#most of the pieces are not connected because the design is theyre held together by magnets

[dailypokemoncrochet]

Jan-New-Ary Day 7/8! I think paradox pokemon are going to be difficult for me to do in the sense that I have done many of their "regular" counterparts and they'll feel too much like remakes, but this one had the additional hurdle of basically being 3 pokemon in one (magneton which is just magnemite x3 and both of which I've already done), PLUS more details. Altogether took 8hr7 and I had to take so many breaks because I was falling asleep a lot. Also this is a good example of a pokemon whose design really isn't that complicated, just time consuming. I love the way it turned out though!

[thebeethathums]

Observers - 53

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: Mourge things.

Neither Sherlock nor John bothered asking you anything in the cab as the expression on your face told them you were deep in thought, similar to when you were sketching or observing something intently. You looked out the window flatly, your heart screaming that it was just a really unfortunate coincidence and your brain pointing out just how unlikely that was while you kept your body turned away from Sherlock, still upset at him. Sherlock sensed your inner conflict, having deduced exactly what this was about the moment you questioned Lestrade, and was now quietly fretting over you as he continued to pout over the fact that you were mad at him. John just looked between the two of you, wondering what had even happened for you to behave this way towards each other, and then huffed and looked out the window as he tried to figure out who you thought was in the morgue. All in all, it was probably the second worst cab ride ever, with the first being just after Sherlock had kissed you in front of John. Arriving at the morgue, you stole Sherlock’s role of leaving everyone in the dust as he stalked off in a huff, sweeping out of the cab and towards the morgue at a pace that John had to jog slightly to keep up with. You startled Molly when you burst through the door just as she was gearing up to slice open her John Doe’s chest and your heart fell, the world seeming to stand still for a second. You abruptly interrupted whatever conversation Molly had started with your two cohorts, “Timothy Ares.” 

“What?” Molly said as everyone fell silent and you stepped forward to look down at the body, “The name of your John Doe is Timothy Ares. From the blood we found… he died nearly a week ago which would mean someone kept him on ice until now. Either to keep him from being identified or to send some sort of message… I don’t know.” 

He looked very different from when you last saw him- he was thinner and his face was sunken. The chestnut flop of hair you remembered was dyed a smooth shade of black, showing hints of grey around his temples, and he had a short beard. He’d obviously been troubled. You shook your head and gave a fleeting glance to the numerous slash marks across his stomach. What a slow and tortuous way to die. John approached you cautiously, not wanting to set you off, “Are you sure, Squeak? It’s been a while since you-“ “I designed that tattoo for him, John,” you nodded to the colorful piece on his ribs, closing your eyes for a moment, “My initials are hidden in the vendor’s top hat. It’s him.” You turned away to look at Molly before opening them again, “Would you mind if I was the one to notify his parents? They live in Digne and speak only French.” Your friend shook her head and you whispered a thank you before just sort of drifting out of the room and into the hall. John moved to follow you but Sherlock stopped him, “Stay with Molly and observe the autopsy for anything unusual. I need to speak with (F/n).” Your brother shook his head, “No, Sherlock. She’s already angry with you and she’s had a shock, I don’t need you making it any worse.” Sherlock ignored him, slipping out into the hallway before John could stop him to find you with your arm against the wall, your forehead pressed against it as you took a few deep breaths to try and calm yourself and a sudden wave of nausea. He took a step closer to you, reaching out a hand only to let it fall, “(F/n)?” “What do you want, Sherlock?” you huffed softly, not moving from your position. There was a long period of silence as he sorted through his thoughts. It had taken him a while but he now understood why you were upset with him. He’d been so caught up in his smug satisfaction over having gotten you to paint again combined with a sort of daze as he relived bits of your night together that he hadn’t realized how cold his words must have sounded. He’d been slowly drawing out your emotions, getting you to trust him, and letting your interest in each other grow into something more because he wanted to explore his own feelings. Referring to it as an experiment was the only way he could wrap his head around it without scoffing but the feelings were real. You didn’t know that. How could you with the way he acted? Sherlock knew from the start you’d just thought he was curious and he’d left it that way since you didn’t seem to mind but he’d pushed you with what he’d said and you’d broken. Once he considered that, it was no surprise that you’d responded the way you had, especially with your past. Now, on top of all that, you’d been forced to face the fact that you’d lost a friend in the most sobering of ways and he calculated that it was only a matter of time before you fell prey to the grief. It had been too long a day for you not to. With all this in mind, he took another step towards you and rested a hand on your shoulder, “I’m sorry, (F/n).” You startled, looking up at him to search his face very carefully for any signs of deception or anything other than complete sincerity, and, finding none, closed the gap between the two of you to rest your head on his chest. You didn’t have the energy to be fully mad at him and, with the rarity of what he'd just done, you simply couldn’t do it anymore. He pulled a face at having to do the comforting thing but still wrapped his arms around you, resting his cheek on top of your head when he felt you start to cry. 

He quickly decided that he hated it when you cried, it wrenched his chest into a tight knot and made him long to hear your laugh or see your smile. Smartly, he kept his mouth shut this time and just held you. It wouldn’t do to upset you again with some of the deductions and thoughts running through his head, not only about this situation but about your friend back in the other room. He let go when you gently tugged away, wiping your tears with your palm hurriedly before letting out a sigh and looking up at him, “Why do you think they waited to leave the body to be found? Why even leave it at all? We already assumed he was dead from the start and it would have been beneficial for them to stash it away.” “I have six theories- none of them for certain. I need to think... Come. Let’s collect John.” Sherlock’s suspicions as to your current mental state were confirmed when you didn’t catch his lie or question him as you normally would but instead just nodded and let out a shaky breath. You were tired and emotionally overwhelmed with all that had happened- the hurt he’d caused with his words, the episode in the salsa club, being arrested, and now your renewed sense of grief. In reality, he only had two theories and he didn’t like either one of them. What he really needed to think about were solutions. You tried to stifle a sniffle and he frowned before hesitantly offering you his hand, causing you to blink up at him as if asking if he was sure. He rolled his eyes and huffed, “Do you want it or not?” You quickly nodded, taking it without questioning any further, and let his fingers weave comfortingly between yours as he thought again about how perfectly they fit together. He turned, giving you a little tug back in the direction of the morgue, and slipped through the door with you in tow, bluntly announcing, “John. We’re leaving.” Your brother looked up from where he was with Molly and was visibly surprised to see that you’d not only come back in with Sherlock but that your hands were connected before he noticed you’d been crying. He gave Molly a quick nod goodbye and came to pull you into a hug, which you returned with only one arm as you were unwilling to release Sherlock’s hand. Stepping back to cup your cheek and wipe away a stray tear, John pressed a quick kiss to your temple as he murmured, “Let’s go home. I’ll call Annie and tell her you're sick.” You just nodded and gave a small yawn before waving goodbye to Molly as Sherlock pulled you away and John followed, gently herding you out to the street and into a cab.

Tab <3:

@team-free-sherlock @multifandom-ramblings @madshelily @severusminerva @yes-but-theyre-my-dorks @smitemewiththysherlock @not-fandom-addicted @unknownwonder @deducingdevil @aviien @mrsfrankensteinsworld @lolamurphy @bakerstreethound @musical-doll-x @protectteamfreewill @delightful-pirate @lilcutekittykat @broke-and-overwhelmed @adri1ii @turtle-at-the-disco @fanfictionsilove @chasedbyhowlingwolves @thorkyrie-rights