad for having to burst his bubble.

“Actually, we’re here for-“ John began.

“We’ll look into it,” Sherlock interrupted.

John blinked, “Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“Adam,” Sherlock said, ignoring John’s protests, “Where do you see these lights coming from?”

“Over there,” Adam replied, pointing at the tree line by the lake, which was barely visible through the rain. “The flashes appear at night, in the same general area.”

“Have you investigated them?” Sherlock asked.

“Ah,” Adam blushed. “I’ve been too nervous to go see for myself. I mean, what if it’s aliens?”

“I doubt it,” Sherlock said coldly. “Come, Watson. It’s time to investigate.”

“It’s just over there,” Adam pointed, stopping in his tracks. “I’ll leave you two to the investigation. If you need me, I’ll be over there, watching. From under the shade, far from the rain. Comfortably.” With that, he scampered off.

“Watson, pull up the photographs Hawkins sent to you,” Sherlock instructed, before crouching down by the treeline, prodding away damp leaves and shrubs with a stick.

John did as told. “So what, you think the lights are connected to our case?”

“I think they’re more connected than you can imagine,” Sherlock replied. “Look here. It’s rather faint, the rain’s washed most of it away, but those are definitely not natural marks.”

John peered at the mud. Sherlock was right, there were faint, odd-looking marks. There were a few that seemed to be bootprints, but also several wide, shallow divots, and most peculiarly of all, three deep indentations, no more than a centimeter in diameter, arranged in a triangular shape.

“What on Earth is this?” John gasped.

“These are clearly bootprints, so the shallow indents are likely caused by a person pressing their legs and torso against the ground. The three marks are likely caused by the legs on some sort of equipment- I’d wager it was a camera tripod. If the photographer was sitting on their knees, the camera would be at just the right level to- bingo.”

“Bingo what?” John asked. It was always fascinating to hear Sherlock’s deduction process live, right as it happened.

“Take a look at the photographs of Hawkins. They’re both taken from a low angle, almost exactly from this spot. This mystery photographer is the one who captured the photo of Hawkins.”

“Hold on,” John said, “If this photographer caught the photo of Hawkins, then why did they stick around afterwards? I mean, those flashes of light Adam saw, they were the camera flash, right? Why linger around?”

“That is a great question, Watson, and the one we must find the answer to.”

-

“Sherlock,” John called, “Sherlock, stop pacing. Adam’s not going to reply if you wear a hole in the rug.”

Sherlock stopped pacing to flop back onto the bed next to John. “I have theories, John, but no concrete answers. Who is the blackmailer, and how can we catch them?”

John leaned back, laying next to Sherlock. He stared up at the water stained ceiling of their rented room. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“What?”

“Would you like to share your theories?”

“…” Sherlock flicked his eyes towards John before fixing his gaze on the ceiling. “I contacted the Irregulars. Turns out, there’s no shortage of blackmail systems in England’s underbelly. Many have homeless networks of their own, watching for slip ups among Britain’s most influential. We have plenty of suspects to choose from.”

“Any idea who it might be?” John asked.

“Perhaps.” John waited, but Sherlock didn’t continue.

Laying there, next to his friend, listening to the rain outside begin to ebb, John felt strangely relaxed. He felt his eyelids begin to droop, and didn’t bother fighting the lull of sleep.

-

“Watson.”

“Watson.”

“John!”

John felt hands on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He grumbled, turning and batting the hands away.

“John, wake up!”

John opened his eyes. Sherlock was standing above him, eyes gleaming.

“Mmh, what time is it?” John murmured sleepily.

“It’s 2:18 am, and Adam’s messaged us. He’s seen the lights, it’s time.”

“Oh shit, really?” John jolted up, suddenly wide awake. “Let’s go!”

“You see that, over there?” Adam pointed. John and Sherlock watched as, in the darkness, there was a small flash of light. It wasn’t very bright, but in the dark, it may have been a spotlight.

Without hesitation, Sherlock began creeping towards the light. He edged around, creeping like a cat, before breaking into a sprint and leaping at the shrubs. John heard a soft yelp, which thankfully didn’t sound like Sherlock. He ran to Sherlock and turned on his phone flashlight to reveal a short-haired woman with her cheek pressed to the mud, wrists pinned behind her back by Sherlock Holmes.

“Ack!” the woman yelped, “Get off- What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Sherlock, what-“

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m- not- answering- until- you- get- off!” the woman yelled, thrashing wildly. She actually managed to throw Sherlock briefly, but he held firm until John pulled him off.

“Sherlock, stop-“ John said before turning to the lady. “Sorry about that.”

“You better be,” she scowled, “Who do you guys think you are, going around tackling photographers in the middle of the night?”

“What’s a photographer doing in the middle of the night?” John asked incredulously.

“Wildlife photography,” Sherlock answered.

“How’d you know that?” both John and the photographer asked at the same time.

“Your bag has a logo on it. WWP, World Wildlife Photography. It would explain why you’re in a nature reserve in the middle of the night,” Sherlock explained.

“Oh.” the woman said. “When you put it like that, it sounds bloody obvious, doesn’t it?”

“I will ask you again,” Sherlock said, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Kathleen Moore,” Kathleen glared at Sherlock. “And didn’t you answer your own question? I’m here because I’m a wildlife photographer.”

“Not at all,” Sherlock replied, “Why would a wildlife photographer stay in the same place for over a week, and why would you photograph the worst possible area? Factory construction has driven away most of the wildlife. Not much for you to shoot, is there, Kathleen Moore?”

“Well, I-I’m here for freelance work. I’m taking photographs of the damage caused by the factory to publish in a magazine,” Kathleen replied.

Sherlock regarded her suspiciously, so she continued. “I’ve already got reporters purchasing my photos.”

“Is that so?” Sherlock asked. “Who?”

“Marcus Douglass,” Kathleen replied easily.

“Sorry, who’s Marcus Douglass?” John asked. The name didn’t ring any bells.

“A reporter, obviously,” Kathleen sneered. “Does only one of you have your brains on at a time?”

John probably would have yelled at her for the insult, if Sherlock hadn’t aimed a kick at her shins. Kathleen fell to the mud with a wet splat.

“This is assault!” she wailed. “You can’t do this!”

“Cooperate and I won’t have to,” Sherlock said coldly. “I have questions to ask.” Sherlock reached out a hand wordlessly. The photos, he seemed to say. John retrieved his phone and pulled up the pictures of Flora Hawkins. They were taken from almost exactly where John stood. He handed the phone to Sherlock.

“You took this photo of Flora Hawkins in this very place one month ago. Don’t deny it, you know you did. Then, you sold it to Marcus Douglass.”

Kathleen’s lip quivered. “I didn’t realize what I’d done until it was too late. I saw the person I’d captured in the photo, and heard the commotion, but I’m used to tuning out distractions, so I kept working. I was so tired afterwards that I forgot to delete the photo off my SD card. When Marcus Douglass approached me, he was genuinely interested in my work, so I showed him the photos I’d collected. He loved them, and offered a very good price, so I saw no reason not to sell them to him. It wasn’t until after I’d sent him off with a copy of the photos that I realized what I’d given him, and by that point, there was nothing I could do. He’s gone off and blackmailed the poor girl, or got her arrested, hasn’t he?”

“Hey,” John said soothingly, bending down to rest a hand on Kathleen’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. Any and all blame falls squarely on his shoulders.”

“Why stick around afterwards?” Sherlock asked. “The one person that showed interest in your work turned out to be a fraud. Why continue?”

“Well, I wanted to give up, and very nearly did, too. I took some time off and gave it some thought. I’m still very invested in this little passion project of mine, even if nobody else is. So I chose to keep going,” Kathleen replied. John had to admit, he admired her dedication to her job.

“Very well then, Ms. Moore. That is all. We will leave now,” Sherlock said, turning away.

“Sherlock,” John hissed under his breath. “You tackled this poor girl and kicked her to the ground. Oughtn’t you apologize to her?”

Sherlock looked as if he’d been asked to eat a lemon, peel and all. “Very well, Watson. My- apologies, Kathleen.”

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” John said cheerfully. “Sorry again, Kathleen. Have a nice day- night- is it day now? Whatever. Have a nice one.”

Kathleen gave him a soft smile. “Sorry for what I said earlier, I was worked up. Have a nice day as well. I should go as well. Bye, John.”

John waved goodbye as Kathleen packed up her equipment, then turned to Sherlock. “Well, we have a name now.”

To his surprise, Sherlock was frowning, almost glaring at his shoes as he walked. “Sherlock? You alright there, mate?”

“I don’t trust her.”

“Who? Kathleen? Why not?”

“I didn’t call you John earlier.”

John’s mouth fell open slightly. “But she did.”

“She knew who we were already. She could be in cahoots with the blackmailer. We can’t trust her testimony.”

John sighed, “So what, we’re back to square one?”

Sherlock sighed as well. “Unfortunately.”

-

When they returned to their room, it was three in the morning, yet John and Sherlock both found themselves unable to sleep. Sherlock sat in bed, tapping frantically at his phone, while John paced in slow circles around the room.

“Bugger,” Sherlock cursed under his breath. “Another Marcus Douglass, but this one’s a baker. Not the one we’re looking for. Marcus Douglass may just be a name Kathleen Moore used to throw us off the culprit’s scent.”

“What about Kathleen herself?” John asked.

“I’ve checked. Some of her work’s been published. On the surface, she’s just a small wildlife photographer. She has a website for freelance work, but- wait.”

John moved to peer at Sherlock’s phone from over his shoulder. “What is it- Marcus Douglass. He’s listed as a customer.”

“Marcus Douglass, for ‘Show Your Hand’…” Sherlock opened a new tab and googled the name.

“‘Show Your Hand’… It’s a tabloid magazine. Why did Kathleen think a tabloid wanted wildlife photos from her?” John wondered aloud.

“She didn’t. Her work for Show Your Hand likely wasn’t related to wildlife at all.” Sherlock frowned, “Dammit, there’s no Marcus Douglass on the list of writers for Show Your Hand.”

“Wait, what? If Kathleen’s work wasn’t wildlife related, then what was it?” John asked.

“It’s the perfect moneymaking system. Show Your Hand collects evidence of wrongdoing, then blackmails them. If they refuse to pay up, they publish the scandal. Kathleen Moore was likely hired to watch the area. Hawkins wasn’t the intended target, the company building the factory was.”

“So you think Show Your Hand is behind the blackmail?”

“Yes.”

“That’s brilliant!” John exclaimed. “You’ve done it again, Sherlock!”

“…Thank you.” Sherlock said softly. “But don’t praise me yet. The most dangerous part is still ahead of us.”

“What’s that?”

“We need proof of guilt. Evidence. Show Your Hand has headquarters in London. In the morning, we will pay them a visit.”

“Breaking and entering again?” John sighed. “One of these days, we’ll be able to solve a case without committing a crime.”

Sherlock suddenly glanced sharply at John. “Be careful, John. These people know who we are and tipped Kathleen off about us. Make sure you don’t have any blackmailable secrets out in the open.”

John shrugged, “I don’t think I do. I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

Sherlock yawned softly, then laid down, turned over, and fell asleep. He must have been exhausted. Sherlock clearly didn’t sleep earlier. John glanced at the clock. 3:13. He knew he should be heading to bed as well, but his mind was racing. They were getting close, he knew it. Sherlock’s warning was ominous, but John was sure he would be alright. He wasn’t a secretive man, and had few skeletons in his closet. John glanced at Sherlock. He might not have anything to hide, but what about..?

Sherlock’s phone chimed softly. John glanced at Sherlock, who stirred softly but didn’t wake. The phone chimed again. Sherlock had left it on, and it emitted a soft glow. John reached for it, intending to turn it off, when he remembered Sherlock’s warning. They were being watched by a blackmailing organization. The text was from an unknown number. John itched with curiosity. The phone chimed a third time.

He knew he shouldn’t but he couldn’t help himself. He picked up the phone and read the text.

‘Drop the case.

Or I will let the whole world know how hopelessly in love you are with your precious doctor.’

-

“Sherlock, John!” Mariana called when they returned to 2218.

“Hey, Mariana,” John said. “We’re back.”

“There’s something I think you guys should see,” Mariana said, biting her lip.

Sherlock frowned, “What is it, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Follow me.” Mariana led them up the stairs to 221B.

John and Sherlock gasped as they entered 221B. “What the hell happened here?!”

A small cyclone had torn through the room. Drawers were open and shelves were ransacked. Random odds and ends lay on the ground. The window was ajar, a cold breeze blowing through the flat.

“I checked this morning, and found the flat like this,” Mariana explained. “I’m not sure what happened.”

“What do we do?” John asked.

“Nothing here. They’ve made their move. Now it’s time to make ours.” Sherlock turned for the door. “Come with us, Mrs. Hudson, we’re going to Show Your Hand headquarters.”

After lunch, of course. The three of them stopped by a sandwich shop for a bite, and Sherlock explained the case to Mariana. Then, they hailed a cab. The cab brought them to a modern-looking, nondescript building. Sherlock swung the door open and led them inside.

John and Mariana followed Sherlock to the front desk. “Hello, we have an interview scheduled for 1:30.”

The receptionist didn’t even look up from the paperback novel he was reading. “Directory’s on the wall, elevator’s to the left.”

They piled into the elevator. “So, what now?” Mariana asked, looking at Sherlock expectantly.

Before Sherlock could reply, John hit the button for floor 3. “Now, we visit Bobby Crawford,” he said.

Sherlock and Mariana stared at him uncomprehendingly, so he continued. “Robert Crawford is one of the executives at Show Your Hand. A search of his name will reveal an obituary for Marcus Douglass Crawford, his son.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he grinned excitedly. “He’s the true mastermind of this scheme. That’s brilliant, John.”

John smiled softly, but the elevator door opened before he could reply. “Let’s go.”

Crawford’s office was at the end of the hall. The door was locked, but Sherlock picked the door open. Inside, it appeared no different from any ordinary office. It had a desk, a potted plant, and a dull gray rug. The entire room was military-neat, not a speck of dust out of place. The only odd thing about the room was the floor-to-ceiling wall of filing cabinets. They were labeled A-Z, and Sherlock wasted no time reaching for one. Out of the ‘F’ box, he dug out a manila folder labeled ‘Flora Hawkins.’ It was thin, almost empty, and only contained the photographs emailed to her, alongside some personal information, such as her address.

“This should be sufficient evidence. Scotland Yard can handle the arrest and investigation.” Sherlock said. “Let’s go- Watson, what are you doing?”

John was digging through the ‘S’ cabinet, rifling through folders. “Looking for something,” he grunted.

“Looking for- John. What are you looking for.” it wasn’t a question. Sherlock knew what John was looking for, or at the very least had a good guess.

“He’s looking for this, of course,” a thin, cold voice spoke from behind them. In the doorway, a man stood. He was in his 60’s, with a significant gut and thinning gray hair. In his hand was a manila folder, stuffed fuller than the one marked Flora Hawkins. On it was the name Sherlock Holmes.

“You look surprised to see this, Mr. Holmes. Curious, that you’re surprised while Dr. Watson isn’t. After all, didn’t I send you all this myself?” Crawford drawled. At Sherlock’s confusion, he laughed, high and cruel. “You don’t know! Watson here has seen your deepest secret, and you didn’t even know!”

Sherlock stiffened. “Watson, what’s this about?”

John bit his lip guiltily. “Yesterday, when you were asleep, you received a text.”

“And you read it?!” Sherlock asked, hurt.

John winced, “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I really am.”

Sherlock looked down, unable to meet John’s stare. “What did you see?”

“I can answer that,” Crawford said, disproportionately cheerful. “Watson here is totally aware of your little crush on him. Isn’t that right?”

John fixed Crawford with a murderous glare. “Fuck off.”

“Heh, I’ll take that as a yes.” Crawford smirked.

Sherlock grit his teeth, not daring to look at John. He knew. Had known for a while now, in fact. Their friendship, which Sherlock had grown to cherish, while not necessarily over, was certainly damaged. Would John be able to look him in the eye, or compliment his brilliance, or any of the other little things Sherlock loved to see him do again without feeling awkward?

“Worry not, Holmes. You needn’t mourn the loss of your friendship for long. You two aren’t going anywhere,” Crawford shut and locked the door, then meandered over to the desk and unlocked a small drawer. From it, he produced a revolver. He flicked off the safety and pointed it at Sherlock. “A single move from you, from either of you,” Crawford said, flicking the gun at John, who’d made a move toward him, “And I’ll blow your brains out.”

“What do you want from us?” John asked tensely.

“Your deaths, mostly,” Crawford said easily. “I can’t have you ruining my empire. But I suppose I could settle for your quiet retirement. If you leave the country and never return, I might not have to kill you.”

“Fuck off,” John hissed. “That’s not happening.”

Crawford shrugged. “Okay. I’m not picky. I suppose I’ll just have to kill you then.” He brandished the weapon between John and Sherlock. “Let’s see, who first? How about… You.” Crawford aimed the gun at John. “I’ll enjoy the look on our consulting detective’s face when his boyfriend gets a bullet to the head.” His finger twitched on the trigger.

John closed his eyes, bracing for impact. Sherlock made an aborted leap for John, sweat beading on his brow.

Suddenly, Crawford was bowled over as Mariana sent his desk chair flying into him. He hit the ground with a curse, gun flying out of his hand. Sherlock leapt forward, snatching the gun from him and pointing it at him. Mariana leveled a kick at Crawford’s vital organs.

“John, call the police!” Sherlock barked.

As John dialed the police, Mariana and Sherlock worked to restrain Crawford and tie him up. When the police arrived, they took the three of them in for questioning. It was well into the afternoon by the time they returned to Baker Street. The air was charged with an awkward tension. Mariana left them on the steps to 221B, unable to be rid of the tense atmosphere soon enough. John and Sherlock stood in their disordered flat, resolutely looking anywhere but each other.

“John,” Sherlock began, at the same time John said, “Sherlock.”

They both stared at each other, then chuckled awkwardly. John motioned for Sherlock to continue.

“I understand if, in light of some new developments, you find yourself, ah, unable to maintain friendly relations with. Me.” Sherlock’s voice broke, and he glanced away, twisting his hands.

“Sherlock, I-”

“I get it. My feelings are unreciprocated, and I wouldn’t expect you to return them. I have made peace with them. I would not want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable my ass!” John snapped. “If anyone’s uncomfortable here, it’s you.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy like I did. I shouldn’t have read your texts.”

“Quite alright,” Sherlock said, waving off the apology. “I forgive you.” His posture was still stiff, and he still refused to look at John.

“Hey, look at me, Sherlock.” John reached his hand up to brush Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock flinched softly at the touch. “Even if I wish it was with better circumstances, I’m glad things turned out the way they did. Because, well…” John leaned in and kissed Sherlock.

Sherlock froze like a deer in headlights, making no move to reciprocate or even indicate he was still alive. When John pulled away, he gasped for air like a drowning man, searching John’s face for answers uncomprehendingly.

“I love you too, Sherlock.” John said simply, a sappy grin breaking his rosy cheeks.

Sherlock was sure he was grinning just as hard when he pulled John in for another kiss.

[xhollowfaerie]

john wick drabbles #1

a/n: oops... I'm definitely gonna be super late turning my essay in... ANYWAY here's the little starter I managed to write for my JW fic in between waves of pain lol. i go pass out now tags: john wick x oc, undercover assassin oc who poses as a florist and makes bouquets for John to take to Helen's grave every week :^) oh also she is plus sized <333

-

Ding.

“Here you are, Mister Wick. Same as usual. Daisies, white lilies and purple hyacinths.”

“Thank you, Camille.” “You're very welcome.”

John's gaze seemed to linger on her for a moment as he held the bouquet with a sorrowful smile before nodding and making his way out.

Ding.

Her eyes trailed after him, a predator stalking its prey.

But not tonight. Tonight, she had a different date.

Pound me the witch drums, the witch drums

Dark red curls bounced as she turned on her heels, a white outfit of elegance cloaking her hourglass figure.

Down, down, down the steps her heels clacked.

Pound me the witch drums

The hidden room revealed itself as she pushed the correct tiles of the flower-shaped mural, air filled with floral scents.

Bottles and vials lined the walls, some simmering, some bubbling. She stopped by one of them to admire the white substance bleeding out of a flower into a beaker, hissing with every drop as it sizzled aggressively before slowly turning black. 

Camille’s burgundy lips curved, caressing one of the petals.

“As deadly as you are beautiful.”

Her vanity waited, covered in vines, flowers and foliage, perfumes and cosmetics galore; only the most expensive, high-end products littered her space, joined by ominous vials and three items held in their own glass case - two lip products and a bullet. She removed one of her dainty Saturn-shaped earrings and set it in the empty grove within the golden frame of the case, watching it open with a satisfying click before returning it to her ear.

Pound me the witch drums

Better pray for hell, not hallelujah

She sat down at her vanity, admiring her guise in the mirror with a mixture of disdain and reverence, parting her lips to apply the contents of the first lip product; a sheer gloss, coating the plumpness of her mouth in a milky-white substance before completely evaporating within seconds. Once it was fully dry, her hands removed the second, effortlessly tracing the shape of her lips with the eerily-shaded black-green lipstick; as it oxidized, the color turned a rich burgundy. She set the items back inside the case, leaving the bullet untouched as she stood up and checked herself in the mirror, arranging the few rebel strands of her classy red curls.

“Mmm. One day, John.”

After I kill you, this will all be dead and gone.

But now it was time to go kiss another poor bastard to his death with her traceless, custom-made poisoned lipstick that would evaporate in less than an hour off of his cold, unknowing lips before anyone would even find his body. 

Her antique pearl handle Colt, Camille’s most treasured pocket revolver, rested as it always did, snugly fitted inside her favourite beige Chanel hand purse. Her white heels announced her departure, swinging a faux fur boa around her before flicking the lights off.

[mcltiples]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

Pink - Black - Grey - White - Pale Blue

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

Chemicals - Sweet Citrus - Red licorice - Copper / Metal - Blood - Pink Hibiscus

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

Tight fitted - Lab coat - Long sleeves - Cargo pants - Gothic Attire - Accentuates his figure - Sexy and fun

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

Scalpels / Knives / Daggers - Beakers - Cat bed - Cat Collars

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

Stiff Movements - Neck Cracking - Repeated ticks - Bad posture - Sensual touches - Hyperfocused gaze - Blank expressions - Subtle skin to skin contact - Cat-like brushes

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

Neon Signs and Lights - Drenched in red and black - Silhouettes - Shadows - Dancing in the dark - Monstrous beings lurking in plain sight - Dangerous dark alley ways - The unknown

TAGGED BY: I stole it from the dash <3 TAGGING: @countlessrealities (your Evil Gang~), @evilmcg, @petalsxfallen, @muses-inn (Isaac), @dynamoprotocol, @civicmuses (For Marsha!) + anyone else who wants to do it !!

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

Burnt Orange - Amber - Black - Yellow - Gold

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

Rose Petals - Pine Trees - Oranges - Chemicals - Whiskey - Burnt Wood

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

Loose Fitted Shirts - Yellow T-Shirt - Black Hoodies - Dark Blue Jeans - Eyepatch - Red and Blue Ties - Buttoned Ups - Blazers - Slacks - Business Casual

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

Snow globes - Expensive ink pens - Portal Gun - Hard Cover Books - Advanced Technology - Crystals - Knick Knacks

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

Professionalism - False Friendly Facades - Blank Expressions - Good Posture - Calculated Movements - Neck Cracking - Suppressed Moments Of Joy - Hollow Tone Of Voice

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

The sunset over the beach - The clouds on a sunny day - Galaxy, space and stars - Extraterrestrial landscapes - A cup of hot chocolate on a Winter's day - Dark Academia - Period Piece Romance Books/Movies - Gothic Horror

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

Dark Red - Black - Metallic Silver - Muted Purple

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

Gun Powder - Smoke - Mint - Rusted Metal - Eucalyptus - Lavender

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

Combat Jacket - Red long sleeves - Tight fitted dark jeans - Combat boots - Punk Rock Attire - Denim Jackets

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

Screwdrivers - Nuts and Bolts - Electrical wires - Portal Gun - Computer Monitors - Advanced Technology - Circular Bombs

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

Confident Movements - Casual / Laidback - Bubbly and bright - Exaggerated Expressions - Blank Gaze - Humorless Smile - Touchy Feely - Crosses Boundaries

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

The vastness of empty space - Abstract Tech - Cyberpunk - Cityscapes at night - Destruction and chaos - Blood splatter - Horror Films - White walls / White Floors - No reflections in the mirror - Eye horror - Analog Horror

[tamtam-go92]

Shanna is having a blast at the castle that night. No doors, no security system, no dogs. It's as if the Beakers were just waiting for her to take their expensive wall rugs!

[frankhightower]

TF drive page 6: Why did the school have me buy one then?

I tried again many times, but this guy was the king of "I can't help you". It's a shame, Biology had been my favorite subject up until this point.

And yes, I dropped my journal. Of all the shocks I received that day, this one was the biggest.

I debated a lot on whether to include the textbooks he very much had on his desk that day. They weren't for our class, but it was clear he was "usin' no textbook" (however, the math teacher, for instance, was very clearly not using one).

I never had a locker at this school. The administration would insist there just wasn't enough to go around. When I asked how they decided who got one, then (since, after all, several of the guys in my class had them), I was met with silence.

The teacher's design is based on Thomas Milton of Housepets! by @alabastermenagerie (again, to protect the "innocent"). He's supposed to be writing on Overhead Projector transparencies (I'm not sure if I was able to convey that right...)

And yes, that is a flip-phone.

This page is brought to you by... actually, for the first time ever, I have no clue; they didn't include their username. But his/her donation brings the transformation to 19% (Thank you!)

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TF Drive Page 1: The Cop did Nothing

The story beings!

Yes, these events happened EXACTLY like this! And I never found where the hat fell to!

Not shown: My little sister trying to push past me to be the first into the building (she probably wouldn't have taken getting slingshotted that well)

The title refers to the fact that this was my first time going to a school with actual police presence (old school had come up with the role of "security guy" in the 50s [Fire Marshal got an upgrade] who was pretty much just a janitor with a walkie-talkie, but it was enough for the mayor's office to consider we didn't "need" police presence)

(Disclaimer: you couldn't get Pokémon hats back then, I've drawn Pokémon because I couldn't remember the design but remember it was something about as popular as Pokémon)

This page is brought to you by @obv10usly on Twitter, whose donation puts the transformation at 3%

This page was done digitally because it had already been drawn beforehand

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