#teh fix it
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Tick, Tick, Tick, Boom
Tick, tick, tick.
“I’m sorry.”
Tick, tick, tick.
“What?”
“I can’t… I can’t do it, John. I can’t defuse it. I don’t know how.”
“That’s a load of bullshit if I ever heard one. You’re Sherlock Holmes, you can do anything!”
“You’ve always had too much faith in me, John. I told you, I’m not a hero. I’m not even a good man.”
John turns away, and Sherlock can see his shoulders shake with how tightly he tries to keep his emotions under control. He can also see that he’s beginning to seriously frighten John, and he feels sort of bad about it, but he’s come this far, and he’s committed now. He knows John needs a bit of a shake-up to forgive Sherlock, that he won’t do it as quickly as Sherlock wants to on his own terms. So a bit of adrenaline, a bit of a chase, and a bit of a scare should be enough to bring John’s emotional walls down far enough to admit what they both already know. John has already forgiven him, because that’s what John does.
“I’m sorry,” he says, upping the emotional pressure a bit. It’s the truth, too, which helps. He lets it flow into his voice, enhance his performance, how sorry he truly is, how much he fucked up, how much he misses John.
John turns around, and the hurt in his eyes, the fury, is difficult to bear. “You don’t mean that,” John whispers. “You’re just trying to get me to say something nice.”
“I do mean it. I am sorry. Please forgive me,” he says, trying to show how much he truly means it. He’s manipulating the circumstances, yes, but he does mean every word he’s saying.
“I don’t believe you. Why should I believe you? All you ever do is lie.”
“Please, John. Please. I do mean it. I am sorry. Please, forgive me. Please,” Sherlock says, pleading now, still on his knees next to the bomb.
John doesn’t move. He looks straight at Sherlock, suddenly unafraid. “You want me to forgive you? You want me to believe you? Then I suggest you stop. Fucking. Lying.”
Tick, tick, tick.
The only sound in the silence is the bomb, ticking down the seconds. John holds his eyes, so much raw emotion there, so much hurt and anger, so much distrust and wariness, all so very justified, and suddenly Sherlock realises what he’s doing. He’s frightening John half to death, he’s lying and cheating and manipulating, and he’s doing it all for one reason, and one reason only: Because he finds John’s continued anger inconvenient. Because actually earning John’s forgiveness is tedious.
What is he doing?
Without breaking eye contact, he reaches over and switches off the bomb. Because John is right. He can’t expect John to believe him if he keeps lying, keeps manipulating. He can’t trick John into forgiving him. He has to earn it.
The silence is absolute now. He holds John’s eyes, wills John to see.
He swallows hard. “Please forgive me,” he says, finally, quietly, honestly. “I never meant to hurt you. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s true. I had to jump, otherwise you would have died. I know it doesn’t make it any less awful, but I jumped to save your life. I swear that’s true.”
He can see John gauge his words. “Get up from the floor,” he finally says, hollow and raw and a ghost of his old self, but there’s some echo of John Watson in there, and it gives Sherlock hope. “You look like you’re about to propose. Or be sick. And I can’t deal with either right now.”
Sherlock huffs a laugh and gets off his feet, dusts his trousers and his coat off.
“Why didn’t you take me with you?” John asks, still watching Sherlock warily. “Don’t you know that I would have gone anywhere with you?” he adds, voice almost breaking with suppressed emotion.
Sherlock swallows. “I can’t lose you.”
They hold each other’s eyes, raw and wary, but finally honest, finally real.
“Why?” John asks, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “Why me? Why am I so special?”
Now or never, Holmes, he thinks. Be honest. Last chance.
“Because I love you,” he answers.
John looks at him, and Sherlock can see John process what he just said. It’s the longest three seconds of Sherlock’s life before John finally says, in a tone of exhausted exasperation, “You absolute fucking idiot,” and hauls him in for a kiss.
Sherlock’s impressive brain takes a few seconds to respond, then he winds his arms around John and kisses back like his life depends on it. He feels dizzy with relief and adrenaline and the feeling of John’s body against his, John’s lips, his tongue, his hands on Sherlock’s back, the smell of his skin.
The sound of sirens and boots in the distance announce that the Metropolitan police has finally deigned to show up.
They break apart, but John keeps a hand fisted in the collar of Sherlock’s coat. “You did call the police, you fucking bastard,” he says, but he’s smiling a bit.
Sherlock shrugs. “Of course I did, I’m not a complete idiot.”
“I beg to differ, you’re the biggest moron on the planet,” John says, somewhat between teasing and serious. Sherlock guesses the adrenaline is making John feel as loopy as Sherlock feels. “For the record, if you ever die on me again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands, are we clear?”
Sherlock grins, because that’s the most John Watson sentence he’s ever heard in his life. “Kill me,” he scoffs, “that’s so two years ago.”
John bites down on an undignified, slightly hysterical giggle. “Shut up,” he says, “and kiss me again.”
Sherlock complies, and they kiss and kiss and kiss as the boots and the torchlight and the urgent voices move closer and closer.
“Now people will definitely talk,” Sherlock mutters against John’s lips.
“Let them,” John says, pulling Sherlock back in. “Let them.”
A bit if a TEH fix-it of a scene that always bothered me. Thank you @notjustamumj for the prompt, which was time.
Tagging the usual suspects @calaisreno @meetinginsamarra @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @lisbeth-kk @jrow @peanitbear @catlock-holmes and anyone else who wants to play.
I've written and posted a ficlet for fourteen days straight, hopefully I can keep it up until the end of the month ;-)
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Fostering by Dee_Laundry
Johnlock Love Letters #2331
John had, a few times, dreamed of a miracle. But, of course, that’s not how their reunion actually happened.
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im back in the fucking building again
#my take on entry number 17 :3#undertale art#undertale#sans undertale#alphys#wd gaster#undertale gaster#undertale fanart#sans#ut sans#ut alphys#ut gaster#tac art#not sky#IF ANYONE SAW ME FIX TEH TYPO IN THE COMIC NO YOU DIODNYT
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ANTAGONISH
"As I was walking up the stair,
. I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today.
. I wish, I wish ... he'd go away."
. - William a Hughes Mearns
.
John had stepped into the flat only a handful of times since Sherlock's demise.
The pain of memories ... happy, whole, perfect memories ... too much to bear.
It was empty now. Their flat.
. Theirs.
. And it had been.
Once.
.
John steeled himself for what he was to face - going up those seventeen steps ...
The unshakable feeling that if he was just to turn around ... ?
Sherlock would be right behind him.
Coming up the stairs.
That if he turned back around ... Sherlock would be before him.
Beckoning him home.
.
John huffed a laugh.
Foolish.
His childish imagination.
But the last time he had been here, he could have sworn ...
.
He took one last look around to confirm that the hall and the landing were, in fact, empty.
Then he took a firm step forward. One.
Then two. Three.
.
He paused.
The hair on the back of his neck rising.
Shaking his head against the urge to look.
.
Don't turn around ...
. Don't turn around ...
. Don't turn.
.
He took another step.
Willing himself to keep moving.
.
A creak on a stair below him.
He isn't there ...
.
The echo of a step ...
Stop it!
.
John froze. Willing his eyes to stay downcast on his own shoes. He studied them. As worn and haphazard as his hope ...
Then forced himself once more, to move.
.
Three more steps. Two more steps. One.
His hand reached out for the door to 221B.
He took a deep breath.
.
This time the step behind him on the stair, was unmistakable ...
As was the fall of a large hand onto the wooden railing below.
.
"Sherlock?"
.
John spoke the name aloud before he could stop himself.
The stairwell was silent.
John's grip on the door handle tightened.
The tears stinging at the corners of his eyes ...
.
He took another deep breath.
His imagination.
Just his imagination ...
A wild, hopeful, god damned wishful and desperately-longing-for-all-of-this-to-be-just-a-magic-trick imagination ... begging the universe not for an empty stairwell ...
... but for an empty grave.
.
"I asked you for one more miracle," John told the air.
Oddly. The confession seemed to help quiet his nerves.
He looked up. Pinpointing the light of the setting sun.
"I asked you not to be dead."
He knew the words were final. Closure.
.
Somehow ... the air in the hall itself, held its breath ...
.
Then he heard a gasp.
And a heavy step below him.
Accompanied by the very real feeling ... Unmistakable.
That of a warm hand moving along a polished wooden rail. The slightest friction echoing up the stairs ...
.
John tried to steady his heart rate. His pulse thrumming in his ears, nearly drowning out the sound ... If it even had been real ...?
Sherlock's voice broke the silence next, barely a whisper ...
. "I heard you."
.
It sounded unsteady ... shaky ...
. fragile ... ?
Like a ghost.
.
But the next thing he heard was a very real hiss of pain, shattering his illusions ... even as he felt the thud of a body collapsing onto the stairs below.
John was down the stairs in seconds.
Gathering the long-missing detective into his arms. Every sense taking in and cataloguing what his eyes could not yet believe ...
(... continued below the cut)
"Sherlock? Oh, God - Sherlock!" John cradled his friend closer, rocking him into a better position where he could check him for wounds ... for anything he could do to help alleviate his pain ...?
He couldn't make out was cause of Sherlock's distress, but the man was fading into unconsciousness.
"Just ... hold on, Sherlock!" John commanded hauling Sherlock up into his arms.
Despite Sherlock's thin stature, he had been almost pure muscle before, but now ... John didn't want to think about how Sherlock could have lost this much weight in the time he had been away?
He was real. He was here. That was all that mattered.
John found the strength to carry whatever weight Sherlock had, gladly.
.
Upstairs, he tucked Sherlock into a bed that lay fitted and ready for use as if he had never left it ... and then stared at the sight in wonder.
Sherlock was alive. Sherlock was home.
John felt Sherlock shift and those crystal blue eyes blinked open for a moment. He could see Sherlock fought against the sleep that desperately wanted to overtake him.
How tired was he ... ?
John shushed him and managed to settle him back down. Watching as his friend's demeanor relaxed. His eyes closed, and his breathing evened out ...
Seconds passed. Minutes.
Maybe hours.
When John felt Sherlock's hand reach out in his sleep ... and grasp for his hand.
"... John, I ..."
The baritone voice poured into John's veins. Hot liquid. More valuable than blood. More heady than pure oxygen. Speeding up his heart rate again ...
"... I heard you," Sherlock sighed with relief, "I heard you ..."
.
John sighed too.
. Sherlock was dreaming.
This time ... John knew he wasn't the only one wishing for an empty grave. A successful magic trick.
They were both experiencing a miracle.
John gripped Sherlock's hand firmly, caressing the knuckles as he watched his miracle ...
. Sleep.
.
@flashfictionfridayofficial @whumptober
@johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @totallysilvergirl @gregorovitchworld @lisbeth-kk @john-smiths-jawline @chinike @rhasima @calaisreno @discordantwords @raina-at @kettykika78 @khorazir @hasenkind687 @iwlyanmw @missdeliadili @safedistancefrombeingsmart @iamjustreading @jobooksncoffee @topsyturvy-turtely @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear @amyreadsandstresses @shiplocks-of-love @caffeinatedanxiouscucumber @timberva @colourfulwatson @arwamachine @peageetibbs @meetinginsamarra @whatnext2020 @purplevatican @ineffableuser @estrella-creek @k2ntwo @kaursblog11 @mrb488 @justanobsessedpan @gaylilsherlock @sarahthecoat @7-percent @lillysliterature @ninasnakie @the-reading-lemon @a-victorian-girl @wizama @jawnscoffee @13monkton ... I'm getting back into writing, go easy on me!
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after goofing up the upload thrice heres the ♯Reload Comic Anthology from DNA Media :-) please enjoy!
#Guilty Gear#Scanned#gmorning. i wanna go back to bed.#anyways as always no need for credit or anything if u use anything from here. feel free to share it around fr people to see. wjhatevber#srry teh cover scan is like that. kicking myself for not fixing it but . man.
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Burnt
His entire body was on fire. Fortunately, some good samaritan had dragged him out of the bonfire. As if God Himself was testing John's faith; taking him to the brink of death and dragging him back.
With half-open eyes, he tried to make sense of his mostly blurred surroundings. John felt the samaritan's hand faintly patting on his cheek and screaming his name. But wait, what was this? The samaritan had shown up in a long, black overcoat; with his black, curly hair falling over his forehead; with no protective gear? This saint had dived straight into the fire without giving a damn about himself.
Sherlock. Of course it was him. He saw a faint figure of Mary too, before the whole world around him blurred and went black.
***
When John opened his eyes, he found himself covered in linen sheets. He tried to touch the fabric of whatever he was wearing. Something loose and thin. Then He looked around himself and gathered that he was in hospital.
His head was throbbing with pain. As if someone had forcefully inserted a hundred nails into his skull and was shaking his head mercilessly.
When he tried to move his face muscles, John felt a bit of swelling around his temple and cheek. There was some swelling on his forehead, too. He tried to touch his face with his left hand and realised that the skin of his face had been charred. His lips were so chapped, they were almost glued together.
His right hand was connected to an IV bag through a syringe and tube. To take care of his dehydrated state, perhaps.
Sherlock was sitting on a chair next to John's bed, hands steepled beneath his chin, and seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
In front of John, there stood a set of bottle-green portable curtains.
Too tired to move, John just turned a head a little in Sherlock's direction. It was as though his head was made of a ton of bricks. "Sherlock." His voice was just above a whisper.
Sherlock was disturbed from his state of trance. He didn't seemed to mind, though. He just got up from his chair and moved it closer to John's bed. Sherlock leaned in, looking concerned. "How are you feeling?"
John thought of a reply. "Smoked."
Sherlock chuckled. "Thought I'd lost you."
"What happened to me? What did the doctors say?"
"Second degree burns, and they suspect a mild concussion. You'll be taken out of here for a CT scan as soon as this IV bag is empty."
John nodded and looked away for a moment. "And what about you?"
Sherlock held out his right palm. It was swollen and red. "The doctor gave me a gel to apply and some pills to consume."
John gulped down his throat, trying to make sense of everything.
Sherlock somehow showed up on time to save his life, and he was the one who went straight into the fire with little protection, enduring first degree burns as a consequence. And John could still remember the way Sherlock was shouting his name.
"Where's Mary?" asked John, frowning.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "She was here in the ER for a while, with me. She's gone home, now. She said that she was exhausted and needed some rest. She had asked me to keep her updated about you."
"How is she, otherwise?"
Sherlock opened his mouth for a moment but then he pursed his lips. "She's fine," he said, after a moment. "She wasn't that close to the bonfire. But she said that whatever she had witnessed was a nightmare and that she needed to leave."
John nodded. So, Mary, his girlfriend, was at a safe distance from the fire. Meanwhile Sherlock had risked his life for him that night.
Not that John blamed Mary for thinking about her own safety. Any sane person in her place would've done the same. John was just trying to take it all in.
Sherlock, the same man whom John had punched- three times no less, that too at a public place- was still in the hospital, sitting beside his bed and enduring first degree burns himself; meanwhile Mary had gone home when she saw fit.
This didn't make much sense. John was comparatively stable, now. Why didn't Sherlock leave, or at least go out of the ER for some time to take a break?
John looked over at the IV bag. It was still half-full. The rate of drops was quite slow.
John recalled the night he had strangled Sherlock and winced.
"What is it, John? You okay?" asked Sherlock.
John came out of his thoughts and looked at Sherlock with his brows furrowed. "Why did you fake your death again?"
Sherlock gaped at John with his eyes narrowed. "John, now is not the time-"
"It can take half an hour or more for this bag to be empty. We both have nothing else to do. May as well talk."
"I tried to, that night," said Sherlock, looking away with a neutral face. "Last time I remember, my nose was bleeding. Figured you weren't quite interested in talking," he said dryly.
John's nose was flared and his lips must forming a thin line. "Well, last time I remember, someone had made me grieve pointlessly for two bloody years."
"I didn't do that willingly. Moriarty had compelled me to do that," said Sherlock in a raised volume.
"Couldn't you have let me in on your plan? Many other people as known about your suicide being fake. Why not me?"
Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Would you just listen to what happened from my side? Without your annoying interruptions?"
"That's not-"
"Listen to me John. Otherwise we're not talking about this thing again."
John bit his lower lip and stared ahead at the curtains. He clenched his jaw and nodded.
"I had asked you to go to Baker Street, when someone told you that Mrs Hudson was shot, over the phone. You rushed to 221, Baker Street, only to find Mrs Hudson perfectly alright. I had to go to the roof top at of that hospital, alone, in the meantime."
John turned to look at Sherlock, abruptly. "Hang on. So, you knew that the phone call was fake?"
Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded.
"And you still let me go?" John asked, feeling hurt.
"I had wanted to go with you, up there. Moriarty must have ordered his minions to plant that hoax phone call to push you away from me. What was I to do? I had no choice but to go ahead with whatever he was doing to get the knack of his motive." Sherlock compressed his lips. "Sorry about that, too."
"Continue," said John with a nod.
"When I was there, facing him finally, I thought it was probably for the best that you had gone. He was playing mind games even during those final moments. He told me that there was no keycode. It was all a lie.
"I was trying hard to find a way out of all this, so that I wouldn't have to have to fake my death, or worse yet, die for real."
"Then he asked me jump off the roof, telling me that he had planted three snipers on you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. All three of you would die if I didn't jump.
"He revealed that those snipers could only be called off at his signal. And then he shot himself in the mouth, later on, blowing his brains out." Sherlock paused for breath.
John gasped softly. He wanted to reach out for Sherlock's hand to hold.
"If I'd not jumped from the roof to go ahead with Mycroft's plan, that was to fake my death in front of those snipers, they would've killed you.
"You had figured that the phone call was fake and were back at the pavement across the road from that hospital," said Sherlock and bit his bottom lip.
"My staged suicide had to look convincing to everyone, including you, John. I did what I had to. I'm sorry for hurting you like this."
John's heart sank and his brows were furrowed. "It's not the staged suicide itself that made me angry. Your timing was shitty, showing up at the restaurant in a waiter's disguise, just when I was about to propose to Mary. And you laughed at my moustache, on top of everything."
Sherlock looked down at his lap. "Sorry again."
"You don't have to keep apologising. What happened next? Where did you go?"
"Many parts of the world, trying to dismantle Moriarty's network. Most of my days were spent in Eastern Europe. Serbia, mainly."
"Why?"
Sherlock screwed his eyes shut. "You don't want to know."
John's lips were parted. "Yes, I do. Please, tell me what happened there."
Sherlock swallowed. "I'd been abducted and those people had trapped me in a small dungeon. I was confined within those four walls, chained and handcuffed."
"Jesus! What else?" John's eyes were pricking with tears around the corner.
"They used to whip me frequently, on my back. Sometimes they would use a knife, with or without burning flames, as they pleased. Starved me to death. Didn't let me sleep for days altogether."
John's eyes were welling up. He blinked furiously and swallowed. "Sherlock," he whispered. "I strangled you and your back had hit the floor that night, and your wounds were still fresh? I even punched you, three times, no less, in that condition. It's good that I'm here, I guess. Burnt. I had it coming."
"Don't say that-"
"But it's true!" John exclaimed and closed his eyes tightly as tears were streaming down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I didn't have the first idea. I seriously apologise for hurting you after what you'd already been through," he said kept sobbing for a while, aggravating his headache even more. He stifled his sobs with his hand and tried to cover his face. "Could- could you please forgive me?"
Sherlock grabbed John's hand and held it tightly in his own. "Of course, I can. I already have. I didn't even think about it in that way. You did not have the full picture of the situation. You didn't know," he said and interlocked their fingers. "I told you, now was not the time."
John kept crying softly for some time. He had been in love with Sherlock, when they were still living together. John hadn't dared to say anything, for the sake of maintaining their friendship.
John still felt the same way about Sherlock, even more so after everything he had learnt about him, just now.
John had been in a relationship with Mary so that he could create an illusion of being alive. Because to him, Sherlock really was dead at that time. He had liked Mary but the love he had felt for Sherlock was something else. So far beyond. He really was an idiot for physically hurting Sherlock like this.
At the back of his mind, John couldn't help but feel actually good about his proposal being interrupted, that night. He'll have to explain himself to Mary, of course. Break it off with her, probably. But that discussion could wait.
John wiped his tears from his eyes and hissed in pain because of a burning sensation. He stopped crying and turned to look at Sherlock. "I'm really sorry."
Sherlock was still holding his hand. He gave it a squeeze. "It's fine. I mean it," he said, holding John's gaze in his own.
John couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock. Something about the way Sherlock was looking at him... he had never seen that emotion in Sherlock's eyes before. What was it?
That's when it hit him: could it be love? It seemed to make sense, given the physical and mental torture Sherlock must have been through for two years, for John's safety.
And after he was abducted and pushed inside the bonfire, Sherlock had saved his life, yet again, while Mary was standing far away. First degree burns were no joke. The way Sherlock was screaming his name; the panic in his eyes at that time.
"Why was I kidnapped, Sherlock?" John needed to know. "I thought those people were after you. Why did they kidnap me, then?"
Sherlock broke the gaze and looked away, freeing his hand from John's. "Uh... I don't know. Good question. Speaking of which, I need to go through the graphs and posters that I'd made for this case, at home. I'll get back to it, once we're out of here."
Sherlock's mere hesitation and the way he had abruptly changed the topic looked like a confirmation, in itself.
It was love.
"How long have you been sitting here?" asked John.
"As soon as we were allowed to visit you in this ER," said Sherlock and shrugged. "The doctor had asked us to wait outside for about an hour. He then asked us to visit you. You were still unconscious, probably sleeping, when we got here. For two hours, probably."
"Go out and eat something. I'll be alright."
"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock said, bending over to grab his phone from the table beside John's bed.
John came to the conclusion that Sherlock's actions made little sense if they were not out of love for him. John tore his gaze off Sherlock's face and looked away with a small smile.
"Thanks for telling me everything," said John.
Sherlock nodded, without looking up from his phone.
"My turn to be honest," said John and took a deep breath. Sherlock looked at him with curiosity. Time to just spit it out. "I love you." It had come out in a whisper.
Sherlock gaped at John with his eyebrows raised. "Aren't you engaged?"
"No. Not technically. I was planning to end things with her, anyway. Apparently, I'm unable to stop feeling for you the way I do. Continuing this relationship is not exactly fair."
Sherlock reached out to hold John's hand again but hesitated. John was the one to interlock their fingers this time.
"Why did you go out with her, at all? I thought you had moved on when I decided to visit you in that restaurant."
John shook his head and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I didn't. I was with her because I was trying to move on. You were dead and so I thought it was time I did. I failed, obviously."
Sherlock leaned in quite close. John could feel Sherlock's breath on his lips. "What if I told you to stop trying to move on?"
John smiled again. "I already have."
Their faces came even closer and they pressed their lips together. John grabbed the collar of Sherlock's shirt as they kissed again. They shared a few more kisses and then Sherlock kissed John's forehead as he sat back.
"I love you too, John." That same emotion was back in his eyes.
John couldn't stop grinning. The transportation staff will be here, anytime soon, to take him out of here for a CT scan. He closed his eyes and was still smiling, feeling quite relieved, after what had felt like ages since the time Sherlock had supposedly died. "I'll break it off with Mary, as soon as I'm out of here."
"I know," said Sherlock, squeezing his shoulder.
Knowing what the future held for him and Sherlock, John felt like he could truly take some rest.
»»————><————««»»————><————««
Thanks for reading! Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely, @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl, etc.
(Somewhat inspired by this post).
Prompt Rest by @notjustamumj (May 13).
#johnlock#bbc sherlock#sherlock x john#may prompts#notjustamumj#ficlet#whump#angst#happy ending#sherlock holmes#john watson#sherlock headcanon#sherlockian#Post-recheinbach fix-it#canon divergence#TEH#may 13 prompt : rest#tw: burns#tw: suicide discussion#tw: hospital
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This is Waffles and Pancake, a couple of Eevee OCs that belong to @s0uless-b0nes ! They’re doing the nya-nya dance, which was one of my favorite animation memes as a kid ^^
Here's the song they're supposed to bop to!
Made in Adobe Animate btw
#My art#My animation#Their palette is supposed to be based on Flipnote Hatena if you couldn't guess :3#IDK why but adobe animate has this bug where there's a white border around gifs?? I can't fix it but it isn't too bad i guess#ANYWAY ENJOY TEH EEVEES#OCs#OC#Furry#Furry art#Eevee#Pokemon#Flipnote#2000s#2000's#Animation#Animated#s0ulessb0nes#waffles#pancake
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#bby gorl#leo 2012#leonardo 2012#trans leo#transfem leo#I MADE A WATERMARK(?) it's hard to see though-- (it's the RS in the corner :D)#I don't even know if watermark is teh right word- uhhh#screaming because I LOVE HER SO MUuUuUuUUUUUUCHH :((((((((( /pos!!#I PROBABLY SHOULD NOT HAVE SHADED WITH BLUE FOR THE BLUE CHARACTER#BUBBLE SUCKS I SHOULD HAVE USED 1 OF THE 1S ALREADY DRAWN IN IBIS#OMFG I FORGOT HER BLAD SHIN?????#HOLD ON!#(?????IT DIDN'T SAVE MY TAGS?????? whatever let me add them back rq->)#Okay so I fixed the bubble; added the bald shine; AND I ADDED EYE SPARKLES :0000 <33!!! EEE :DDDD#also added some lighter blue at the bottom of the eye :))!#hehehehegevavdvdgsgsg I WUV HER SOO :))
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slip slop hyperfixation go brrr
#you guys should read it it has enemies to lovers and it fixes teh canon#also character and funny af moments#total drama#slippery slopes#memes#the finale came out and it was wild#total drama world tour
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+36 ICONS OF THE WALES FAMILY DURING CORONATION WEEKEND
They are featuring The Prince & Princess of Wales and their children - I choose random pics that I loved!
If you’d like a specific picture or your favourite royal isn’t featured, you can request a personalized icon here! I really hope you like them :D
They are currently uploaded in a Google Drive while I wait for my theme to be fixed
If you take them a like and/or a reblog is really appreciated ♡
#icons#kate middleton#princess charlotte#prince louis#royaltyedit#british royal family#brf#icons page#request#requested#If someone knows how the fix teh JavaScript error please DM me :( I've already emailed Tumblr at least two times since december
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oh by the way you're 100% ecouraged to do whatever you like with the (hopefully) transparent guys - make collages, shove them places, etc. i'm just painfully bored and have discovered a way to kill time and my neck
#for some reason dragging transparent things doesn't seem to work any more on tumblr for me#but you can save the image and they should save as transparent#don't get me started on teh nightmare of making them transparent though#apple is fuckin evil#i've tried every possible fix i've found online to get it to work but... apple..... eeeeevil#i gotta export from procreate as psd then email to myself then download then open in sai then export as png
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HE
(ROBERT USES HE/IT)
#fallen amoung gods#not fallen amoung gods lore#robert fallen amoung gods#My oc#OC#cw: religious themes#art#my art#fallen amoung gods art#Ik teh names spelt wrong im not fixing it.
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Blue Plaques by JRow
Johnlock Love Letters #2324
John’s engagement is off, and he is back at the place he feels most at home — 221B Baker Street. In the process of solving a mystery, will John accidentally reveal a secret of his own? Asexual Sherlock.
#johnlock#jl3#johnlockloveletters#love letter#love letters#<50k#post teh#teh fix it#Blue Plaques#JRow#happy ending#love confessions#case fic#bisexual John#demiroomantic Sherlock#Ace Sherlock#Asexual Sherlock#Pining#POV John
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theres this exchange between yaz and the doctor that ive written i think four times at this point where 13 finally... not breaks the façade bc it’s been broken but she admits to it being broken, to yaz. and yaz responds with kindness of course and the doctor says she doesnt deserve that, doesnt deserve yaz. and yaz says “it’s not about deserving”
i think thats whats it about for me. 12 regenerated bc they thought the universe needed them; “they’ll get it all wrong without me. i suppose one more lifetime wont kill anyone. except me” it’s fantastically arrogant but it’s also the root of the doctor’s problem. everything is their responsibility. so everything is their fault. they live to serve - ”i serve at the pleasure of the human race” - 13 even more than usual. and 13 also more than usual fails the human race. she has one job and she does it badly. she is alive for one reason and shes not meeting it. she doesnt deserve this.
but then yaz is there and yaz is like im not here because you deserve me to be, you twat. im my own fucking person and i’ll do what i fucking like. the universe doesnt revolve around you, no matter what anyone says. no matter who wants to blame you for the mass murders theyre doing. ive lived my whole life never knowing about daleks and shouldnt that tell you that there are entire worlds out there, lifetimes and lifetimes, with triumphs and losses and tragedies and happy endings and struggles that dont ever manage to resolve to either, that havent felt your influence at all
and the doctor would look at her and probably be thinking about how if her influence hadnt been there, yaz would have known about daleks. and if yaz could feel the constraints of the narrative, the doctor would ask how come she hasnt heard of daleks then? and yaz would say because i wasnt in the story. but yaz doesnt feel the constraints of the narrative, the boundaries of her life are the boundaries of her life, not, to her, of a story. and so the doctor, who can feel the constraints of the narrative in a subconscious way they have rarely been able to put their finger on, doesnt ask yaz how she hasnt heard of daleks before, but instead accepts what yaz says as if they both had lives instead of stories. and she smiles and says “thank you, yaz”
and it doesnt really sink in, what yaz said, because the doctor is not a person, not even a character in a story the way yaz is. what yaz says to her doesnt make sense even if we try to understand it from within their four walls, because the doctor isnt a character, theyre the story. so it doesnt stick on her, the idea that “not everything is about you” and “not everything in the universe is either your fault or your success” and “the fact that the people in your life are tied to you like characters to their story doesnt mean that everything they do is either reward or punishment for you personally” and “youre the story, not the main character, thats where you go wrong”
so it doesnt stick, but what does maybe stick is that it’s not about deserving. the good or the bad, it’s not about her
#not sure if im making myself clear but like#unlearning that it revolves around them would fix like. obnoxious selfcentredness. the GuiltTM and also like#dw being too much about the doctor#'fix' is the wrong word i dont actually mind any of these things too much#but we've had them for a bit so now it's time to swing back to the other side i think#you know what i mean?#it's for the good things and teh bad things and the neutral things#its'like#untangling the entire knot#this is definitely i think my most esoteric headcanon/interpretation of dw but im married to the whole fourth wall thing now so#it is what it is
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PAYPHONE II
Let's try this again ... I'm at a payphone:
'Trying to Come Home ..."
Post-TRF (Post-The Landmark/Cafe Rejection/Punch)
>>>>>>>>>>>> ☎️ <<<<<<<<<<<<
“Sherlock, why are you calling me?”
“John, please - I -”
“Go home, Sherlock!”
“I TRIED to go home, John!”
“ What? What happened?! ”
“I was attacked! I couldn’t go home!”
“WHAT?! Who was it? Did you see them?”
“Yes, John - I could easily identify my attacker if I saw him again.”
“Good! Remember every detail. I’ll be right there! Wait … where are you? Baker Street?"
“I’m at a payphone, John. Just down the way.”
“They stole your mobile?”
There was silence on the other end. Some shuffling. It had John worried …
“Oi! You okay? Did you already call Lestrade? The police?”
“No, John - I just … need you! Please hurry!”
“Git! Hanging up now! I’m halfway there! DO NOT try to enter again without me! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”
“I won’t John, I can’t. I’ll wait right here. I promise.”
“Good! Stay put.”
>>> ☎️ <<<
John jumped out of the cab not five minutes later.
“Sherlock?! I’m here!”
He halted his feet at the sight that greeted him.
Sherlock was slumped inside the public call box, body pressed into the corner in a tight ball. His Bellstaff coat collar turned up. His head buried deep in his knees … and as John came around to the door … he realised that the shoulders were quivering, shaking with an uneven swell. Like waves breaking on a rocky shore …
Sherlock was … crying ?
John had never seen him like this before …
“Sherlock?” He approached with a growing concern that all was much worse … than Sherlock had let on, over the phone … ?
All of his own fears and doubts - uncorked anger - had fled! - as soon as he’d leapt back into the cab to race to Baker Street! Leaving Mary waiting behind on the curb … John had ignored everything with one word … Sherlock needed him!
… and it only just now struck him.
John knelt down to the ground as he opened the door. Meeting Sherlock where he was. Reaching his hand out to get the detective’s attention?
Sherlock did not move … but at John’s gentle placement of warmth on his own frozen hands … he somehow shook further. Crying harder … Retreating in on himself.
The sky rumbled and a downpour of rain began …
So John slipped inside the call box next to Sherlock, shutting the door and wrapping his arms around the curled up form of his detective, pulling him close.
He let the silence descend.
Besides the pitter patter of raindrops outside,
and the muffled breaths and sobs of Sherlock inside …
All John could hear were the sounds of his own breathing in … and out … and the racing pattern of his heart as it tried to force its way out to hug and to hold Sherlock closer …
He rested his head atop the soft silky curls. Wishing he could find a way to be closer yet.
They sat there for a while. Sherlock silently releasing all of the human emotions that had at last come unbottled. A disobedient genie’s fee for granting such desperate pleas …
John was here.
Sherlock was alive.
They had both been granted their midnight wishes. But at what cost?
John’s heart could not bear it much longer …
Feeling Sherlock’s breath heave and shudder … as the cries calmed … and the pulse returned to something akin to normal … John eased Sherlock to sitting upright. Brushing his curls away to check him for cuts and bruises.
He only found those,
that he was ashamed to realise …
He himself had caused, earlier.
(continued below the cut ...) ☎️
Punching Sherlock … Pushing him to the ground at the restaurant. Attempting to choke the life out of him! Now that he was alive, and living, and LAUGHING in the face of a man who had grieved for him for two years!!
He winced at the pain, as if it was his own face cut and bloodied and bruised …
He must have broken Sherlock’s nose.
Made it stream with hot blood. Red and angry. Unforgiving.
A desecration to the unbreakable bonds he once thought they had …
Like he had to prove it to Sherlock , just to believe it himself.
He looked at Sherlock now.
Sniffling. Wiping at his eyes, his tender nose … and ultimately, relaxing his weight back into John’s waiting arms … giving in. And allowing them this closeness.
His eyes seemed to close of their own volition … an involuntary act of absolute security.
Still trusting … ?
Still calling JOHN first in time of need?
And John realised what an idiot he was!
"There was no one at Baker Street, was there?"
Sherlock's head shook against his chest, a hushed whisper escaping. "Even Mrs. Hudson was out. I couldn't … " his breath hitched, the hiccups of crying hard, "couldn't go in … alone … "
John shushed him, holding him close.
Roving through the catalogue of times they had been there for each other. Defended each other. Protected. Saved.
John hummed.
A soft,
pained whimper against the head buried in his chest.
He pulled Sherlock upright. Taking his face in his hands … he met Sherlock’s hollowed eyes. Eyes now opening wide, as he let Sherlock in … to see … to explore all of the halls of pain and loneliness and regret that he himself had wandered for two long y e a r s …
Wishing
And wanting
Just to see this … face again? H I S f a c e. Again. One more time …
He wanted to see it whole.
Healthy.
Radiant.
Beautiful.
About to pour out a stream of endless deductions.
Brilliant and breathtaking.
Terrifying and powerful and arrogant!
And here he had broken it?
He himself had desecrated the very temple he had meant to worship at?
He found himself fumbling to touch and to kiss and to patch back up every point where he had harmed, hurt, and maimed. Hands shaking as his lips pressed to Sherlock’s sharp cheekbones. His forehead. Each eyebrow requiring twenty kisses in penance … and still it would not be enough!
Sherlock was saying his name, like a prayer, over and over …
As his hands cradled Sherlock’s jaw and touched his slender neck this time with care … wishing he could erase the bruises made there by sucking on and creating another … ?
His thumb brushed against the bump of his Adam’s apple, his fingers curled around the elvish ears tucked within his dark curls … And his forehead pressed into Sherlock’s. Making one more silent plea.
The genius.
The machine.
The marvel.
Was also a man.
And he had come home!
He had come BACK from the DEAD …
For John.
“I don’t deserve you,” John said, pulling away and taking his hands off of the broken man before him. Fumbling desperately for a way to apologise - to say whatever words were capable of reclaiming the venom spat in pain and anger before?
Could anything repair damage that thorough??
Would Sherlock ever cease to flinch from a sharp movement of his hand after tonight? Would he have to look into that pain again and again? If they stayed together … If they moved back in? To 221b?
“You’re home,” John exhaled the words. Feeling their weight. Their reality. At last.
“I can’t be home!” Sherlock said, eyebrows furled as he looked at a confused John. Pressing up onto the balls of his feet and raising John with him, to standing. “I can’t be home … as long as you’re not here with me!”
Sherlock reached into his coat pocket …
And pulled out his mobile.
Taking John’s hand in his, he placed the device securely in his palm.
Then he closed the hand around it.
“This is my heart, John.
You gave me yours once, and I abused it. I broke it … and for that, I will never forgive myself.”
He stepped into John’s space, tilting his head up and looking deeply into his eyes. Scanning them for any sign of receptivity to the words he was saying, though he could not seem to stop them now … like the tears of earlier … “I know I cannot replace it, but I can hold it? I can cherish it? I can give you mine in return … ?” Sherlock sighed, daring to reach up and touch a tendril of golden hair that had fallen across John’s forehead. “ Shout at it ! Call it a madman all you like … John? … You will still be the only one I want to call?”
His fingers trailed down John’s cheek, following the gentle curve of his jawline. Eyes catching on John’s silent lips …
They parted, as John was catching up to the words Sherlock was saying.
“I'm your home ... ?” he said in awe.
“Always have been …” Sherlock replied, “221b is a box I kept, to hold you near me.”
John looked down at his shoes, a small huff of a laugh escaping, "makes me sound a bit like a dog."
"Reliable? Trusting. Faithful. Forgiving. Companionable. Protective … ?" Sherlock hummed in agreement, tilting his head to look at John as if examining him . "All excellent traits."
"The best of us," John agreed, imagining a small red terrier he had as a kid …
"Sounds like the man I love." He raised John’s eyes to him again, and stooped down to kiss him.
John gave in, enjoying the feeling of Sherlock’s lips on his. Not the only place he wanted to feel those lips if he was honest … but he still pressed himself away … Turning to leave the phonebooth. “The man you love just beat you, Sherlock. He broke your nose! He doesn’t deserve to be described as anything but a monster!” He huffed and pinched his nose. Hating himself for what he was doing, but knowing Sherlock deserved better!
Better than him …
Sherlock ignored his protests and drew him back into the phonebooth. Kissing the protests off of his lips and holding his face so that John could not turn away.
“I broke you first,” Sherlock said.
That did it.
John broke.
Covering his face with his hand and sinking into Sherlock’s shoulder, as he drew him near. Letting him cry it all out.
Both of them a mess.
A wreck of paradise.
Finally washed up on each other's shores …
“Let’s go home, Sherlock?” John asked, again. Taking Sherlock’s hands and kissing his long, slender fingers.
Sherlock took John’s tight little fists and kissed each knuckle. Smiling brighter than the sun. “I already am home, now ,” he said. And kissed John again. This time, home met him halfway.
>>>☎️<<<
(series to be continued ... )
tagging @johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @ohlooktheresabee @fluffbyday-smutbynight @totallysilvergirl @iamjustreading @masterofhounds @2smach @ephemeraljimin @eplapourdissant @luciengenic @chriscalledmesweetie @missdeliadili @johnlockismyreligion @amyreadsandstresses @forfucksakejohn @justanobsessedpan @gaylilsherlock @peanitbear @safedistancefrombeingsmart @whatnext2020 @i-call-me-clarence @peageetibbs @thegirlfromthesouth @janetm74 @sgam76 @jawnn-watson @samtheskald @topsyturvy-turtely @hasenkind687 @summerfly-lesbian @shelleysprometheus @7-percent @glows-n-the-dark @daisyfairy1 @morgendaemmerung89 @booksboozentoys @justnerdystuffs @simplyclockwork @arwamachine @kettykika78 @khorazir @raina-at @timberva @purplevatican @myopicmeerkat @myriath @fawnhickory @mutedsilence
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Zommoth, or Inv if you wish to do Rain World.
what's an inv
#we typed 'teh' instead of 'the' on accident and decided to just not fix it#this a creature and its gender and sexuality is AAAUAUUAUAUAUAUHDBDNDNDNXNDXBVXBXBX#zommoth is somewhere in another post.third wheeling two other buge. we do not feel like retrieving said post#also thsi is 100% on model inv always looks like it was drawn in ms paint
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