all the memories coming back at once

Shout out to all your internet friends who are gone.

Those messenger screen names that haven’t logged on in ages, some before detailed profiles were a thing on those services.

Those emails that are long since abandoned, some with domains that no longer exist.

Those online friends you knew years ago and who then helped shaped you in some way, who you just can’t FIND anymore.

Those people who once were, and hopefully still exist IRL, that seem to have no known internet life anymore.

And those who have actually passed on, and their online lives are now a memorial to them.

I miss you all. I hope life is/was kind to you, and maybe one day, we’ll somehow connect again.

Spell: You Mean Nothing to Me

Originally posted by imbetteroffwhenihithebottom

You Mean Nothing to Me

Use: This spell is used to rid yourself of unwanted feelings towards a person. These could be any feelings; anger, hurt, lust, or sadness etc. This is especially useful if you still have to see/maintain a front with this person. It is not a curse or a binding spell, it only effects your feelings.

Timing: I’m a firm believer that you should spell work whenever it’s best for you, but a Waning Moon at Sunset would boost this. 

Supplies:

  • A black candle for banishing the unwanted feelings
  • A white candle for protection against further feelings
  • A black marker/sharpie
  • A picture of the person or a piece of paper to write their name on
  • Cauldron or a fire safe dish

Steps:

  1. Set up, delicate space/cast a circle, and light the candles.
  2. Write the person’s name on the paper (full name or whatever you call them. You can skip this if you’re using a picture.)
  3. Cover their name or face with a sigil or words like ‘I feel nothing towards you,’ ‘you mean nothing to me,’ ‘I don’t hate/love/care for you’ etc or whatever feels right to you.
  4. Now take the marker and start to cross out their name or picture. Scribble, ruin the marker if you gotta, put all those feelings into it. As you do this, say; “I feel nothing for you, you mean nothing to me, I don’t (add your own feelings and make it your own)..” Imagine yourself blacking out all those feelings as you cover their picture or name completely. 
  5. Roll up the picture or paper. Light one end with the black candle and say, “I rid myself of feelings from the past and reduce them to ash.” Light the other end with the white candle and say, “Never again will these feelings return, You’ll mean nothing to me once this paper has burned. So mote it be!” ((If you can’t burn you can rip it up with your hands and dispose of it in the trash instead. Feel free to change up the words to whatever feels best to you.))
  6. Place the burning paper in a safe pace or ball up the ripped pieces. Do some reflecting, meditation, and let all those feelings go once and for all.
  7. Once you’re done and the fire is safely out, blow/pinch out the candles, close the circle, and give thanks to any spirits or deities you might have included. Throw away whatever is left of the picture or paper because that person is no different than trash to you now.

To reinforce: If you have to see this person, or if memories start to come back to you, just remember this spell and use it like a little shield you can mentally/emotionally place between you and the person that has brought you these unwanted feelings. 

Best of luck to the Anon that requested this!

)o(Keta)o(

All Too Well (M) | Pt. 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue

Summary: You and Yoongi shared a loving relationship with one another until you both agreed to end things and pursue your separate careers. But two years later, Yoongi is a member of the ever growing Bangtan Boys, and you are a new makeup artist for their upcoming tour.
Pairing: Yoongi | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut; Idol & Makeup Artist AU
Word Count: 6,061
Author’s Note: I always wanted to try my hand on a Yoongi chapter story, and then I saw this prompt on tumblr and decided to go with it. I also want to note up ahead that I’m not super familiar with how the recruiting process for Kpop groups go and my knowledge only extends to really quick skims of articles just to get the basis. Regardless, I hope I can get to more parts, so let me know what you think.

also idk if this should be considered a prologue or a part 1 but oh well im just leaving it as part 1

.

You suppose that it all starts and ends with a letter.

Dear Mr. Min Yoongi,” Your boyfriend reads across the kitchen counter, fingers curling tightly around the paper in his hands, eyes blown wide with a gaze depicting such rare intensity that you’ve actually stopped fixing your morning coffee just to catch a sight of his expression. You can’t entirely place the feeling weighing itself into your stomach, so you settle with staring at him and trying to keep your own facial features as neutral as possible. “We are pleased to inform you that you have passed the final audition at our label and therefore are officially recruited into our newest group Bangtan Boys. You are going to be one of seven other boys joining our label as trainees and we are excited to finally bring everyone together to prepare for debut. Although training won’t officially start until next week, we ask that you come to the studio tomorrow morning to meet the other members as well as be prepped on our expectations and scheduling. We wish to congratulate you on your hard work and look forward to getting to know you more in the coming years. Sincerely, Big Hit Studios.”

When Yoongi doesn’t react immediately to the positive news, you flicker your gaze up to study him. His eyes, once again, are scanning the paper, quicker and quicker with each line as if he didn’t read it or hear it correctly the first time around. His eyes have grown to the size of saucers at this point, and you would have thought him to be a statue had it not been for the rather loud inhales and exhales coming from the boy. The sight itself would have been rather comical had it not been for the context behind the stare.

So you try for a gentle smile, leaning a little on the counter to try and further gauge his expression. “Yoongi?” You inquire softly, reaching a hand across the space to run your hand along his shoulder blade. “Baby, are you alright?”

Yoongi blinks, snapping himself out of his trance as he shifts his gaze from the letter to you, back to the letter, and back to you. “I did it?” He whispers, the statement sounding more like a question above anything else and you find your lips curling up into a fond smile in light of Yoongi’s confusion—even though he was the one to read the letter multiple times, running over the words in his own mind repeatedly.

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anonymous asked:

Dr Who but each incarnation is swapped with one of their companions.

omg?? I love it??

The First Doctor: 

She’s not completely unfriendly, exactly, she just doesn’t have time for humans being idiots. In the right circumstances, she can actually be very warm. She loves history, which is lucky because her granddaughter Susan does too (they tell people Susan is her daughter, but even then it’s a bit of a stretch, human ages are weird). Of course, then two of Susan’s teachers follow her home one night, and next thing the Doctor knows she has a crotchety old history teacher and a handsome young science teacher on her spaceship with no way to get rid of them that isn’t morally questionable. 

Whoops? 

The humans help her lose some of her haughtiness. She leaves Susan in the 22nd century to become her own woman. 

Along the way and against her better judgement, she falls hopelessly for Ian Chesterton. He wants to stay with her forever, but she knows it would never work, and encourages him to go with John Foreman in the Dalek Time Machine to get back to his own time. 

Later, in other lives, she checks in on him occasionally. 

The Second Doctor:

The baby face is a problem. It takes a good twenty minutes on a lot of occasions to get anyone to take her seriously. On the bright side, a lot of Polly’s clothes fit her now. 

She finds a best friend in Scotsman Jamie McCrimmon, whose rather naive approach to futuristic technology is extremely refreshing, as is his unique insightfulness. 

After Ben and Polly leave them, they rescue Victoria, who Jamie is utterly taken with. Victoria is unsure about living a life so unsupervised by someone older and won’t listen to the Doctor’s insistence that she is in fact perfectly qualified to look after them all. 

She and Victoria spend a good many nights aboard the TARDIS talking about women’s history and the things to come for women in the future and how women act on other planets. Victoria is fascinated, occasionally horrified, and often quietly thrilled at the things she learns. 

It’s a shame to see her go, but all she ever wanted was a family and security, and the Doctor can’t provide that. 

They meet an eccentric man on a space station, with funny trousers and an obsession with the recorder. The Doctor and Jamie like him instantly, and invite him on board only to learn that the man had been considering stowing away if not invited. 

The Time Lords take her friends away from her. She is forced to regenerate and exiled to Earth, as punishment for her interference. 

The Third Doctor: 

Shrewd, passionately devoted to science, and not one to take kindly to interruptions or anyone trying to talk down to or even disagree with her, it’s a wonder the Doctor even gets hired by UNIT at all. But then again, beggars can’t be choosers. 

On the bright side, this fellow John Smith from Cambridge seems to be the one person around with an actual brain and not just a penchant for attacking first and thinking later. 

They’re friends instantly. Or, they are once she makes it perfectly clear that she is the cleverer of the two. The look on his face when he realises is a memory she’ll treasure forever. 

He eventually leaves to go back to his own research, upon realising she doesn’t need him. 

It’s a shame and she misses him, but then Jo Grant comes into her life. Despite an awful first impression, the two women are soon fiercely devoted to each other. Jo keeps going on about women having to stick together amongst all the army boys, and while the Doctor could usually not care less about gender politics, if it means Jo hangs around her more, then so be it. 

The Master turns up. It’s exhausting and exasperating and oh so much fun

Meanwhile, the Doctor’s told herself to not let herself fall for humans, after how much Ian hurt. But with Jo, it’s impossible not to. (Not that she hasn’t noticed the Brigadier’s lingering stares, or failed to appreciate him in his uniform. But he’s far too professional to ever do anything, and too trigger happy besides.) 

Jo is like sunshine and she’s always there and smiling and pressing herself against the Doctor out of fear or shock, until one day they’re in the supply closet of a spaceship and they’re kissing furiously instead of listening out for their pursuers. 

It’s wonderful, being with Jo. Until Clive Jones comes along, and the Doctor has to tell her to forget about her and marry the nice young man who can grow old with her and give her the life she wants. 

She drinks more champagne than she is proud of that night. 

Luckily, along comes Sarah Jane Smith, who is exactly the kind of human that the Doctor automatically adores. Inquisitive, sharp, and a vocal feminist. What a woman. 

Of course, then giant alien spiders happen, and it’s time for a change.  

The Fourth Doctor:

Or… not. Apparently, she’s doomed to be young, attractive, humanoid, and pale skinned throughout all her lives. There are worse fates, but she wouldn’t mind a little variety, frankly. And being so small is getting infuriating. 

Harry takes a long while to take her seriously, but once he does, he is steadfastly loyal. Sarah Jane takes the regeneration in stride for the most part. 

And after them, Leela, who is so strange and savage but so utterly charming in her honesty. They share a few kisses, but nothing more. 

Then comes Romana. A young Time Lord who looks older than her, is far taller than is sensible, and has an even more absurd grin. She can’t stand him, with his bragging about his grades and thinking he knows everything. 

She soon teaches him that experience wins every time. 

Of course, then he spots some pretty princess on Tara, and next thing she knows, the moment the whole Key To Time mess is sorted, Romana is now a less taller, less ridiculous, utterly beautiful Time Lady in her first regeneration. 

She tries to argue against what she can only consider body theft, or at least copying, but it is a relief to not have to crane her neck up to speak to her companion. 

Romana becomes a most dear friend. She’s missed being around someone like her, someone who understands. It makes it all the worse when she leaves, leaving the Doctor with only Adric and his incessant questions. 

The Fifth Doctor: 

There’s something about this body, a regality, that commands a little more respect than the ones before it, despite it following the pattern of her others. 

Adric’s questions exasperate her, while Tegan’s demands to be taken home are met with gentle requests for patience and promises of Heathrow airport, and this Traken prince she’s picked up is thankfully one of the most polite people she’s ever had in the TARDIS. Decent brain on him, too. 

Tegan’s smile sometimes makes her stomach do backflips. The Doctor ignores it. She’s learned her lesson. It’s almost a relief to see Tegan reach her breaking point and leave, except it isn’t, because for a long while it feels like a part of her is missing. 

Turlough is a curiosity, but a nice one who makes for surprisingly good company in the absence of the others. 

Perpugilliam Brown is a surprise. The Doctor remembers why she has tried to avoid America where possible in her travels. Americans are loud. But in the case of Peri, it involves shouting at the Master, and as such, the Doctor decides that Perpugilliam Brown can stay as long as she likes. 

Between the two of them and soon Erimem, uncrowned Pharaoh of Egypt, they make quite the team.  


The Sixth Doctor:

It’s about time! Finally, a more weathered model. Peri is surprised to say the least, and seems a little disappointed to lose out on her best friend who had until now looked a very similar age to her, but soon realises very little has changed. 

And now she lets the Doctor take care of her a bit better. Thank goodness for that! The maternal instincts in this body are absurdly strong, she has no idea what she would do if she couldn’t express them. 

Now, the borderline narcissistic but quietly lovable history professor she accidentally picks up some time after losing Peri is a trickier matter. Still, at least he shares her love for chocolate cake. 

The Seventh Doctor: 

Bright, bubbly, and able to get most people to like her within ten seconds. Now this is a regeneration she likes. Plus, her most impressive set of lungs yet. Handy, for calling companions who like to wander off. 

She tries to not encourage Ace’s use of explosives, but it’s difficult when she sees how genuinely happy they make the girl. She’s getting soft in her old age, she knows. 

Still, at least her brain makes up for it. She can out-think a computer, easily. The universe is her chessboard and she’ll do whatever the hell she pleases with it. 

The Eighth Doctor: 

She’s a jolly thing. Always keen for adventure, ready to shout at anyone who deserves it, and just wants to have a good time, really. 

After a rather rocky start involving amnesia and kissing the cardiologist who had caused her regeneration in the first place, the Doctor is just minding her own business when she accidentally messes with history. 

It seems that saving this stowaway on the R101 might not have been the best idea after all. But he’s so charming and sweet and genuine, sharing her utter passion for life, that by the time she realises her mistake, she’s not willing to part with him. 

That goes… about as well as one might expect. 

The Ninth Doctor: 

It’s funny, being a weathered old war veteran with a guilty conscience, and simultaneously looking like someone who could be on the front of a magazine. 

Life is hard, after the time war, but she meets a man with big ears and blue eyes and things get better. A lot better. It feels good to smile again. 

The addition of Captain Jack Harkness is an interesting one, but she’s always said the more the merrier. Their other companion is not quite as happy about this development, but before long they’re the best of friends. 

The Tenth Doctor: 

She’s gentler now, somehow. Oh, she has her anger and her snark, and boy does this body have a set of lungs on her. But she’s so much softer, underneath. 

Losing her friends from her last body takes its toll. She at least manages to avoid comparing Martha to them that came before her. Martha is wonderful, always completing even the most impossible tasks that the Doctor puts to her. They part on good terms, after the Master’s ravaging of the Earth. (The Master had not been so impressed with this version of her. He had trouble seeing the strength within, seeing that she was more than the duality of compassion and shouting.) Martha needs to look after her family, and that’s probably for the best. 

And then there’s the skinny idiot in the suit. He actually talks faster than she does, which is absurd, but she wonders if that’s simply because of his questionable family. Perhaps not letting them get a word in is how he survives. 

Either way, they get along like a house on fire. Losing him, wiping his memory and seeing him stare right through her and smile that stupid smile, is almost enough to break her. 

No more companions, she swears. 


The Eleventh Doctor: 

It’s all about fun, now. Impressing the little boy whose garden she crashes in and then impressing him when he’s grown up and has waited 14 years for her. (To hell with her rule about no more companions. Her old self was full of dumb ideas anyway.) 

Oh yes, she likes Rory Williams a lot. And his best friend John isn’t bad either. Mind you, that nose… 

She has her spaceship, and her boys, and life is good. Well, there’s River Song to worry about, but she can never be sure if the archaeologist is more interested in her or John. Just one more mystery, it seems. 

Losing Rory, and then John, is hard. But she knows that they’re happy, and that’s enough. 

The Twelfth Doctor:

Short, bossy, a control freak, and a slight obsession with tartan. Also, her English teacher companion is secretly a rock star wannabe, disguised as a reclusive Scottish nerd. 

What’s a girl to do? 

(Apparently, find out that her best enemy is alive, and now also female. And Scottish like her companion. The first kiss had been… shocking to say the least. The ones after, against her better judgement, decidedly less so.) 

She cares about her companion more than she will ever say, and when faced with losing him, takes things too far. Further than anyone should ever take anything. And when it is all said and done… she can’t remember his face, or his voice, or how he sounded when he mocked how large her eyes were. 

River is there to comfort her, though, in those 24 years on Darillium. 

And then Bill. Brilliant Bill. Oh yes, they make quite the team. And Nardole helps sometimes too. 

Send me an AU and I’ll expand on it! 

fall

or…lena doesn’t stop believing in the one person who believed in her

(or…the terrible thing i wrote to get rid of writer’s block and it’s long and sad but has a happy ending)

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday.

Sometimes, when she’s alone in her office in the wee hours of the morning, still in yesterday’s clothing and unsure when she’d last eaten, she thinks about that, the utter normalcy of losing National City’s hero on a Wednesday. Somehow, the death on such a boring day of the week provides a sort of stark contrast that Lena has trouble wrapping her head around. After all, surely the hero and pride of National City would fall in a blaze of glory on a Friday night, a Sunday afternoon, even a Monday morning during rush hour.

But a Wednesday? Some time between mid-morning and noon? When nothing was happening except for the drudge of the week, the tireless churning of society?

She doesn’t understand it—has tried to come to terms with it with very little success. In her weakest moments, when she’s staring down the end of a bottle of whiskey or wine (before Jess or Maggie or even James Olsen pry the bottle from her fingertips and help her get home), she thinks the very banality of Supergirl’s death is evidence of its unnecessary nature, its needless, pointless, meaningless, asinine

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday.

By Friday, the President herself comes to National City to mourn the fallen hero. She talks about the few short conversations she’s had with Supergirl, how everyone should be inspired and follow Supergirl’s wonderful example. A true hero, an exemplary citizen.

(Lena doesn’t go to the ceremony. She and Alex spend that afternoon in Kara’s apartment, sitting on Kara’s couch, Alex stoically staring at the television screen with silent tears running down her cheeks and Lena gripping her hand so tightly she thinks she’ll break fingers.  

After that, Lena doesn’t see much of Alex at all.)

Keep reading

Three Elements Home Blessing and Protection Ritual

Supplies:

  • Incense, or Sage Bundle - for smoke cleansing, to cleanse and protect with the “Sky”
  • Purified Water in a small bowl (optional ingredients include salt or herbs) - for saining, to cleanse and protect with the “Sea”
  • Protection Salt and Herbs (I’ll be adding lavender for peace and purification, and rosemary for protection and remembrance) - for protection of doorways, windows, and portals - to protect with the “Land”
  • Chant, Spell or Prayer of Intention - This step is best if you make it yourself, with your magical paradigms. Here is mine - “By the power of elements three, by the power of land, sky, and sea, I cleanse and protect this home to keep us safe from all harm.”  I also have one for each element e.i. “By the power of the sea, keep harm away from me”.

Ritual:

In an empty house, or apartment, open all doors and windows, including closets, bathrooms, etc. Start at what is to be the heart or center of the home, (the hearth, the bedroom, the living area, kitchen, etc) walk walk the perimeter of the home clockwise. If you wish to banish all spirits, spirits that mean you harm, all entities, whatever it is- do so at this time. Once you set your protections, you may accidentally banish or piss off ‘people’ you want to be friendly with. Walk the perimeter and focus on all the good memories you want to make here, the creating that will be done here, the hospitality you will offer guests, etc. 

Sky - Come back to start and light your “Sky” representation. Walk clockwise, chanting your spell. Aim the smoke at the ceiling, walking the perimeter of every wall and every room, including in closets, and around the shower, following the line of the ceiling. (not cupboards in the kitchen, because you might not be able to get the smell out later). Think of the smoke as banishing any previous tenants memories, bad emotions, spirits or energies you don’t want in your new home. End at your predesignated heart of the home.

Sea - Take your bowl of water, your “Sea”, and start again. this time dip your fingers into the bowl and flick water all around, aiming at the floorboard. Chant while you walk clockwise, focusing on the protection of the salt and water, creating a white light around your home as you sprinkle the water. Alternatively you can add to a spray bottle and spray the water. If you wish, sprinkle or ‘paint’ the water around any openings - mirrors, drains, windows - to protect from unwanted entrances for spirits or energies.  End at the heart of the home.

Land - Now take your “Land” representation of salt and herbs, and walk counter clockwise. Chant your house blessing or the chant for salt if you wish (if you chant the salt blessing, do one more pass clockwise saying you final home blessing). Sprinkle salt in a line across any doorway or window to outside the home. The salt should stay on the window sills if possible. The salt can be swept up from the front door if you wish, just ‘paint’ some salt water instead, after it is swept up. Sprinkle some around drains as well, and across wall mirrors. This closes up any magical or physical doorways of outside influence. End back at the heart of the home.

If you have a backyard or patio, you may want to extend the protections out there as well. Use cascarilla powder (powdered eggshells) around any dirt or lawn you have, use pure water with no salt, and maybe use wind chimes or a bell to represent the sky instead of the smoke, if you wish to not arouse suspicion. Please don’t use salt on the land. Its bad for plants and snails.

Home Protection Cont. :

I will be setting up my home altar at this “heart of the home” and from there it will be an easy place to renew the protections. I would recommend renewing the protections once a year, or whenever you feel you need a little extra boost of protection or cleansing. Since you originally did this when no furniture was in place, renewing the protections may seem hard. I prefer to smoke cleanse so that is a little easier for me, just say a protection or cleansing spell at our home altar and walk clockwise around the house with your smoke. Its gets into all the tight spots, now that there is furniture in the way, easier.  The spray bottle works well for this as well. I would recommend renewing one element at a time, in place of all three. 

Don’t forget that other protections are still great to uses as well. I will also be hanging my witches’ ladder made of hag stones by the door for protection, having potted plants for cleansing and protection like lavender, and hanging some wind chimes to know when the Good Folk are near.

Originally posted by butteryplanet

The last step is to enjoy your protected and magical home!

Flux: The Beginning (M) | 01

Prequel of Bliss | parts: 01 | 02 | 03

➽ Character: Yoongi x reader x Jungkook

➽ Genre/words: Smut, Poly!AU, Slow Burn (kinda), Angst / 8,335 words

➽ Summary: One of them is your longtime crush, while the other is the man which you had shared your secrets with on many heated nights filled with lust and forbidden desire. You had sworn that it would end, and that secret crush would remain a secret. 

➽ Warning: mentions of alcohol, public sex

➽ a/n: I started planning for this prequel after a late night chat with a friend not long after Bliss and Ardour were posted (yes that was a year ago), but I never had the inspiration to write the whole thing down. I have been re-writing this piece so many times, until I feel that it is finally enough to serve as the perfect filler for Bliss. And after a long deliberation, I have decided to split the prequel in two parts. I felt that the plot was dragged to long, and I’m pretty sure I would bore the readers if I keep it as it is lol. Anyway, enjoy! 

update: I finally think it’ll be wise to post the whole series in three parts.


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Starved pt 4

Tag List: @the-doggie-and-his-cuddlefish @fallingineternity @fangirlfiles1 @cup-of-blue  @reaper8439979 @lastfemaletimelord @zoeyheys @lizzysperil @trilight102 @frustratedwaffle @the-diaries-of-a-nerd @vladimeme @prplzorua @anxiousdepressedkid @ alzac-saber @softanon @chaoticgood-anon @321angst @vixenneko @justanotherpurplebutterfly @chemicallyimbalancedromance @hetaisawesome @virgilient @soft-blue-badger @latin-logic @the-sanders-sides  @emovirgil @itmepaigeb @evil-queens-rule @youcancallmeverge @datonerougecookeh @hells-angel-hevens-demon @glaceon-in-a-sweater @here-to-vent @thehomicidalbean @abstractedthinking @watch-me-introvert @alicethemadhatterapprentice  @i-prayed-to-you-cas @cherryblossomrebellion @musicphanpie-b @cochroachkappa-blog @sanative-sanders @you-can-call-me-verge@doctorwhitttaker@getupanddothething

Chapter Notes: I’m so sorry for the delay on this one! As you might imagine, this chapter had a bit riding on it, emotionally speaking, and I wanted to be sure I got it right. Big thanks to @thuriweaver for helping me out and providing a critical sounding board each time I wrote myself into a corner! 

CW: Negative self-talk, self-loathing, anxiety, panic, nightmares, misunderstandings, cursing

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

It was early the next evening before Virgil could bring himself to face the other sides again. 

That night had been easily one of the most miserable of his life. After taking apart the doll and stealthily returning the pilfered articles of clothing, he’d retreated to his room and locked his door, then crawled into his bed. As he’d feared, it felt huge and far too empty, and he found himself shivering, unaccountably cold. He realized he’d gotten used to having the warmth of the heating pad cradled to his chest as he embraced the pillow. 

He briefly considered recommissioning the heating pad by itself, but quickly dismissed the idea. It…hurt, somehow: the thought of using part of the doll only. It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but he found himself almost mourning the thing, like it’d been a friend or something, and he couldn’t bear to think about trying to create a substitute. 

Besides which, he shouldn’t need one. He should never have needed the doll in the first place. It was that kind of weakness that made the others hate him so much, and if he ever wanted to be someone they could respect (or at least someone they didn’t despise), he needed to stop being so pathetic. 

So he’d huddled up in bed, shivering under the layers of blankets he’d piled on instead, trying not to give in to the fear that was creeping around the edges of his thoughts. 

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Keeping Your End of the Bargain

I promised I’d give you all another Dark fic when we reached our next milestone, and I always keep my promises. 

Just a quick warning- this is not fluff. It’s not romance. It’s not a sympathetic portrayal. This man is a manipulator, a good one, and he does what he does to further his own interests. He enjoys control, not company. And, to use Mark’s own words:

He is not here to help you. He is here to use you.

Enjoy.

Originally posted by wrcngchcice


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neil talks to andrew about baltimore.

tw for burning, ptsd, panic attacks, torture

neil felt his arms tied behind his back. he wasn’t in the car, wasn’t in any room or any real place. it was just dark. black. he couldn’t see anything, but could feel the tight metal of the hand cuffs scrapping into his wrists. the world was a mindless shape, an empty space.

beside his ear, he heard lola. she whispered cruel nothings beside him, taunting him, torturing him with words. threatening the foxes. threatening his family. she told him what she was going to do to him. 

“i’m going to set your body on fire,” she told him, and he cringed, curling into himself. “i’m going to carve you into pieces.”

and he knew she was not lying because he could feel the fire on his arms, crawling up to his face, flames wrapping around him. he could see the ugly red and orange overlapping his skin. he was crying, begging, pleading as he felt his body boil and burn.

neil woke up in a cold sweat.

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Still Sane// Jughead Jones x Reader

Requested By: @castellandiangelo
Prompts: 13, 12, 14, 16
Word Count: 1374

Summary: The reader is mentally unstable after witnessing the death of Jason Blossom yet is too afraid to speak about it to anyone. Jughead and the reader have only started their relationship as a couple yet Jughead has mentioned he loves the reader.

Warnings: mental illness, swearing


It’s was a cycle you began practicing everyday ever since you saw his death. You would come home from school, stare in the mirror and cry. You could have done something! You could have saved him!

You screamed on the inside, tortured yourself to think about it and what you could’ve have done to stop it. You can’t stop the feeling and you can’t stop replaying the moment in my head. Your trapped, your stuck, you feel paralyzed almost in fear and hatred of yourself.

The cell rings and you get sucked back into reality. You’ve been throwing things, your room is a mess and all kinds of shit is tossed on the floor or thrown on your bed. You reach for your phone and close your eyes not wanting to see the damage anymore.

“Hello? Who’s this?” You ask right away not wanting to open my eyes to check caller ID.

“Oh wow. You really care about me. It’s Jug
Y/N.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I was just-so-yeah I’m sorry Jughead.”

He chuckles and it relives you for a split second,“It’s okay I guess. Hey you promised you’d help me write a few days ago, and I’m sorta close by. Would you let me in?”

“Yes!” You say without hesitation,“I mean, yeah, why not I just, come over.”

“Alright I’ll see you in, erm, six?”

“Yeah okay love. See you.”

“Bye.”

He hangs up and you sigh and open my eyes. The damage you had caused was still there. No different. You feel the memory of that day coming back to you and you feel yourself getting sucked in but close my eyes. You try to remember something else. Something far more happier than that day.

“What’s wrong Veronica?” You ask as she approaches your locker squirming,“You seem odd.”

She laughs,“Anything but. So I heard you and Jug have started going out? How long?”

You give her a questioning look,“Seven dates so far. Why?”

“Hasn’t asked you be his girlfriend yet?”

“No. And he doesn’t need to. I’m perfectly fine in the state we are in.”

Veronica smiles,“Alright. Well I overhead Jughead talking with Archie. And Jughead is smitten.”

The though Jughead had mentioned he loved you even though you had asked him out with a the line of “You, me, date, Friday. Pick me up at six. Okay bye!”

“Nice to know.” You smile and you begin to walk down the hall and she follows.

“And well Jughead may have mentioned he loves you.”

Your smile grows and Veronica looks at you happily.

“All I have to say is, maybe you should think about loving him back. Just a thought.”

“Just a thought?” You laugh lightly.

“Yeah just a tiny tiny little thought.”


You smile at the memory and slowly open your eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scream when you look at the mirror once again.

You see it all, the words you wrote with consciousness, you could have done something, you could have saved him, your as bad as a killer.

Is it true? You want to say something yet the words won’t come out. Why won’t anything come out about that day? You don’t want to feel the guilt anymore your ready to tell somebody.

For fucks sake why can’t I tell somebody!

“Hey Y/N!” You hear someone scream from outside the window. You walk over and see Jughead out on your lawn and he waves at you. You don’t wave back and you only notice when you pull away for the window and try to hide everything thrown under your bed.

After that, you run downstairs and you open the door for Jughead. Maybe this, well Jug, was the detox you needed from all havoc you’ve been causing yourself.

“Hey-”

You pull him for a hug and catch Jug off surprise for he isn’t a huge hugger. Jughead surprisingly hugs you back.

“Hey… are you okay? You don’t usually hug me when we see each other. Not that it’s a bad thing or anything, I guess.”

You let go,“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You say awkwardly,“I didn’t mean to really…”

You gesture for him to follow as you head up towards your room.

You open the door and look through your closet for a sweater as you hear Jughead shut the door.

“What are you writing about?” You ask as you continue searching. Jughead doesn’t answer you,“Jug?”

You back away from the area and look at Jughead who is twisting his head to read what you wrote on the mirror with a marker.

Shit. You had forgot to clean that up.

You grab your makeup wipes and immediately attempt to clean the mirror as quick as you can. The wipes only smudge the words and it’s still visible, so you take duct tape from the floor and ripe pieces to cover it up.

“You know. I’m just decorating my room.” You say as you rip another piece and stick it over,“I just noticed it’s better without those words.” You speak rapidly.

“Y/N.” Jughead says.

You continue sticking pieces.

“Y/N!” He yells at you now.

You look back at him and try to pull at another piece yet he takes it away from you.

“What the hell are you doing?” He ask setting his bag down and grabbing a hold of your arms.

“Jug let go, let me just-”

“Y/N what the hell is going on?”

“What? What do you mean?”

He sighs,“You think I don’t notice? You started coming into to school with red eyes and bags under them. Your distance and last time I set up a date you didn’t show up.”

You stare hardly at the floor clenching you fists not wanting to feel now both the guilts rising up to take over your thoughts.

“Do you really love me, or was that an illusion you made me believe?”

“What?” He says leaning forward.

You look at him in the eyes grabbing the side of his face and holding him there,“Did you really mention you loved me, did someone really tell me, did you really do it? Or am I making that up?”

Jughead looks at you and he smiles lightly,“No I- I did mention that. I think I love you. I guess Veronica did tell you.”

You let go of his head and wrap your arms around his neck and he doesn’t question this time, he wraps his arms around you and holds you protectively as you cry. Part of you is happy your not losing all your sanity but still the other part feels it’s still losing itself.

“I’m not very good when it comes to relationships.” Jughead tells you,“So I might be wrong about this. But if something is wrong, you can tell me.”

You wipe you tears with your sleeves and Jughead leans in to kiss your forehead.

“I just- I want to tell someone. I do but the words won’t come out.”

He rubs your back soothingly as you press your cheek against his chest as you continue talking.

“But I saw something, and it’s all I think about Jug. I can’t go a day without having hundreds of flashbacks to it. I feel like I’m not living anymore.”

Jughead pulls back to look at you,“Y/N if you ever need me. I’m here okay?”

You nod and Jughead leans into you to kiss you. It’s slow, very slow, yet it’s okay because this is new. Jughead always gave you peck, for you know he was not the best at kissing, but the longer he kissed the more you felt like he really did love you, even if you’ve only been a official couple for a few weeks.

“You hungry?” He asks you when he pulls away.

“I could go for some food.”

“Oh good. I thought you were going to say no.”

“And what if I did say no?”

“I would still go Y/N. Between you and food, I chose food.”

“Wow, I’m so special.” You chuckle before kissing his cheek.

He swings his bag onto his body and takes your hand in his as he leads the way.

Little Red Wagon

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,116

Warnings: ANGST OUT THE ASS, mentions of a child dying, mentions of wanting to die, lying, heartache….yeah….

Requested by @haniiix33: So..the reader once lost her little son because of some accident but she kept it as a secret bc she was scared that Dean wouldn’t love (or accept) her. Someday she gets confronted with the situation or something that reminds her of her son. She opens up to Dean and shows him the place where she buried her son…something like that?

A/N: So I literally cried my eyes out while writing this which is something that never happens to me….you guys have fun with this one….(unbeta’d any and all mistakes are my own)

Originally posted by findmeplease

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A Mother's Love

When she turned five, her parents broke the news too her.

America would offer so many possibilities there would be no reason to fear leaving their home country.

When she was 10 and her father was buried six feet under and her mothers tongue refused to speak the language despite constant nights of fighting to form the words, she had to quit school to fend for their small shack of a home.

At 13 she got her first real job at the tallest building in their city, cleaning under a man that shared in her heritage and suddenly American seemed like the place her father bragged about so many years ago.

At fifteen she’s offered false promises by a man old enough to be her grandfather, but when he talks about her home in a way she could never remember, she gives herself too him in turn for stories.

At 16 she was pregnant with a CEO’s baby, and her mother was torn over the ruined innocence of her daughter and what would become of her grandson.

At 17 she’s carrying a bundle in her arms, as she walks down to a courthouse as the father of her child uses various accessories to hide his features in case any one recognizes him.

At 18 she refuses to see her mother, the woman who scolded and cried to her in a language that was now long gone to her daughter, and she wraps her arms around her infant as if too shield him from her past, but she isn’t aware that it’s the future that will force her son too see the worst in the world.

At 23, after receiving another letter from the school about her son, she realizes that she can’t keep him trapped in a house void of love, but she can stay behind and fix it for when he gets back. She always wanted to go to summer camp as a kid.

At 27 when her son is ten, and she has the same number of bruises up and down each arm, she refuses to look her son in the eyes. She robbed him of her rich culture, and thrusted him into a new one that refused too see them, because the robes his mother wore when she was 5 still hung on her no matter how many times she tried to shed them.

At 27, her son is so full of hatred for an unforgiving world that she put him in, and she understands she can’t take that back. But that doesn’t mean she won’t try.

At 27 and a half she forgets she makes that solemn vow and it’s another summer at camp for her son.

At 27 and a half she lets a red haired man who smiles too much for her tastes take her son because theirs so much determination and love in his eyes when he gazes at Max, that she’d be damned if she didn’t let a true parent show her son what it meant to be in a house where you didn’t have to avoid eye contact in fear of getting in trouble.

Right now, she sits at her desk, writing a letter and a check too a little boy that has been her only solace in this world. To her son that has lightened her life in ways she never noticed until now. To a son she loves very much. And she knows this isn’t a good enough apology, but she knows it’s a start.

I love you Max, and I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you and I promise to fix it this time. I love you so very much.

Love,
Mom

Max wasn’t sure if he was supposed to cry or not, but he was sure staring numbly at the walls wasn’t what he was supposed to do. They had been getting ready to eat breakfast together at the dining table when David brought in the mail.

The six figure check was gifted to David in a separate envelope with a letter that promised more, along with with more promises of an upcoming visit from Max’s mother and grandmother who were both excited to see him.

David calmly took the check, still in shock from the amount of money, and set it on top the fridge, brief thoughts of planning a family camping trip with the upcoming visitors ran through his mind, but all thoughts ran clear once he turned to face Max.

Max couldn’t control the shaking that had over come him.

He had never received something that was filled with such love from either of his parents. The closest that came was the brief hug shared between his mother and him before David carried him back to Sleepy Peak.

And his father was out of the question, vague memories of him being held and a quick kiss to his temple before they left him on his first day of camp by the older man appeared from time to time, but Max couldn’t tell if he had just made up the interaction to fill that void or if his father was capable of showing that much affection to his bastard son.

David crouched next to him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder and a top of the small fist that was clenched so tightly on the letter.

“Max?” David called, trying to draw Max out of whatever trance had fallen upon him. Max furrowed his brows as he stared hard at wall before him, his body shaking so hard he was making the chair creak.

When he heard David’s voice he let his fist open, allowing David to take the letter. David stood up, but kept his hand on Max shoulder while reading the wobbly hand writing.

“Oh, Max.” David whispered, voice so quiet Max barely caught it.

It came out as a pained wheezed, and then stronger, and Max suddenly realized he was sobbing. He touched his cheek and found his finger tips wet with tears unknown to to him had fallen.

David slowly scooped up the boy, letting Max cry hard into his shoulder fists balling up in the man’s shirt.

“I know, buddy. Shh, it’s okay Max. It’s gonna be okay.” David cooed, pacing the kitchen floor as he rubbed the boy’s back.

“Why?” Max cried, summing up so many questions into one word and David felt his chest tighten, having no answers to settle his pleas.

“It’s gonna be okay.” David made his way into the living room setting down on the couch, and Max curled up in his lap, letting the rest of the tears slip by.

“I fucking hate her!” Max spat, wiping the tears away only to be replaced by more.

David shushed him gently, running his fingers through the soft, black curls.

“Why’d she fucking stay with him? Why’d she have me? Why do I have to carry her fucking shame?” He yelled.

“You don’t have too, Max. Your not your parents, you’re not their mistakes. You’re not what they think, believe, or do. You’re you. Nothing has to change that.” David soothed, letting the words fall among the sniffling and teary eyed hiccups.

Max sniffed and took a deep breath, allowing his nerves to calm.

“Stop speaking cryptic shit like that, you sound like the quarter master.”

David laughed loudly, and both felt the mood lighten. And both were very grateful for it.

They stayed like that for most of the morning.

David held him close, thinking of mothers and marriages of his own past, and Max held on tight to David’s arm that was stroking Max’s upper arm in an attempt at comfort, wondering if moments such like these were what it mean to have a mothers love

ACC Rant

(Feel free to ignore this.)

Okay I just-

I need to rant. I was watching Advent Children (Complete) again today and I just-

I love Tifa. I do. I really do. But dear god this is not okay.

I get it, I really do. Both of the kids are gone, kidnapped by what are basically miniature-Sephiroths, she’s scared and frustrated and feels helpless. Cloud has been constantly coming and going for two years now, and she’s looking for stability that isn’t there. She’s taking out her frustration and fear of the situation on the first person there who comes into conflict with her. But I just-

That scene. I hate that scene so much. Because while I understand where Tifa is coming from, she has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.

I’m sure that everyone (minus Vincent and Nanaki, probably) expected for him to be okay after meteor. Tifa thought that he’d be there and be stable, be okay and around. After all, Sephiroth is gone, ShinRa is gone, the WRO is up and running and getting everyone electricity again. Cid is providing transportation, and Barrett is providing fuel. Everything’s okay now, right? Why should Cloud not be okay?

Keep reading

Like Father, Like Son

Title: Like Father, Like Son

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Word Count: 2,167

Request: @imboredsueme - Reader and Sherlock have a really bad argument and break up, she realizes she was pregnant with his kid. Years later her curious son tracks down the detective.

A/N: I’ve hit 1,000 followers!!! This is crazy and I couldn’t have ever imagined this would happen. Anyway….. This was the most requested of all my imagines in my ‘to-do’ list so thanks to everyone who voted and please enjoy! If you’d like to request an imagine message me or leave me an ask, my plates pretty full right now but I’ll add it to the list and hopefully get to it soon. If you’re not on my tag list already and want to be let me know! As always- feel free to message me if you need anything or just feel like saying hello!

Masterlist



    “William?” You bellowed from the kitchen. Your son hadn’t come down for dinner yet and you were beginning to  worry.

    “William your food’s gonna get cold, love-” You marched through the hall and opened his bedroom door, losing your voice when you saw his window open and his sheets tied to the drain pipe outside.

    “William!” You shrieked and ran to the window, sticking your head out. You looked at the drop from the second floor, it wasn’t much but you still worried for your small child.

    Pulling your head back inside, you yanked the window closed and began searching for a sign of where he’d gone. You turned and noticed your phone lying on his dresser. That wasn’t where you left it, your eyebrows scrunched together and you read the screen it was left on. A Google search - Sherlock Holmes- leading to his website with his address: The Science of Deduction.

    You cursed yourself for ever telling William his name. You could barely keep up with him, he was always 12 steps ahead of you, and he was only 6! Sighing, you looked out the window once more, knowing where he must have gone.

    You grabbed your phone and keys, running out of your flat. His name floated around your head. Memories that you had tried to forget stringing back together in your mind.


     “How many more times is this going to happen, Sherlock?” You yelled, you’d been stood up one time too many and you were sick of it. Sitting there, promising the waiter he would come, only to be left sitting there an hour later. All eyes on you as you left some cash at the table and finally gave up.

    “It’s never seemed to bother you before.” He argued.

    “Oh I promise you it has. You’re just never around to notice it.” You yelled back.

    “Well I’m sorry if my job is a little more important than you.” He growled. Your stomach dropped. You knew he felt that way, but hearing him say it out loud made it feel real, and it killed you.

    “I see…” You said quietly, shaking your head and turning towards the door.

    “Y/N, I didn’t mean-” he began, realizing what he said.

    “Yes you did, Sherlock, that’s the problem. You did mean it. I’ve never been enough for you, I’ve never been more important than your cases. I can barely hold your attention for more than a few minutes. Sorry I wasn’t clever enough or fascinating enough for you.” you yelled, grabbing some of your stuff and shoving it into your bag.

    “What are you doing?” He asked, seriously.

    “What does it look like genius?” You shot back.

    “You’re leaving.” He spoke, as if it was a question.

    “Not that you’ll notice.” You responded, truthfully.

    “Don’t go.” He pleaded, but he didn’t sound very convincing.

    “Make me. Sherlock, tell me I mean more to you than a case does. That you’d rather spend time with me then be out solving some crime. Tell me that, honestly, and I’ll stay.” You pleaded. If he couldn’t tell you that, then your relationship wasn’t going where you thought it was.

    You waited for an answer. His mouth moved as if he was about to speak, but stopped and he looked to the floor, he stayed silent for far too long.

    “Goodbye Sherlock.” you scoffed, closing the door, ending that chapter of your life.


     Your feet hit the dirty pavement, running, praying. You knew Baker Street was only about a mile away, but you prayed that’s where he was. That he’d be okay, that if he was anywhere it was there. Because if he wasn’t there, you wouldn’t have a clue where to find him. Even if he is there, you weren’t ready to face this. To be drawn back to him: Sherlock Holmes.

    Ever since William was born he had been causing you trouble. He wasn’t a bad kid, he was just so much smarter than you and so curious. It scared you how much he reminded you of Sherlock. Jesus, he even looked exactly like him. A miniature little Sherlock running around wreaking havoc on your life. But you loved the havoc, and you loved your son.

    You remembered the day you found out you were pregnant with William.


    “Mate, I’m going to the store do you need anything? Tampons? Food? Breakup ice cream?” Sharon, or Shazza as everyone called her, asked you on her way out of your shared flat.

    “No thanks, I’ll be fine.” you laughed, but stopped when your roommate closed the door. You hadn’t needed those in a while… you counted on your finger how many months it’s been since you last period. Jesus.

    You called your roommate a couple minutes later after frantically flipping through your calendar to make sure the dates lined up. You were trapping your foot anxiously, hoping she could discreetly pick up a pregancy test for you.

    “Shazza, could you do me a favor?” You asked hurriedly when she picked up the phone.

    “Finally gonna let me set you up with that guy from my spin class?” You could feel her smirk through the phone.

    “No, listen while you’re out I need you to pick up something for me.” You spoke slowly.

    “Sure love, what?” She asked, casually.

    “A pregnancy test.” You whispered into the phone. No one was around but you felt embarrassed.

    “Are you serious?” She yelled back.

    “Shh, yes.”

    “I thought you were on the pill!” She exclaimed, just as shocked as you were. You could only imagine the looks she was getting in the store right now.

    “I am!” You retorted.

    “I swear to God if that bastard knocked you up–” She began, but you stopped her mid-rant.

    “Shazza! Please just get one…” You pleaded.

    “Jesus ok, I’ll be home soon.” She said, hanging up the phone, leaving your mind to wander until she returned to confirm your suspicions.

    You’ve always heard it said that waiting for a pregnancy test result was “ the longest five minutes of your life”. You thought that was an exaggeration but jesus were they right.

    “What does it say?” Shazza asked after the timer went off.

    “I don’t know, I can’t look. You do it.” You closed your eyes, scared.

    “Oh my god,” Was her only reply.

    “‘Oh my god’ what?” Your eyes flew open, scanning her face.

    “You’re pregnant!” She jumped, a genuine smile on her face.

    “I’m pregnant…” You couldn’t help but be happy, you’ve always wanted a child. Although you pictured it happening differently.

    “Are you gonna tell him?” She asked, addressing the elephant in the room.

    “No.” You answered simply.

    “No! Why not?” She yelled.

    “Because! Because he hates kids, he’d never have time for a family. Frankly the best thing will be for him not to know, I can take care of this child on my own, thank you very much.” You said proudly.

    “Damn you’re stubborn,” she smiled and shook her head,”but I’ll be here, I’ll help you in whatever you need.”

    “Thanks Shazza.” You hugged her.

    “Anytime, love.”


     That was how William was brought into your life, a surprise at every turn since. All you wanted to do was protect him, and you feared in protected him you only caused him more pain.

    You had managed, raising a child on your own, but you feared he needed some fatherly contact that you just couldn’t provide.

    You were half way to Baker Street when it started to pour. You tried to catch a cab but none of them would stop. You were splashed by a passing car and groaned.

    You should have known this would happen, that he would search him out. It was just last week that the questions you normally avoided were given answers.


     “Mommy…I know you don’t like talking about it, but I have this family tree project for school and I…well my tree is half empty.” William held his drawing up to you. You were struck with a pang of guilt.

    “You don’t have to tell me now, only a name, I’ll understand.” He said, he always knew how to outsmart you.

    “Oh, baby, come here.” You patted the bed next to you and he jumped up. He positioned his paper and pencil and looked up to you, ready to write it down.

    “Sherlock.” You said quietly, it tasted strange in your mouth, foreign almost.

    “And his parents?” He asked, batting his eyelashes at you. He really had you wrapped around his finger.

    “Uh.. Wanda and Tim.” You took a moment, hardly being able to remember. You’d only actually met them once, and they didn’t even know you and Sherlock were dating at the time. That must have been… almost 8 years ago now.

    “And did he have any brothers or sisters?” He asked. Thinking back on this you wondered if his ‘family tree project’ was even real, or just a ruse designed to get you to give up the name of his father.

    “A brother, Mycroft.” You watched as  he filled in the enlarged leaves on the tree and jumped off your bed.

    “Is that it?” You asked, surprised at his sudden absence.

    “Yes, thanks mummy!” He rushed away excitedly, you raised an eyebrow in suspicion but let it go and got back to your work.


     You were now standing in front of 221B Baker Street, soaked to the bone, frantically knocking on the door.

    “Y/N?” Sherlock answered the door, surprised to see you.

    “Is he here?” You asked hurriedly.

    “You’re soaking wet.” He said, pulling you inside.

    “Is he here!” You asked again.

    “Upstairs” He nodded. You ran past him, taking the stairs two by two, thanking God you weren’t wearing heels.

    “William!” You yelled, Sherlock was rushing behind you. You stepped into a familiar living room that hadn’t changed a bit only to see your son sitting by the fire sipping tea. Wearing his favorite shirt,little tie and coat.

    “Jesus I was so worried.” You knelt in front of his chair and hugged him, inspecting him, making sure he was okay.

    “I knew you would be, but I had to know, I’m sorry mummy.” He looked guilty. You kissed his forehead, knowing this time would come some day.

    “Y/N…” Sherlock said from the doorway, you stood and whipped around caught off guard, forgetting he was there.

    “Can we speak for a moment” He motioned out to the hall. You nodded, wrapping your arms around you to create some warmth and comfort. You were still soaking wet. Your hair dripping slightly onto the wood floors.

    “Is he mine?” He asked, wasting no time at all. You looked up to him and nodded.

    “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

    “Why would I. We had just broken up, I wanted nothing to do with you then.” You answered honestly.

    “And now?” He asked, hopefully.

    “Now?” You asked.

    “Now I’d like to be able to spend some time with my son. He’s almost too smart for his own good. I mean jesus he looks just like me, I want to make sure he doesn’t turn out like I did.” Sherlock looked to the floor.

    “What are you saying?” You reached out and took his hand, you could tell he was struggling to find his words and you tried to comfort him.

    “I’m saying I’d like to help, in any way you’ll let me. I’d like to be there for him. I’m sorry, for the way things ended, the way I treated you, never being there. I’d like to be there now. Please.” He spoke with so much sincerity that you would argue this wasn’t the same Sherlock you left 6 years ago. Something had changed, he’d changed, seemingly for the better.

    “Alright, but only because he needs his father. I’ll need time, Sherlock, to adjust to this.” You whispered, realizing how close the two of you were standing.

    “I know. Thank you” He kissed your forehead, and headed back inside the living room, only to see William looking through old case files on his desk.

    “What’s this?” William asked curiously, raising a photograph in the air.

    “A beheaded nun.” Sherlock said, casually glancing at it.

    “Jesus” You rushed over to the desk and pulled the picture out of his hands.

    “Cool.” William said, now curious, wanting more of Sherlock’s crazy life.

    “Most certainly not cool.” You said. They both looked up to you and rolled their eyes. Like father, like son.

    You couldn’t help but smile at how similar they were, and how your life had seemed to fall back into place. Your son gained the father he’d secretly needed, and you gained back the man who was once the love of your life.

    It would be hard: going back to some sense of normalcy, forgiving sherlock completely, but watching your son look upon him with admiration and love was going to make the process so much easier.


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Glorious Gems of MP - Tansen, the magical musician of Gwalior

Muhammad Ghaus (or Ghawth) was a 16th century Sufi saint and teacher of the Mughal emperor Humayun. As soon as we reached his tomb, I stood gazing at this marvelous 16th century Mughal architecture originally built by Akbar. Architecturally it is a square base with hexagonal towers mounted with domes at its corners.

It is covered on all sides with beautiful carved stone lattices. There are about 36-37 different intricate patterns and they are so fine, one can gaze at them till eternity.

When admiring the lattices, my eyes fell upon beautiful coloured threads that were tied around the tomb. It is believed that, people who visit this place and tie a knot with colourful threads get their prayers answered. I quickly went to a lattice, tied a thread and prayed with a lot hope and excitement!

The pleasant surprise was when I came to know that also buried in the same mausoleum complex is the great Miyaan Tansen, who drew Sufi influences in his music from Mohammad Ghaus. There’s probably not a single musical soul who hasn’t heard the name of Tansen. Although, what most do not know is that Ghaus was a very important mentor for Tansen.

Tansen was born in Gwalior and hence it is also known as Sangeet ki Nagri (the city of music). Born in a Hindu family, he started his career in the court of King Ram Chand of Gwalior. But Tansen’s music transcended all the barriers of religion, landing him to King Akbar’s court where he was considered one of the Navratnas (Nine Jewels). Tansen is widely considered as the founder of Hindustani classical music as we know it. After his death, he was buried according to Muslim customs by Akbar.

Tansen Samaroh, a national musical fest, happens every year near his tomb. Started in 1985 by the Scindia’s, this festival is held in the memory of Tansen. In this grand extravaganza, many renowned classical singers from all across the country come and deliver powerful performances, building a beautiful and a serene atmosphere, just the way it would have been in Akbar’s time.

Standing in front of the tomb took me back to my childhood and the wonderful legends that I had heard about Tansen from my father. His music is said to have resonated with everyone - from men and women to even animals and birds. Popular legend it that he once sang Raag Deepak (Song of Fire) in the court and the wicks of lamps burst into flame by the sheer power of his voice. And everyone knows that when Tansen sang the Raag Megh Malhar (Song of Rain), it actually rained that day.

Akbar was very fond of Tansen! So much so that once Akbar wanted to ride an elephant but it wasn’t tamed and nobody was unable to control him. Tansen sang to the elephant to calm him down after which the Emperor rode the elephant with utmost ease.

Near the tomb there is a renowned Tamarind tree and my guide said that chewing the leaves of this particular tree makes our voice sweeter to hear. I had to obviously take a few and ruminate on them with an incredible sense of childlike wonder, a wonder about magical tales like these that make our history so rich and popular. And so I chewed on a few leaves and hummed a tune. My guide Puneet ji felt that there was a remarkable transformation in my voice. But of course he was indulging me!

Indian classical music has deep rooted oneness with nature itself.  For a few seconds, I wished I was there in the court of Tansen to actually witness this magic for real. I started daydreaming of the day when he sang Raag Megh Malhar - peacocks dancing in the rain the raindrops trickling through the exteriors of the magnificent structure and the courtiers mesmerised by the rhythm of the Raag. And amidst the beautiful flowers in the garden, I was, swirling around, looking up at the sky, letting the raindrops fall on my face. Alas, it was all but a distant dream.

About the artist 

Neethi Goldhawk is an independent illustrator and textile print designer who loves drawing all things dreamy, inspired by nature and life. She has illustrated for platforms like Redbull Amaphiko and Launchora. Her pen name (Goldhawk) was concocted in the crowded space of her mind full of absurd characters, who are but little children at heart. She is an avid Tumblr blogger and can be found here

By Neethi Goldhawk
Mirrors (M) | 01

Drabble game request: Jungkook + “Don’t argue. Just do it” + Friends with Benefits au | for @jeonggukes & important banana anon

Character / Genre: Jungkook x reader | FWB!au, smut, angst

Word count: 3,460 words (idk what happened)

Warning: Smut. A little bit of exhibitionism and a much graphic smut. Please read with much caution.

Parts: 01 | 02 (coming soon!)


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A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Eight)
  • The first section of this story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?
  • The second section will explore the aftermath of Claire and Jamie’s reunion, following their journey as they work to build a new life together. 

Section Two: A Hundred More 

(Eight) 


So close,” that wretched, strangled voice kept choking out over and over again. “Claire—” He kept trying to hold her closer, wrap his body around hers still more completely, searching, searching for her, though he knew she was beneath him. “So—so close—

To losing her. He had come mere minutes, moments away from losing her forever, again, right before his eyes.

Shhhh, darling, I know,” she kept whispering into his hair, his neck, though she was sobbing as hard as he. “I know—It’s—It’s alright, love—” 

“Don’t go…” The snow-flecked dark seemed to spin and scream around him, throwing everything into a hellish whirl that he couldn’t grasp, about to throw him off the very face of the earth. “Claire, ye canna—Claire—don’t—go—” 

“I’m not going—anywhere—” she gasped out, clutching harder around his back. “It’s over, Jamie—All—over….”  She cupped his head so urgently, so tenderly as she cradled him and wept into his shoulder. “Shhhh, it’s alright, love…it’s alright…It’s all over….

He hadn’t let her out of his arms, not for one single moment.

Those minutes on the hill, his body, his heart, his MIND had all been on the verge of shattering from the terror that she was leaving him. The strength—the pure, desperate strength— it had taken to keep upright and to speak, to ask instead of screaming and lunging? Never, not even in battle, had he ever felt something like that: the absolute life of him being ripped apart before him, shred by shred, hope by hope, until he was no more than a bloodied, quivering plea. 

 

But then, she had run to him and he had become flesh again, breathing and needing, with arms that could hold and a soul that could feel joy, this joy, 

and the rest of world had gone still. 


It had been hours—or perhaps only moments—before he’d crumpled to the ground.  Utterly overcome, utterly dissolved in relief and love, in scarce-contained panic, he’d laid her down and covered her like a cloak with his body, surrounding her, trying to convince himself that she was real. 

There, on the frozen ground of the faerie hill, oblivious to the wind and the snow, they’d broken apart in one another’s arms, each kept from vanishing only by the other grasping them tight enough to bruise, from feeling their arms, hearing what words they could manage to gasp out; and it was both everything and scarcely anything at all compared to what they each felt, in those moments. 

“Claire….” 

She felt the same under his hands, exactly the same. It was the same voice—the same gentle hands—the same glorious spirit. She was Claire; and he was going to die from her. 

“Are you shaking from—” She had to stop and get her sobbing breath under control before she could finish. “—from—crying— or cold?”

He truly didn’t know. 

She pushed up his sleeve. “God, Jamie, you’re like ice,” she moaned. He felt her shifting and fumbling about. “Here, put—Take this—”

Though he was still shaking, still barely able to see through swollen eyes, he managed to pull the cloak out from beneath her and throw it over them both, heads and all. It was quite large, of good, thick wool, and a pocket of warmth instantly began to form around them. While he wouldn’t have thought the cold had been affecting him so very much, the change was like a dram of good brandy, rushing through his body from head to toe in an instant. His sobbing eased, his mind began to clear, his breathing slowing to something like a normal pace. He could hear hers doing the same, tapering and settling as the calm and the gentle pool of heat settled over them both. 

He had had both arms around her before they’d shifted, hands gripping her side and twined in her hair, needing in every muscle and fiber of him to hold her. Now, in utter darkness, without even the faint glow of the snow-clouds to illuminate her, he could only reach for her face, needing, paradoxically, to see her, to look into her eye. And the moment his palm came to rest on her cheek— so cold and slick with tears—she gave a little whimpering sound that might have been his name, and she was reaching up for his mouth. He couldn’t stop kissing her; tasting her; touching her; couldn’t stop moaning her name. All the years—All the years of longing for her, and she was here in his arms, sharing his breath. 

“I’m here,” she kept saying back against his lips, knowing that he needed to be told. “I’m here, Jamie….I’m here….”


“When I saw ye,” he said, a long time later, when the world had once more gone quiet, his hand pressed against her heart. “When I saw ye climbing up that hill, Claire—” 

Jamie had found the horse a mile or two back. It was one of the Lallybroch mares, a beast he’d broken himself and would have known anywhere. Terror had driven him all the way from the Lallybroch dooryard, or so he had thought. No, he had only felt the true, ripping claws of it when he had seen that riderless horse and known that he had come too late. The furious minutes of that last hellish gallop were a blank in his memory, but he remembered the ecstatic fury of seeing her up there in the distance; seeing her turning; and then the life dropping out of him once more as she began to sprint upward, away from him, toward the stones.

“What would you have done?” Claire whispered, stroking his face. “If I had kept running?”

“I’d have run faster,” he said with what voice he had left, “and pinned ye to the ground until ye listened to sense.”

She stiffened. “…You’d have stopped me by force?”

He forgot the complete darkness enshrouding them and gave her a look.  “If you’re asking ‘would I have done whatever I could to keep ye running off forever before ye kent all the truth’ you’re damned right, I would. I’d have tied ye hand and foot to a tree, if I had to.”

“You bloody man,” she muttered, and it was not said in fondness. “Nothing changed.”

Anger flared up in him, red-hot and blinding with panic, and he closed his hand tight around her wrist. “You were going to just leave, Claire,” he hissed. “Can ye honestly blame me? God, I’m still so furious that ye would have—Had I not—” He swore, shaking her. “You damnable, foolish wom—

“Oh, is that the way of things?” she snarled at him, her breath hot in his face. “So, when YOU sacrifice your own feelings and well-being for love, it’s noble and right, but when I do, I’m just a ‘foolish woman?’”

“That’s—Damn you, that isna at all—”

She yanked herself out of his grasp. “Can you honestly tell me, James Fraser, that if the circumstances were reversed—if you’d somehow found your way to 1968—found that I’d married someone new—heard I’d had a child by him and was by all accounts blissfully happy—you’d have just waltzed right in and thrown yourself at me? You’d truly have put me in that position?”

Jesus.

“No,” he moaned, defeated, as the true tragedy of what she’d been planning to do for his sake settle around him. “No, I….I couldna have put ye through such a choice.”

“Well, I bloody couldn’t do it to you, either,” she spat at him, sobs starting to shudder through her again in her rage. “No matter how much—much it tore me apart to—”  

“Oh, lass….” He felt her convulse and cover her face with both hands, as though she might hide from the terror of what they’d so nearly lost.  “No,” he moaned, gathering her tight against his chest, covering her again, the intimacy between them knitting together once more. “No, it was noble what ye meant to do, Claire. If what Jenny told ye had been true, it would have been right. I—Christ, that ye would have done that for my sake…Thank you.” 

‘”Jamie….”

“We’ve been lucky, Sassenach.” He rocked her softly, buried his face in her hair as she wept.  “God….we’ve been so lucky, today. We were in the right places at the precise right moments to find one another again.” He kissed her, softly hushing as she had done for him. “And now, it’s all over, just as ye said… We’ll never be parted again, I swear it, Claire.” He sealed the promise with a kiss in the hollow of her neck. 

Not ever.


“But what—what will we do?” she managed, voice taut with worry. “About Laoghaire? The girls?”

What will we do, indeed?

“I dinna ken….not precisely,” he admitted. 

“That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,” she said, with a tremulous smile in her voice. 

Lovely wee smartarse. 

“We’ll find some arrangement that separates me from Laoghaire as honorably as can be managed. You and I are still man and wife, after all. That must count for something wi’ the law.” 

Wife. His wife. 

Lord have mercy upon his soul, WIVES. 

“It will be a tricky business, Claire, and I’ll no’ say it will be over quickly, but I will fight for it with everything that I have.”

“What if it can’t be managed honorably?”

He exhaled. “Then I shall find a way to reconcile wi’ dishonor.”

She choked out a laugh and held him tighter, sighing in deep relief. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. At least we’ll be in hell together, eh?”

“And a happy damnation t’will be.” 

A warm, pulsing happiness had pushed away the tears from their sanctuary, and he suddenly wondered how long he could keep his eyes open amid such peace. He’d slept scarce more than an hour at a time on the ride from Lallybroch, and only then when he could no longer stay upon the horse. Each and every time, he’d awoken in a dead-panic that he’d slept overlong, leapt right into the saddle, and repeated the harrowing process over and over, pushing himself to the very limits until he reached Craigh na Dun. 

It wasn’t merely the actual fatigue—it was the relief. Many a time in his life—from battlefields to his examinations in the Paris days—he had witnessed the body’s incredible stamina to push through lack of sleep, of food, and of physical strength. It will go to incredible lengths to complete the task at hand, to survive. When the deed is accomplished, though, it takes its own, and fairly well damns the consequences. Jamie was hungry, true, but that could wait. Sleep, though…No, that could wait as well. In the growing warmth of her body and his together, captured by the warm cloak, it was harder and harder by the minute; but he didn’t want to miss a single moment with her. Not one. 

“Will you tell me….” It was such a tiny voice that asked it; so tentative and careful. “…why Laoghaire?”

He stiffened, steadied himself with a breath. It was a fair question.

“She was…there,” he hazarded, “at the right time, when I was come back to Lallybroch. It was Jenny’s idea, ken?”

“Mm.” A great deal unsaid in that mm, perhaps having to do with the destructive nature of Jenny’s ideas of late.

“She seemed—sweet, I suppose. Eager, and—Wi’ the wee lassies to feed, she needed me; and I needed—I needed something, too.

Claire didn’t say a word.

“I am sorry, mo chridhe. I ken it’s—painful.” 

“Oh?” 

“Well, I certainly dinna delight in thinking of the men that have shared your bed.”

To his surprise, she bristled. “It’s not that she was another woman, Jamie. It’s that it was her.” 

“I do ken she was quite the jealous brat, all those years ago, at Leoch,” he said, carefully, at something of a loss. “But she was naught but a wee lassie at the time. Surely ye can forgive her a few youthful indiscretions?”

“Youthful ind—?” He heard her choke back whatever retort she had planned and instead breathe through her nose, calming herself. She was being careful, so careful, but there was true indignation, there, true hurt, kept in check for his sake.

“Say it, mo ghraidh.” He touched her face, bent down to kiss her. “Tell me what it is.”

“Wouldn’t it trouble you,” she said, very quietly, “if had chosen to marry someone who’d gone out of their way to have you hurt and killed?”

“Killed?” 

“Cranesmuir? Surely you remember that little episode?” 

He felt a jolt run through him. Then it walloped him over the head like a brick. “Laoghaire? She was—?”

“Jamie, she was the one who arranged for me to be taken with Geillis Duncan, that day, for Christ’s sake! You knew that! Surely we discussed it??”

“We certainly DID NOT. Sassenach! BELIEVE me, had I I known, I would never have taken her to wife. NEVER.” He gripped her tight, as though he could look into her eyes. “Had I KNOWN….Christ, the wicked wee bitch!

She laughed at that. “Well good, I’m—That’s a burden off my mind. I’d certainly have understood if you’d remarried. I did understand, until you mentioned her name. Lord,” she laughed, groaning. “Laoghaire bloody MacKenzie. Laoghaire….Fraser.” 

Lord forgive him, he had given Claire’s would-be murderess his name, shared her bed. “I’m—I’m truly so ashamed, Sassenach.” He felt as though he would vomit. “I’m so sorry for this. After what she did—” 

“Don’t be,” she said at once, and he heard the sincerity in her voice. “You didn’t know, and would have had no reason to ask. It’s water under the bridge. Though,” she said with good humor, “I do reserve my right to make snide comments from time to time, at her expense only, not yours.”  

“’Tis only your due,” he laughed weakly, grateful for the gift of levity, which did help the anxiety and shame abate. 

“Jamie, can I ask, does it….?”

More to do with Laoghaire, surely. 

“Does it what, mo nighean donn?”

“Does it frighten you? How—easy this is?” She touched his chest. “Like it was only yesterday we last saw each other?”

He released the breath he had been holding and touched her face. “It frightens me only insomuch as it makes my heart feel whole again; and it hasna been for a verra long time. It frightens me to feel that I must learn anew how to hold all these emotions in my heart, once more. But the comfort and the—us-ness between us? I couldna ever be frightened by that; no more than I could be frightened of my own voice.” He gently laid his palm flat against her breast. “Mo chridhe.” 

She traced the lines of his collarbone. “I very nearly went to Edinburgh first, you know.”

“Aye, ye said, in the…your letter.”

It was tucked away in his satchel, along with the PhotoGraphs; and he would keep it, always, but he wasn’t altogether sure he could bring himself to read it again. 

“All the way here from Lallybroch, after I spoke with your sister, I wondered if I ought to have gone there first.” She paused. “Do you think it would have been easier on us? If I had just appeared through your shop door?” 

“It would have given me back a hank of grey hairs that I’ve gained in the last week.”

She laughed, but was not to be dismissed. “What would you have done?” 

He’d have been toiling away at the presses, no doubt, with no notion of great happenings about to take place. Perhaps Fergus might have been present, but most days it was him alone in the shop. What would he have done, when he’d heard her voice with no warning? He’d likely have fainted, as he nearly did at Jenny’s news…but beyond that? What would he have done with Claire Beauchamp before him, alive and well and glowing like the June sun, ready and willing to spend the rest of her days with him? 

“I ken I wouldna have told ye all the truth…about Laoghaire and William.”

“Oh? Why should that have changed?” 

“Is it no’ clear? I’d have been so scairt that it would be too much to hear.” He shook his head in growing conviction. “For all the terror and the near-missing in the way things did come to pass, at least I was able to tell ye all, Claire, wi’ no hesitation. There was nothing more to be lost and so I was able to just say everything, some things I hadna ever once spoken aloud to everyone! It just—The truth was the only thing that could keep ye from going. And so while I canna say this is precisely how I’d have wished things to occur, everything is known between us, now, and that is right. Do ye see?” 

“It was a gift to both of us, in its way,” she whispered, “though I know it wasn’t easy.”

“No.” He squeezed her hand, feeling the fine bones and the unbearable silkiness of it. How he wished he could see her. “But if ye’d come upon me in Edinburgh, so far from home, from Laoghaire, wi’ me living under a false name already…. Lord, if you’d just arrived there before me? Handed me the moon and offered this miracle of which I’d vainly dreamed for so long? Could I have told ye I had a son? Could I have told ye was marrit and risked ye leaving at once?” He swallowed, ashamed of the truth, but knowing it was truth all the same. “No. I’d have kept it from ye as long as possible. Maybe forever.”

“No you wouldn’t,” she said with immediate, easy confidence. “You’re too much of a noble hero-type to have conscienced any such thing, Jamie Fraser, and you know it.”

God, does she truly believe that? 

A new terror gripped him and he felt his mouth go utterly dry. 

The man he had been these last years—James Fraser or Alexander Malcolm or whoever he might be when he was alone only with his thoughts—had been shaped so deeply by grief and bitterness. Crushed first in the loss of her and the bairn; then laid low by the years of hiding and imprisonment, the strain of clearances upon his family; then William, first the fear of him, then tentative joy, and then the loss, forever; and finally rushing up that crest of hope, that desperate hope that something good was to be found in marrying again, and the ache of crashing down onto the sharp realities below. 

Claire held in her arms a man bitter and broken. Was he one that she could love, really love, once the euphoria of reunion had worn away? Was the shattered man he had been merely a relic of loneliness that would now vanish with her presence? Or would traces remain? Perhaps the Jamie she had loved had ceased to be and could not be revived. In fact, he was certain that it was not so very far from the truth.

“I’m none so very noble as ye might wish to believe, Sassenach.”

He felt her stiffen. 

“Perhaps it’s that I’ve lost too much to honor, or….I’m…” He withdrew, trying to touch her as little as possible as he got the words out. “Ye must ken I’m not altogether the same man of twenty years ago, Claire.”

“You are.” 

“But I’m truly not, Claire. I wish to be, will endeavor to be, for your sake; but I have…. such fears.” 

The wind had ceased to wail outside their cloak shelter. He could hear every intake and exhale of her breaths. 

He suddenly felt her hand, cool and sure, touching his cheek, the other coming to rest on the curve of his breast. “Is your heart still mine?”

God, Claire. 

“Yours,” he croaked. “Yours, mo nighean donn. Never did it stop being so.”

“Then, we’ll manage with the rest. All the rest.” She cupped the back of his neck to pull him down closer. “I see what you fear, what you dread you are. Perhaps I couldn’t have seen it, if I’d found you in Edinburgh; but I’m here now, and I see you.” 

She saw him. Even in darkness, Claire saw him. 

I love you, Jamie Fraser.”

And though that was a point on which he had never held the faintest doubt, the hearing of it now, her declaration, his true name…. 

To be seen, and yet still be loved. 

Tears came, fast and many, and he made no move to halt them. She pulled him down to her breast, murmuring love over him again and again as sleep pressed itself upon him, her hands holding him. He could sleep, at last. Claire was watching over him.

Regression - Request

Requested by anon: Sherlock x reader. Readers ex boyfriend used to shout at her before he used to beat her. Sherlock never shouts when she’s around as he knows it scars her. One day Sherlock and Mycroft are having an argument Sherlock is staying calm but Mycroft starts shouting. Causing reader to drop a heavy glass dish before running out the door and into the rain
& anon: Sherlock x reader. The reader was in an abusive in the past. Now happy with Sherlock but doesn’t like shouting. Mycroft comes in asking Sherlock to come to dinner with mummy. Mycroft and Sherlock start arguing. Sherlock is staying calm but Mycroft is shouting causing reader to shake in fear.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word count: 1,750

Warnings: Abusive-ex, post-traumatic stress disorder’s regression, triggering.

A/N: Another abusive-ex related fic… I’ll say it again, if any of you is in a similar situation please, please, please, get help. Leave, break that sh*t up, do whatever it takes to go back to a normal life (unless it risks your life, then look for alternatives like calling the cops). I’ve experienced violence first-handedly and I can tell you that there is ALWAYS a way. Don’t let yourself down. You are worthy enough to get a real relationship without violence, abuse, humilliation, etc. YOU ARE WORTH IT.

Enjoy!

Originally posted by stupidteletubbie

Road trips weren’t Sherlock’s favourite kinds of journeys, especially when the destiny was his parents’ house. Yet, he remained calm, finding all sorts of excuse to encourage the on-going conversation between him and (Y/N) to continue until their arrival.

It had been Mycroft’s idea to spend the Christmas Break at their parent’s house. Obviously, Sherlock was a bit reluctant about it, but (Y/N) convinced him to spend time with his family. He agreed as long as she went there with him – which was perfectly accepted by the rest of the Holmes – and so there were.

They arrived a tad bit late, when the moon had just risen over the green hills that framed the petite picture of the small British house Mr. and Mrs. Holmes lived at. In spite of the time, they were received by the cheerful couple and Mycroft, who was just as serious as usual.

After a long dinner, they went to bed. As far as they could tell, that that Christmas would be pacific between the two brothers. Sherlock hadn’t been shot then, and Mycroft was free from his work, so Mrs. Holmes and (Y/N) hoped that they weren’t stressed enough to start an argument over nothing.

The first two days were fine. Mycroft and Sherlock would bombard each other with snazzy comments, but that was it. Mrs. Holmes was more than happy to have her two boys at home without arguing.

“I think he is behaving because of you.” She confessed once to (Y/N), while they baked together.

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