#fff275

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Continuation of last Friday's prompt, as some of you asked for.

Extraterrestrial or an Illusion?

It takes a while to calm down. John’s screaming doesn’t last that long, but his heart races like he’s run for hours. He looks down at the two phones in his right hand. One is his own, the other is Sherlock’s, and John has no idea how the latter got there. The text Sherlock sent him only minutes earlier and John’s reply are still visible on the screen when John taps it.

Someone in the hall. Come at once. Be careful. SH

In the hall. Where are you?

John does not believe in anything paranormal, but he can’t explain this. The full moon still shines brightly, but John can see that clouds will soon obscure it. He shivers slightly from an unexpected chill, as if something cold just passed him.

Sherlock. Must find Sherlock.

He gazes at the stairs, takes a firmer grip on his gun, and ascends cautiously to the upper floor. No sounds from anywhere are heard. Apart from his pounding heart and his breathing. 

When he reaches the landing, he hesitates. 

Left, or right?

As he turns left, a sudden darkness sets in the corridor. The clouds have hidden the light from the moon effectively. John swallows hard, switches on his torch again, and walks to the first door, which is slightly ajar. He opens it carefully, and to his relief it makes no sound.

The room he enters is a nursery. All the toys are old, and some are even broken. A doll with half torn off hair, stares up at him with empty eye sockets. He turns around quickly with his gun raised. When he realises what’s making the sound he reacted to, he feels the hair on his head stand up. 

An antique rocking chair in a corner of the room is moving as if a person sits in it, but there’s no one there apart from John. The windows are closed, so it cannot be explained by the wind causing the chair to rock back and forth. He makes a sweep around the room and decides to move on to the next door. The chair stops rocking once he reaches the threshold.

His pulse slows down after he’s searched the other rooms. They’re all empty. He turns to explore the rooms on the right side of the stairs. A bright light makes him gasp, before he understands that the clouds have moved away from the surface of the moon.

Full moon frenzy can make the most rational person a little unhinged.

He takes a deep breath and opens the first door. It creaks. A lot. John winces, but there’s nothing for it. His determined steps carry him over the threshold and into a bathroom. In the corner is a large bathtub that stands on claw feet. On the floor is a wooden bucket. A big hole in the bottom tells him that it hasn’t been used for decades. The cabinet on the other wall is open, its doors long since removed. All the shelves are grey with dust and in the upper corner is a fragile spider’s web.

When he once again stands in the doorway, he freezes. The other three doors are all wide open. Before he entered the bathroom they were closed. His palms start to sweat again, and he almost loses the gun.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “If this is a trick, Sherlock, I’m going to kill you with my bare hands!”

The house is still eerily quiet. He steals himself for an encounter with whatever this house is concealing. Two of the rooms are empty, but the third, and last one is not.

A gigantic four-poster bed is oddly enough placed in the middle of the room instead of by the wall. It’s made of dark brown wood with twisted posts. John can’t see if anyone is lying there, because all four sides are covered with velvet curtains in dark green, adorned with gilt embroidery.

Apart from the large furniture, the room is bare. He walks around the bed, trying to get a glimpse through an opening in the curtains. When he finally finds one, his heart skips several beats, and his gun slips out of his hand. His trembling fingers clutch the velvet curtain and shoves it aside. On the bed lies Sherlock, dressed in his suit and Belstaff. His face is lit up by the moonlight. He looks peaceful, but too pale for John’s liking. The lack of pulse does that to a person, he muses, before everything goes black.

To be continued...

----------------------------------------------------------

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie

@7-percent @lhrinchelsea @missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12

@jawnscoffee @gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @willamholmeswatson @whatnext2020

@mydogwatson @redmondcollege @thegildedbee @ilovegayangels @elizabethhood

@xmengal03 @astudyintheburningofhearts

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[renee-writer]

Lost Childhoods

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #275 prompt: Full Moon Frenzy

Not to long ago

My boys could go out

After dark

Camping under the full moon

By themselves

I recall looking up at it

Under a blanket of stars

Not an adult around

Goodnight moon

Goodbye innocent childhoods

My grandbabies will never know

The freedom of laying in the grass

Looking up at the moon

Dreaming alone

They can camp with their parents

It isn't the same though

A freedom I knew

My children knew

My grands never will

Far to dangerous now

No full moon dreaming for them

Safe behind double locked doors

Like a caged bird.

[reblog-house]

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Wc: 757 Fandom: Double Life Characters: Pearlescentmoon, Scott Smajor Ao3: Here! Pearl is alone and afraid, and nothing makes sense. Warning for body horror (transformation) right out of the gate.

Heaving Moonlight

A sob tore through her throat, rasping its way into a growl until she coughed. Pearl’s arms were shaking, barely supporting her own weight against the grass, blades digging into her skin. Her bones crackled and broke flesh, never surfacing. Their squirming into place grated against her ears. Within her ears. The cartilage melted and hardened, flesh and skin growing over the new wounds before they could infect.

The air was completely still. Not even did bugs dare to sing. Only her cries echoed through the trees.

If animals had been sleeping nearby, they left with the first ray of moonshine as the clouds cleared. 

They left with her first scream.

The flapping of bird wings flying away welcomed her when she dropped to the ground. Not even did birds care to be next to her. Not when she was at her worst. 

Everything grew quiet.

It was done.

She let her legs drop from below her, too weak to do anything. Shallow gasps, in and out — her mouth, her muzzle, was agape, laying directly on the grass. Her front legs hid her face in shame, tail laying limp behind her.

For a moment, everything stayed still, like a pocket outside of time. Her muscles were starting to loosen, her heart rate tentatively slowing down to match the pace of everything else around her. 

Within the silence, a noise caught her attention. 

Rustling, crunching of grass.

She snapped into position, readied to strike, bowing in the direction of the noise, fangs bared and face contorted into a growl.

The Intruder took a step back, hands in the air, and she stilled.

Blue hair.

Instincts kicked in. She growled and hunched further, hair on end. The Intruder made soft noises with its mouth, and her ears laid on her head. Lightning shot through her nerves, muscles tensed. She couldn’t move.

The Intruder knelt, but she didn’t let up. Danger. Everything was wrong. Everything was wrong.

And then it dropped where it was. 

She stopped growling, stilled in confusion, and stared.

The Intruder made itself home within the trees, legs crossed and looking up into the full moon. She followed its gaze and whimpered at the heaviness of the moon’s foreboding smile. 

But the light up in the sky… it felt like home. 

Against her better judgment, her ears relaxed into an upward position and she sat on her hind legs, completely entranced by the shine. 

The… Intruder? Companion? Made more noises again. Spoke. But she was no longer on edge. The soothing tone accomplished its intention.

And then, she heard it. Within the senseless ramblings, there was a familiar word. 

“–Pearl–”

She stopped staring at the moon and perked up, eyes blown wide on… him.

He seemed taken aback by her reaction, but he quickly bared his teeth. No, he… smiled. He smiled and his face softened. More words started to pour out from his mouth, more and more ‘Pearl’s slipping in. She stood on her four legs and her tail wagged uncontrollably. Pearl! Pearl, that was her! She ran circles in place, energy bursting from her heart through her spine, all the way to her paws and tail. 

Her companion’s voice got higher and more excited and she jumped in place and she–

Leapt.

He fought her off with a laugh, but she was putting all her weight on him and wouldn’t budge. 

She glanced back at his face, and for a second, she expected to find a scowl there. A sneer, a grimace and judgmental eyes. She tensed up against his hands pushing her away. Like it had lost its playful nature and had turned serious.

But there was no judgment in his eyes. His whole expression softened and he let go of her fur, lifting his arms out of the way to show no harm meant. She looked away into the darkness and then back at him. He still had a patient expression on his face. Something she hadn’t seen in him for far too long.

She was suddenly aware of what she was doing, and ears down in shame, she strutted off his lap. Immediately, he pushed himself into a straight sitting position and turned to look at her walking figure.

But she didn’t go far. 

Pearl sat herself a distance away from him, side by side, and both of them looked at the cloudless night sky, a full moon shining in among the stars.

The silence was light, now, and she rested her body against the grass.

Her companion’s breathing matched her own.

[mama-ivy]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

The moon was incredibly full.

Had he known that beforehand, Frankie definitely would have pushed the client to a later date. He hated that this spot was the only place he was going to be able to finish this job, out in the open, a public park with only one tree to hide him. Thankfully, the mark preferred jogging at night. Something about enjoying the night air and the quiet or some bullshit. Frankie had stopped listening to the crying woman trying to hire him.

Still, the park was incredibly open and the moon lit the whole place up.

So Frankie stood scrunched behind the only tree in the whole goddam park silently swearing he was going to make a donation to the local arbor society and patiently listening for the rhythmic thumping of running shoes.

It was close to midnight. He knew his mark would be the only person here. The park was technically closed, but there were no gates or patrols to enforce it. He had to time this just right. Grab the mark, knock him out, and fireman carry him 10 meters to the tree line. All without anyone seeing him in full moonlight. Damn moon.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Another quick look around to make sure there were no unwanted eyes, a deep breath, a firm grip around the billy club.

Another job in the books in 3... 2...

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[fivepointpalettes]

A pallette for the Most Mysterious Song on the Internet? (no known artist, go google it on yt if you dont know it!) Thank you!

The fun thing about running this blog is that sometimes, occasionally, I can guess what inspired a given request based on its timing alone. 🤭 Hope you like these!

#110f1e | #047eeb | #5bc3ba | #fff275 | #3e3b59

#171631 | #b982dd | #5a0dc4 | #f3e3e1 | #584e66

#1c1131 | #bdd4ff | #02aaf6 | #ffc96a | #222035

#0c0b18 | #8d77ef | #19e5c3 | #ffe36a | #392b4b

#44355b | #f064d0 | #1969e5 | #ffd98e | #34324b

#211e46 | #6796ff | #08d8f6 | #ffdfd9 | #2b283b

[hex-colors]

Hex Color Palette 1

#6699CC  #FFF275  #FF8C42  #FF3C38  #A23E48

[fivepointpalettes]

I need a palette for a non profit child development program annual report...

Hmm... I hope these work for you. Do let me know if you'd like something else, or anything specific.

#2bb1b6 | #ffbb43 | #9e5099 | #0047aa | #ff9483

#ffb33d | #f7c4c1 | #3671aa | #689f0e | #008f42

#f54630 | #ff6c27 | #575997 | #fff275 | #2ab2b9

#6993cd | #2bb79b | #a4b124 | #ff453b | #ffd03d

#c12c7a | #e9e076 | #f77f9b | #4891f5 | #fcac3c

#75288a | #fc522f | #486ef5 | #ffc96a | #2bc69e

[fivepointpalettes]

Any bright palette whit yellow blue and green?

Hope these work for you!

#48d01e | #c2d50a | #5bd0d7 | #b4e1f7 | #f7f187

#f4cb22 | #5bd71f | #077ea7 | #fff846 | #57aaff

#d4d711 | #ffe700 | #5fc4ff | #94d95f | #fbff75

#0089d9 | #13c554 | #f8f62b | #f6c800 | #07a68b

#ffedac | #99d50a | #24b8b8 | #b8f666 | #0054d8

#00b5d9 | #ffd746 | #aade2e | #d6ffc3 | #fff275

[fivepointpalettes]

A color palette whit black, yellow, blue and green?

Here you go!

#214bdc | #080604 | #0f89c8 | #ffe262 | #7e9e25

#2e99e1 | #96d16d | #fff275 | #fff4ba | #080401

#ffd975 | #efb92a | #43b92e | #090502 | #466bee

#458a19 | #0b0a16 | #62c0ff | #ffe2af | #1d2543

#ffe451 | #154d59 | #030208 | #293607 | #546207

#060905 | #254e16 | #c69404 | #dab800 | #219cdc

[a-victorian-girl]

Oooohhh so spooky!!

Sherlock fandom.

Continuation of last Friday's prompt, as some of you asked for.

Extraterrestial or an Illusion?

It takes a while to calm down. John’s screaming doesn’t last that long, but his heart races like he’s run for hours. He looks down at the two phones in his right hand. One is his own, the other is Sherlock’s, and John has no idea how the latter got there. The text Sherlock sent him only minutes earlier is still visible on the screen when John taps it.

Someone in the hall. Come at once. Be careful. SH

John does not believe in anything paranormal, but he can’t explain this. The full moon still shines brightly, but John can see that clouds will soon obscure it. He shivers slightly from a sudden chill, as if something cold just passed him.

Sherlock. Must find Sherlock.

He gazes at the stairs, takes a firmer grip on his gun, and ascends cautiously to the upper floor. No sounds from anywhere are heard. Apart from his pounding heart and his breathing. 

When he reaches the landing, he hesitates. 

Left, or right?

As he turns left, a sudden darkness sets in the corridor. The clouds have hidden the light from the moon effectively. John swallows hard, switches on his torch again, and walks to the first door, which is slightly ajar. He opens it carefully, and to his relief it makes no sound.

The room he enters is a nursery. All the toys are old, and some are even broken. A doll with half torn off hair, stares up at him with empty eye sockets. He turns around quickly with his gun raised. When he realises what’s making the sound he reacted to, he feels the hair on his head stand up. 

An antique rocking chair in a corner of the room is moving as if a person sits in it, but there’s no one there apart from John. The windows are closed, so it cannot be explained by the wind causing the chair to rock back and forth. He makes a sweep around the room and decides to move on to the next door. The chair stops rocking once he reaches the threshold.

His pulse slows down after he’s searched the other rooms. They’re all empty. He turns to explore the rooms on the right side of the stairs. A bright light makes him gasp, before he understands that the clouds have moved away from the surface of the moon.

Full moon frenzy can make the most rational person a little unhinged.

He takes a deep breath and opens the first door. It creaks. A lot. John winces, but there’s nothing for it. His determined steps carry him over the threshold and into a bathroom. In the corner is a large bathtub that stands on claw feet. On the floor is a wooden bucket. A big hole in the bottom tells him that it hasn’t been used for decades. The cabinet on the other wall is open, its doors long since removed. All the shelves are grey with dust and in the upper corner is a fragile spider’s web.

When he once again stands in the doorway, he freezes. The other doors, three, are all wide open. Before he entered the bathroom they were closed. His palms start to sweat again, and he almost loses the gun in his left hand.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “If this is a trick, Sherlock, I’m going to kill you with my bare hands!”

The house is still eerily quiet. He steals himself for an encounter with whatever this house is concealing. Two of the rooms are empty, but the third, and last one is not.

A gigantic four-poster bed is oddly enough placed in the middle of the room instead of by the wall. It’s made of dark brown wood with twisted posts. John can’t see if anyone is lying there, because all four sides are covered with velvet curtains in dark green, adorned with gilt embroidery.

Apart from the large furniture, the room is bare. He walks around the bed, trying to get a glimpse through an opening in the curtains. When he finally finds one, his heart skips several beats, and his gun slips out of his hand. His trembling fingers clutch the velvet curtain and shoves it aside. On the bed lies Sherlock, dressed in his suit and Belstaff. His face is lit up by the moonlight. He looks peaceful, but too pale for John’s liking. The lack of pulse does that to a person, he muses, before everything goes black.

To be continued...

----------------------------------------------------------

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie

@7-percent @lhrinchelsea @missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12

@jawnscoffee @gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @willamholmeswatson @whatnext2020

@mydogwatson @redmondcollege @thegildedbee @ilovegayangels @elizabethhood

@xmengal03 @astudyintheburningofhearts

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[redmondcollege]

Spooky! But so good!

Sherlock fandom.

Continuation of last Friday's prompt, as some of you asked for.

Extraterrestial or an Illusion?

It takes a while to calm down. John’s screaming doesn’t last that long, but his heart races like he’s run for hours. He looks down at the two phones in his right hand. One is his own, the other is Sherlock’s, and John has no idea how the latter got there. The text Sherlock sent him only minutes earlier is still visible on the screen when John taps it.

Someone in the hall. Come at once. Be careful. SH

John does not believe in anything paranormal, but he can’t explain this. The full moon still shines brightly, but John can see that clouds will soon obscure it. He shivers slightly from a sudden chill, as if something cold just passed him.

Sherlock. Must find Sherlock.

He gazes at the stairs, takes a firmer grip on his gun, and ascends cautiously to the upper floor. No sounds from anywhere are heard. Apart from his pounding heart and his breathing. 

When he reaches the landing, he hesitates. 

Left, or right?

As he turns left, a sudden darkness sets in the corridor. The clouds have hidden the light from the moon effectively. John swallows hard, switches on his torch again, and walks to the first door, which is slightly ajar. He opens it carefully, and to his relief it makes no sound.

The room he enters is a nursery. All the toys are old, and some are even broken. A doll with half torn off hair, stares up at him with empty eye sockets. He turns around quickly with his gun raised. When he realises what’s making the sound he reacted to, he feels the hair on his head stand up. 

An antique rocking chair in a corner of the room is moving as if a person sits in it, but there’s no one there apart from John. The windows are closed, so it cannot be explained by the wind causing the chair to rock back and forth. He makes a sweep around the room and decides to move on to the next door. The chair stops rocking once he reaches the threshold.

His pulse slows down after he’s searched the other rooms. They’re all empty. He turns to explore the rooms on the right side of the stairs. A bright light makes him gasp, before he understands that the clouds have moved away from the surface of the moon.

Full moon frenzy can make the most rational person a little unhinged.

He takes a deep breath and opens the first door. It creaks. A lot. John winces, but there’s nothing for it. His determined steps carry him over the threshold and into a bathroom. In the corner is a large bathtub that stands on claw feet. On the floor is a wooden bucket. A big hole in the bottom tells him that it hasn’t been used for decades. The cabinet on the other wall is open, its doors long since removed. All the shelves are grey with dust and in the upper corner is a fragile spider’s web.

When he once again stands in the doorway, he freezes. The other doors, three, are all wide open. Before he entered the bathroom they were closed. His palms start to sweat again, and he almost loses the gun in his left hand.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “If this is a trick, Sherlock, I’m going to kill you with my bare hands!”

The house is still eerily quiet. He steals himself for an encounter with whatever this house is concealing. Two of the rooms are empty, but the third, and last one is not.

A gigantic four-poster bed is oddly enough placed in the middle of the room instead of by the wall. It’s made of dark brown wood with twisted posts. John can’t see if anyone is lying there, because all four sides are covered with velvet curtains in dark green, adorned with gilt embroidery.

Apart from the large furniture, the room is bare. He walks around the bed, trying to get a glimpse through an opening in the curtains. When he finally finds one, his heart skips several beats, and his gun slips out of his hand. His trembling fingers clutch the velvet curtain and shoves it aside. On the bed lies Sherlock, dressed in his suit and Belstaff. His face is lit up by the moonlight. He looks peaceful, but too pale for John’s liking. The lack of pulse does that to a person, he muses, before everything goes black.

To be continued...

----------------------------------------------------------

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie

@7-percent @lhrinchelsea @missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12

@jawnscoffee @gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @willamholmeswatson @whatnext2020

@mydogwatson @redmondcollege @thegildedbee @ilovegayangels @elizabethhood

@xmengal03 @astudyintheburningofhearts

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)