Sherlock: So Basically I Am Your Late Birthday Gift.

I cannot speak for everyone. But I can assure you, I will let you know every time if it's something I said or her if she uses my anon again. The only thing we can do is spread the word. This is unfair to you, the community and the trust between your anons. You stay safe first, love.

Okay okay what the hell? Impersonating my anon?? I have been waiting to close my anon 🌷 for days like I once promised you. I'm the pink tulip anon. And Ethan oh god! I just saw what happened. I promise you I don't even know who the hell that is. This is insane and made me sick to my stomach. I never wanted to close my anon like this I thought eventually things will happen when I gain enough courage. Not sending anonymous asks triggers my anxiety but WHAT THE HELL??? This is just ridiculous!

nonnie believe me!!! i've known u were different this whole time!!!!!!!!!! but she was using the tulip anon on other accounts (i personally deleted the ones she sent me 'cause i had you!!!!) & i wanted to make sure ppl were aware of that. hope u understand & i'm rlly sorry about this whole thing. it's such a giant mess. feel free to keep using the emoji here, it's for YOU!!! you had it first anyway

This is the type of brainrot that keeps me awake at night. Because I 100% love to believe Ale atleast knows some shit about Simon. And during their mission he must've picked something here and there. And I mean, he's a colonel for god's sake. He has access to things if he wants right?

bit of an open lore discussion here. i know its not confirmed reboot ghost ever actually experienced the whole schtick in mexico but for my own sanity i kinda stitched og ghost's lore to reboot ghosts and i consider that canon to him. most know he was buried alive, broke through the casket and clawed his way to freedom and i personally headcanon that running on adrenaline he made it maybe a couple miles or so before he was found by mexican border patrol.

considering I Consider this all to be reboot, do you think theres a chance that alejandro and rudy heard about the whole thing? i mean, some heavily injured white guy was found on the side of the highway just Walking and the whole situation was almost immediately covered up with lots of red tape. do you think the rumors would have spread wide enough to reach ale & rudy (although they def wouldn't recognize simon just from his name alone) before they were given strict orders to stfu? & then said white guy in skull face paint absolutely slaughters manuel roba & his men, doing the mexican army's job for them? that must've been some scandal 😭

William: Why do guys lick their lips before they talk?

Sherlock: To marinate their lies.

Hii I'm a new one here in your blog! How are you love?

Can I request a tooth rooting fluff of fatigued Mycroft from work (Moriarty The Patriot)x overprotective fem!reader?

Thank you have a nice day <33

a/n: hellooo❕ forgive my late welcome but i really hope you enjoy your time here. i'm good, thank you :) hope you're just as well ! ALSO AAAA i think i went ahead of myself and typed way more angst than fluff 😭😭

##: angst, fluff, maybe implications of depression if you squint ??

MY KIND OF WOMAN 𓍢ִ໋ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ myc. holmes x f!reader

tonight the moon was far too dipped into the shadows of the dark to come out; too tired, too weary. mycroft seems to deeply relate as he trudges his way in, head throbbing and utterly exhausted.

his younger brother, sherlock, was being investigated for homicide of the media mogul charles augustus milverton but thankfully no proof had risen. yet.

that, atop the stress he's facing with the people of the nation complaining and pressuring that the lord of crime be caught and punished to death—not that he could life a finger, though. he'd already been bound to the moriarty's by the contract and his vow.

“haaa..” he exhales gruffly, taking off his shoes—he barely has enough energy to crawl himself towards the couch before plopping down on it. it's quiet, utterly quiet. and dark; like his current state of mind. dark, yet a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

mycroft's thoughts drift to the weight he carries—the responsibility of his work, the burdens of a brilliant mind constantly analyzing and strategizing for the sake of the nation. it was a relentless pursuit, one that often left him feeling isolated and exhausted, tired and battered. wrecked. he's tired, utterly so.

“....” mycroft pops open the abandoned whiskey on the coffee table, drinking from it. were you drinking? he wishes he could share a glass with you.

it's been too long, hasn't it?

it's been days since he's properly even had the time to look at you. he leaves for work at the break of dawn when you're still asleep and returns in the middle of the night; a perpetual, tiring cycle.

he feels like crying for the first time in a while—the weight is too heavy, too harsh on him. and he dips his head low, ducking his chin, even in the dark. as if someone would or could see him like this, so vulnerable and exhausted. he's glad you're sleeping in your shared bedroom — at least you won't have to see him this way, weak and pathetic.

“mikey?”

mycroft freezes, neck of the whiskey bottle still touching his lips. “...(name).” he croaks out and instantly regrets it. his voice is hoarse, cracked at the end, almost whiny. he hates being this way.

“you okay? how was work?” slowly you tiptoe your way to him—the atmosphere was heavy and you could sense it from miles away. your fingers rest themselves on his shoulder, standing behind him and you realize just how tense his muscles feel.

“the same as always.” he replies plainly—the same neverending work. of course he'd like to say more than just that one sentence to you but he worries that if he starts, he won't stop, and that once he starts, it won't end in a simple complain—it'll end in a breakdown, tears and all.

so he sits there quietly. still as a rock. not facing you.

clack. he says the whiskey bottle down.

“i see.” you mumble. you know he hates being perceived as weak and vulnerable so don't force him to face you either. instead your fingers begin to slowly knead his shoulders, massaging him.

and mycroft swears he feels a lump grow in his throat. he leans back against the chair in silence, further back against you. it feels good, he thinks. to be cared for and loved as much as you do to him.

“...thank you, (name).” he whispers earnestly. he recognises he became so accustomed to shouldering the weight of the world that he had almost forgotten the simple joy of being cared for. “truly.”

plop.

a tear falls down onto his lap.

“..of course, honey. anytime.”

but neither of you say anything.

plop. another tear.

he's embarrassed—the tips of his ears are red but he's also grateful that you're not saying anything further. he likes that you're respectful of him and his boundaries and that you're not forcefully prying it out of him. he would tell you himself, anyway.

“i thought i'd lose my little brother today.”

mycroft says it so suddenly that it makes you pause—and it makes your heart ache painfully. he seemed to be going through a lot these past few weeks.

“i thought that he'd end up behind bars, that we'd never be able to bicker again,” he continues slowly, as if spoken too fast and he'd overwhelm himself with his own words. “the constant demands and pressures placed on me... they never cease.”

your hands have gotten softer on his body, more gentle and kind. “i can see the toll it takes on you, mikey. it's okay to feel overwhelmed.” you press a faint kiss to his nape. “you're only human, after all.”

a small silence. and then he breaks it: “i'm...afraid, (name). i'm afraid of failing. of disappointing everyone. and most of all, i'm afraid of losing you because of this— this darkness that surrounds me.”

he's at last allowing himself to feel infront of you.

and this time mycroft turns his head to look at you; you're faced with a grief stricken mycroft, heavy tears dripping down his face. you are strong. stronger than you give yourself credit for. but even the strongest of people need support and love. let me be there for you. share the burden with me." you cup his cheeks and he nuzzles himself against your warm palms.

“i love you.” he whispers softly. weakly.

“i love you too, mickey. i'll always love and stand by your side. no matter what happens to either of us.”

“even if i were to be brandished a traitor the next day for conspiring with the lord of crime & keeping silent even after i became aware of their true identity?”

“even then i would love you.”

“and if i were to be executed the next day?”

your heart hurts for him—you realize this is one of his genuine fears that he's been constantly wracked with. “then i would follow you wherever you go, mickey—even after death, i will forever be yours.”

a mix of emotions flicker across mycroft's face! fear, longing, a glimmer of hope. he takes a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "promise me you won't give up on me, no matter how difficult it gets."

“i promise.” your voice is filled with determination and he breathes a sigh of relief—something he desperately wanted to do for a long time now. “you're not alone, mycroft; you never will be. as long as i'm alive you will always be well and protected.”

mycroft nods silently, lets himself be embraced by you—he'd allow himself this much of respite. he could face all the horrors the world has to show tomorrow. as long as he can rest in your arms tonight.

there were still a lot of thorns and you were certain there'd be more along the way, but you would never allow even one of those to graze him. you were dead set on clearing a better, smoother path for mycroft and make sure that no one would stand in his way.

you look down and for the first time you feel him softly sobbing into your chest. you kiss the crown of his head and hold him tighter.

yes, you think to yourself as you pat him. the scheming and mind wracking can be set aside for tomorrow. all you want to do is be with him right now.

and you're sure mycroft feels the same.

Typed so much in one day, my social battery ran out. Aight time to disappear for the next 3-4 business days.

I will hunt you down, watch your back Cap.

(I don't mind it's public for a reason)

Really luv? Fine I turned my anon off. When can I smack that ass then?

Find yourself an opportunity, enjoy.

(also ignore me stalking your blog)

the thing is that childhood doesn't just end when you turn 18 or when you turn 21. it's going to end dozens of times over. your childhood pet will die. actors you loved in movies you watched as a kid will die. your grandparents will die, and then your parents will die. it's going to end dozens and dozens of times and all you can do is let it. all you can do is stand in the middle of the grocery store and stare at freezers full of microwave pizza because you've suddenly been seized by the memory of what it felt like to have a pizza party on the last day of school before summer break. which is another ending in and of itself

GRAVES REQUEST! :3 graves w a fast talking new yorker reader (preferably a lawyer?) i can imagine him being real well behaved around her and it really throws everyone off

It does throw everyone off ESPECIALLY his Shadows when this smooth talking southern commander suddenly goes all obedient and quiet around his lawyer wife who with a snap of her fingers can make him go all soft eyed

His southern charm does nothing when it comes to your strong temperament, you're like a fuse that once is lit cannot be concealed, sometimes you're not even mad or upset, you're just used to speaking fast and anyone who doesn't know you thinks you're scolding Phillip

You'll randomly arrive unannounced on base and strut in as if you own the place, well your husband runs it and he bows down to no one but you so technically you do lol

His shadows aren't supposed to see their commander as someone who could be controlled easily by anyone else, and who would have thought the pretty lady who arrived wearing nice and elegant clothing would be the one to break that impression of theirs, they had all looked amongst themselves in confusion when you walked in and Phillip didn't direct a harsh look or word towards you

Instead he paused, dropped whatever he was doing and was immediately by your side greeting you with a warmth they had rarely ever seen in him, the Shadows knew Phillip had a family, they could tell that much from the polaroid he kept of you in his pocket, which they sometimes found when attempting to pickpocket him for fun

But they never thought he could be so...yielding to anyone... the more you know

something about a quiet night with simon in your kitchen; of him hefting you up by your hips to place you on the counter, slotting himself between your legs before dropping low to kiss you; of him bumping noses with you, making you giggle as he huffs, his cheeks thrumming with warmth.

“m’bad,” he says, his breath fanning over your lips. “jus’ really wanted t’kiss you, s’all.”

“s’okay,” you coo, throwing your arms over his shoulder. “i wanna kiss you so bad too.”

“oh yeah?” he hums, teasing, and you feel more than see the way his lips tug up in a crooked smile.

you roll your eyes at his weak tease before pulling him down, finally claiming that kiss because you can’t wait anymore. it’s just a peck, it’s not heated or weighted, and your noses are still slotted awkwardly but you breathe him in, hearing the hum of your refrigerator and the quiet ticking of your oven, and simon’s back in your arms, and truly, you think that this might just be the best kiss you’ve ever had.

Feeling bad for my professors because this is how my papers look like

what studying literature feels like