#ignore the chipped nail varnish

[too-sapphic-to-function]

stars hehehehehe

[solbaby7]

While the Cats are Away, the Mice will Play

warnings: some swearing, dirty dancing, it’s mostly just fluff (reader isn’t meant to look like the gif—she’s just there bc she matches the vibes) jealous batboys

summary: you and Mor have a goal to get Nesta out the house and make her have fun—the boys crash the party to watch.

——

“No.”

“Come on, Nesta,” You beg, pushing past the creaky old door to her apartment. The air inside smelled stale, as if she hadn’t opened a window since the day she’d moved in and judging by the overflowing dishes piling in the sink, that had been pretty neglected as well. “You’re wasting away in here and I won’t watch it anymore. Just come out with us. One night.”

“One night?”

“Just one.”

Her arms cross over her chest, steely glare unwavering as she mulled over the offer. “And you’ll leave me alone?”

“Probably not, but I won’t start bothering you to come back out again for at least a week.”

There’s a pause, a silence that’s so deafening that you nearly take a step back, fully intending to give up and leave her to brood but something flickered in those blue-grey eyes, a brow raising and caution laces her tone when she asked, “Where exactly are you trying to take me?”

“Just a bar that Mor and I found,” You start, dangling the only bait you were certain that she’d take and you pray that with her new fae hearing that she can’t make out the frantic pounding of your heart, innocent excitement welling deep within your chest. “They move all the tables out after nightfall and it turns into a dance floor. Please, it’ll be fun.”

“Just us?” The underlying question is evident. Will Cassian be there?

“Me, you and Mor.”

Nesta lets out a scoff, hands smacking at her sides as she flicks at the grey material of her dress. The ends were a little worn, a few stains splotched here and there and if you looked close enough there was definitely a hole on the left shoulder but you refrained from pointing it out. Instead, you smile timidly as if luring an injured animal towards you, promising food and water and safety if they just trusted you for a second. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Your hand clamps around her wrist before she can protest, tugging her behind you and slamming the creaky front door behind you before urging her forward. “I’ve got plenty of clothes that you can wear—I’ll even do your hair if you want.”

If your hand wasn’t around her wrist, you’d have thought Nesta wasn’t even there judging by her silence but you didn’t dare stop, guiding her through the streets until you could see Mor and her golden locks blowing in the breeze, her gaze fixed on a chip in her nail varnish. “I didn’t think she’d do it.”

“You owe me three gold coins—I got her to come and she didn’t throw a single thing at me.”

Nesta’s sharp gaze bounced between you both, mouth pursed as she prepared to say some snarky comment intended to hit below the belt; to push you away and find her too dark and twisty to bother with and maybe even leave her alone to rot. “You bet on me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Mor stepped forward, burgundy red cloth cinching at her waist with a golden ring. “I was the one who had to stitch up Cassian after his last visit—sue us for preparing for the worst.” She doesn’t give Nesta enough time to answer, her palm flat against yours and Nesta’s shoulder and within seconds you were winnowed back to the Night Court.

You ignore Ferye’s raised brows when you walk past the sitting room with Nesta in tow, rambling about different outfits and jewelry to match her eyes. You pray she doesn’t say anything, certain that a conversation with her sister will surely pull her out of the partying mood and you make sure to pick up the pace when you see the Cursebreaker peek out the doorway with Elaine in tow. “I’ll get a bath going.” You feel Nesta go tense, her fingers curling around your wrist subconsciously before you can leave and immediately you nod. “Or a shower? So you can stand? I can even leave the door open so it doesn’t feel too stuffy.”

Her brows raise, surprise spreading across breathtaking features and after what felt like hours of staring she answers. “As long as you leave the door open.”

You’re quick to gather fresh towels and a washing rag, offering a plethora of scented soaps before Nesta snatched up the one with lemon slices fused inside. You wait outside the door, back pressed to the wall until you hear her enter the shower with a sigh. A minute passes, two and once you’re sure she was okay you disappear off to the closet picking up a silky pair of pants before deciding against it—Nesta always looked the most uncomfortable when forced into her fighting leathers, hands always fumbling with the fabric as if it just wouldn’t sit right.

Your fingers trace over an assortment of hanging dresses, some soft like velvet while others were a little itchy but the patterned lace always looked pretty when worn correctly. “I like that one,” Nesta says from behind you, hair wrapped in a thick towel, her dirtied dress bunched in her hands but she doesn’t stop staring at a soft blue dress tucked in the corner, tight at the top, long at the bottom with the entire back exposed and lined with pretty pale pearls. It’s not exactly meant for a night out but it was most similar to something she would’ve worn back then—before the Cauldron, before when Feyre had just been an Archeron and not the Cursebreaker.

“That one it is.” You trade dresses and disappear off to find some jewelry and a pair of shoes you’re sure might fit if you loosen the straps a little. Nesta takes her time and you use that go get ready yourself, shooing off Rhys when he tried to slip into the room just for a peek. “No. It’s a girls night—no boys allowed.”

Rhysand’s hands are tucked in his pockets, shoulder leaned against the wall with one glossy shoe stubbed between the doorway. “That’s a dumb rule.”

“Baby, I really need to finish getting ready.”

He nods. “I can help, we can figure out something else for you to wear.”

You glance down at your outfit—Mor had picked it out herself. It was black with long sleeves that hooked at the thumb with a swooping neckline. The corset like middle cinched you in just tight enough to add a little shape before smoothing out near the skirt. One deep slit was cut on the left side, broadcasting leg all the way to the crease of your hip. “What’s wrong with what I have now?”

“Nothing pretty girl, I simply just want to help you find the rest of it.”

Your eyes roll on their own accord, hand pressing into his hard chest to push him back before slamming the door back into place—double checking that it was locked for good measure. “You want a drink?”

“What do you have?”

“Whiskey,” You drawl out, eyes scanning over the bar cart Rhys kept tucked near the desk. “—and wine. Very, very old and expensive wine.”

Nesta emerged from the closet, her cheeks still a little too gaunt and the shadows under her eyes would need more than makeup in the long run but for once Nesta looked content, gaze tracking her own figure in the mirror. “I’ve been poor for a long time,” She muttered, peering up at you through the reflection, a hint of a smile forming. “I’d say it’s only fair we break into the good shit.”

And with that, you popped the cork free.

Three generous glasses later and you’d finally stopped laughing long enough to finish Nesta’s hair and makeup, arms interlocked as you bounded down the stairs, heels clacking against the glossy floors. “Mor, let’s go!”

Nesta breaks out into a grin with Elaine emerged, a plate full of cookies in her grasp and three have been snatched away before Elaine can even comprehend Nesta—dressed up, smiling and eating and not wasting away in that dingy apartment. “Save me some of those for when we come back.”

Elaine leaned into Ferye, watching Nesta winnow away with you and Mor with small smiles and teary eyes; too elated to notice Rhysand lurking in the shadows, violet eyes sharp as he searched the spot the girls previously stood. “Did they tell you where they were going?”

“I, honestly, was too afraid to ask.” Ferye rested a hand on her hip, eyes low with amusement as Rhys paced the room, a hand rustling through onyx locks. “Look, if you’re so worried, why not just ask Azriel or Cassian to tag along to make sure they’re okay?”

She regrets the words the second she says them, a lightbulb seeming to go off in the High Lords head before he’s stalking down the hall, muttering a soft, ‘good idea’ under his breath as he passed. Down the hall second door on the right, Rhys bounded through, both people he was looking for in the same spot.

Cassian turned from where he sat, a blade in hand as he sharpened its sides. “You good?”

“We’re leaving. Right now.”

Azriel doesn’t show any surprise at the blunt command but his shoulders straighten out at attention, shadows lurking around them. “What’s wrong?”

Rhys doesn’t even have to look at them when he says. “They’re at a bar and Mor was in charge of dressing them.”

Cassian frowned. “Them?”

“Yeah,” He nods, growing impatient. “She’s with Nesta and Mor.”

A brief silence before the sword he was cleaning sheathed back into place and when he stood, Azriel was beside him. “Let’s go.”

——

“What is this?” Nesta questioned wearily, steely eyes crossing slightly as she held up the glass filled to the brim with an alarmingly green substance.

“Don’t ask, just take it back and don’t throw up.” You and Mor tap your glasses against the tabletop before clinking against one another, waiting expectantly for Nesta before knocking it back.

Her face screws up the second it’s down, a balled up fist pressed firmly to her lips before finally releasing a deep breath. “That was disgusting.” A hand settled over her stomach, waving the barkeep over for a glass of water. “Why does it still burn?”

Mor stands from the stool with ease, an inebriated smile tugging at her mouth. “Come dance to take your mind off it—it’ll help.”

Nesta shakes her head in defiance and you let out a soft sigh, reaching out your hand to follow Mor but you never look away from the Archeron sister. You make sure put a little extra oomph into your dancing, bright smiles and bouncing curls and jewelry that clanked when the upbeat music shifted to something sexier.

You stalk towards her like a predator searching for their prey, gaze seductive but playful as you reach out for her. “Just one night Nesta, you agreed.”

Her eyes roll when she smacked her hand into yours with a sigh, heels clicking against the floor as she followed you back to where Mor was. You make a point to give her a bit of distance, dancing to yourself and getting lost in the music hoping that it radiated low expectations—willing a calm aura to wash over her in attempts to get her to just let loose.

And surprisingly, after a second, it worked.

Nesta’s dress flowed as she allowed her hips to sway in tandem with the beat, head bopping casually to the side before full on copying your motions. Where you raking up your body, she mirrored it, hips swaying and hair flying around her cheeks.

The three of you linger about, dancing alone, dancing together, grabbing more drinks before all that can be felt is the overflowing confidence that ensued with liquid courage. You grin mischievously at Nesta, all too aware of the eyes that can’t seem to tear away from your trio. “Watch this.” You glide through the crowd, hips swishing from side to side, one leg peeking out with each stride until you found Mor.

It’s second nature when she slides up to sit on the stage, feet dangling as you danced beneath her, hands teasing up your figure, painted nails teasing at her legs and the men that swarmed were positively ravenous.

Still, none of them ever touched. Never stepped too close.

Maybe they’d heard of Mor and how she’d conquered in her great battles.

Maybe they’d heard about Nesta and how Hybern had created her from scratch and the surplus of power she’d snatched back because of it.

The thought doesn’t linger and soon Nesta is close behind, following suit with moves of her own, a foaming beer she didn’t buy clutched in her grasp. “You think they’re watching us?”

You scoff, all too aware of the High Lord hiding in the corner with Cassian and Azriel, thick shadows mostly concealing them but you’d never miss that scent—of a strong male and his dark power and that damn night-blooming jasmine soap he insisted on using. “I’d put money on it they’ve been watching us since we stepped through the front door.”

Nesta lets out a laugh, cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling rapidly from all the dancing. “Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

“Thanks for letting me.”

[d3pressedd3adg1rl]

Diet coke is lifeee

(Ignore my chipped nail varnish I can't find where I put it)

[hollowporcelain]

oh yeah!! the matching rings we got :’3

(ignore the chipped nails varnish T T)

[lexicals]

ARRIVED WAY SOONER THAN ANTICIPATED I CAN TOUCH

Aaa I forgot I ordered dice,, when can I touch........

[jaskierswolf]

38 Geraskier? If it’s not too much trouble, thanks Wolfie!

This got away from me! This is why it takes a while to fill prompts. I cannot write anything under 500 words. I was going for a 5 +1 format but it ended up being 2+1... anyhoo. Enjoy!

#38 Everyone thinks we’re already dating, but we’re just best friends- oh wait

_______

Yennefer

Geralt was sat opposite Yennefer at a fancy restaurant. His shirt collar was almost choking him and the fabric felt far too stiff and starchy for his liking but Yen was important to him. It was their last chance to get this right and he’d done everything he could think of to impress her. He wanted to be right for her. He didn’t want to lose her. They weren’t well suited but the thought of losing her just filled him with dread. He wasn’t sure if she would stick around if they weren’t dating and her company had become invaluable to him.

Yen sipped at her cocktail through the silver straw. Her red lipstick leaving stains on the metal. She gazed at him cooly across the table with her stunning violet eyes. He was rambling on nervously about some shit Jaskier had gotten himself into the day before in attempt to stop the conversation from drying up.

“Geralt.” Yen said calmly in between sips of her drink. Geralt’s mouth snapped shut and he tensed up. He knew this had been coming but he wished… he just wished they could be good. “What the fuck are you trying to do here?”

“I don’t understand.” He grunted, prolonging the inevitable. He picked at his food. Even his pie and chips had ended up being some deconstructed shit. Chips were chips, not some weird potato mush streaked across the plate.

“Was this supposed to be a date, Geralt?” Yen sighed with a roll of her eyes. “I didn’t realise Jaskier was the sharing sort?”

Geralt choked on the carrot ball he’d just popped in his mouth. “Sharing? Jaskier?”

“Well he is your boyfriend.” Yen raised an eyebrow.

“He’s what?!” _________

Priscilla

Jaskier stuck his tongue out as he carefully brushed the vibrant pink nail varnish over his toes. Geralt was out with Yennefer on a date, breaking Jaskier’s heart for the umpteenth time in the process, so he’d invited Pris over for a girl’s night in to sooth the pain. They were half a bottle of vodka in and he was really regretting that now as he struggled not to smear his nail varnish.

Priscilla’s hands covered his and took the bottle and brush from his hands. He pouted as he stared up at her. “Let me.” She insisted.

He scoffed and waved his hand.

Ok so when he said they were half a bottle of vodka in…. that maybe kinda was sort of all him…. maybe. “M’fine!” He protested but let his head fall back on the pillows as she took his foot carefully into her lap and continued his pitiful attempts to paint his nails.

“Mhmm.” She agreed. “Sure. I’ve ordered pizza. I think you’ll need it. You owe me big time, Jask.”

“S’not my fault. It’s Geralt’s fault!” He babbled. “And Yennefer. Damn witch! Bloody seductress. Fuck.” He groaned and pulled his arms to his chest. His heart fucking ached and he felt so empty.

“Did he at least break up with you kindly?” Pris asked with shining cornflower blue eyes that matched his own, a present from their mother. “I have contacts. He will pay sorely for this.”

Jaskier choked on his own breath and propped himself up, ignoring the spinning in his head. “Break up with me?” He asked. “Why would he need to break up with me?!”

Priscilla furrowed her brow. “Because you were dating?” She asked with a tilt of her head.

“Noooo….” Jaskier elongated the word with a shake of his head. The movement made the whole room spin and he had to close his eyes to stop the nausea. “No. We weren’t.” _________

Geralt and Jaskier

Geralt raced home from the restaurant, fleeing the table and promising Yen that he would pay her back. He had to get to Jaskier. Fuck. Had he really been so blind to his friend’s affections? He’d had a crush on his housemate since university but Jaskier flirted so opening and charmingly with every person he met except for Geralt that Geralt had be resigned to the fact he would only ever be Jaskier’s friend.

Jaskier.

The one constant thing in his life. Even Yen flitted in and out as she pleased but Jaskier stayed. He wanted to stay. Geralt had grown used to the close intimacy of friendship with him and moving in together had just made sense. It was cheaper than living alone and for all of Jaskier’s romantic exploits he couldn’t seem to find anyone who wanted him.

Not like Geralt wanted him. “Fuck.” He cursed and pulled his key from his pocket. He fumbled with the lock.

Apparently their entire friendship group thought they were dating, that Jaskier was his boyfriend. The way they would always curl up together on film nights, or share food and drinks when they went out for dinner, even the way Jaskier grasped onto his arm as they walked side by side, it had all been evidence to their relationship. Oh and Geralt was naturally the last to know that Jaskier was hopelessly in love with him and had been for years. Yen admitted that she’d known since the beginning, his brothers had both found out when Jaskier had visited them for Christmas the first time, and that was two years ago.

The door swung open and he barrelled into the living room. He almost slipped on a pizza box but managed to dance around it just as Jaskier landed in his arms. Instinctively he caught his friend. He was used to Jaskier leaping at him like this. The musician stank of booze and pizza but it was the redness in his eyes that drew Geralt’s attention.

“I’m… I’m just going to leave?” Priscilla gave an awkward wave. “Be good to him Geralt. You owe him that much.”

“I know. Thank you, Pris.” Geralt nodded before carrying Jaskier upstairs to his bedroom.

“At least buy me a drink first.” Jaskier mumbled as Geralt dropped him to the bed.

Geralt laughed but cupped his friend’s cheek. “You’ve been crying.”

“I was sad.” Jaskier admitted. His speech was slurred but Geralt had been looking after drunk Jaskier for years. He was fluent in drunk Jaskier. “Crying helps.”

“Because of me.” Geralt sighed and brushed Jaskier’s fringe out of his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

“Because I didn’t want you know. I didn’t want you to leave like everyone else.” Jaskier half sobbed and yanked away from Geralt’s touch, burying his face in the bed sheets.

“I would never leave you, Jaskier.”

“Everyone does. No one ever lets me stay.” Came the muffled reply. “I’m too loud, I love too freely, it’s all too much. So they leave.”

“Hmm.” Geralt said thoughtfully. “Everyone else seemed to think we were already dating, so what would really change if I were to say I loved you too.”

“Don’t.” Jaskier snapped, not lifting his head from the pillow but swatting Geralt blindly with his hand. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“We would go out together, which we already do. We would fall asleep together after watching a film, which we already do. I’d say you could meet my family but you know them all already and I’ve met yours.” Geralt listed off and he stroked his hand through Jaskier’s hair. “Or maybe we could move in together, start a life together. I’ll wash up and you can dry. You never like getting your hands wet and it’s easier to dance around the kitchen when you aren’t stuck by the sink.”

Jaskier rolled over with a sigh. “Alright, you bastard. You’ve made your point.”

“So if I love you, which I do. What would change?” Geralt smirked.

“Well you could start by kissing me.” Jaskier pouted.

Geralt laughed and kissed Jaskier’s head. “You’re drunk, love.”

“Noble fool.” Jaskier groaned. “One kiss, I promise I’ll behave.”

Geralt tilted his head. One kiss wouldn’t hurt. “Do you promise you’ll remember it? We only get one first kiss.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and pulled Geralt down for a kiss. His lip ghosted over Geralt’s. “I promise.” He swore and at last their lips met.

_________

Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t  @flippinfricks  @awitchersbard   @innocentcinnamonpun @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar

[ode-to-the-bugs]

Intrulogical ~

"Do fish sneeze?" Remus asked, breaking the calm of the room yet again. Virgil sighed from his curled position in the armchair, not daring to look up from the 3DS that he had found in the depths of his closet and subconsciously urging Logan to finally take up Remus' query.

"Can they get sick? Like, I know that they can get that thing where their skin falls off or something, but can they get colds?" He continued, falling back into the sofa behind him and staring into the white, popcorned abyss that was the ceiling.

Logan was sat less than a foot away from him, with his back against the armrest and a perfect view of Remus' thoughtful expression; which would have almost intrigued him, from an academic point of view, if he wasn't so painfully sure that Remus was simply imagining how a fish would sneeze and how it may sound.

He rolled his eyes as his suspicions were confirmed by a small snorting laugh, before turning back to his book and scanning for his place. Which he quickly lost again, as more questions were thrown into the quiet.

"Do you reckon sharks sneeze? Is it loud? I know you can hear stuff underwater but.." 

He fell into thought again and unthinkingly scratched his cheek - his chipped nail varnish catching Logan's attention.

"Do you th- Hey, Logan," he paused, tapping his friend's foot, taking note of the NASA logo adorning his socks, "do you think sharks can have allergies? Like, you know how pollen makes Janus all snuffly? What if sharks get like that with...seaweed?"

Logan looked up with something akin to fondness (not that he could admit it)

"Well, I have to say I've never thought ab-" 

"Or fish? Wait, no, are sharks fish?"

"How about-"

"Imagine being allergic to yourself. Like, breaking into hives whenever you...look in a mirror"

Logan sighed, his eyes flickering over to Virgil when a noise sounded from the device in his hands, and adjusted his glasses.

"If you'd like, I could look int-"

"Just waking up with blistering, oozing sores or your throat closing up because you're wearing your own skin-"

Instead of trying to interrupt Remus’ trackless train of thought, Logan reached out and placed his hand on the other’s knee, inadvertently silencing him anyway. Remus’ voice halted in his throat as he stared down at his knee, trying his hardest to listen to whatever Logan finally had the chance to say.

“These are all very..interesting questions, Remus. And I would like to answer them, so, if you’d like, I can do some research and get back to you. Would that be agreeable?”

Still staring down at Logan’s hand, he nodded.

“Stellar. I’ll be sure to record my findings for you.”

Remus could barely hide his disappointment when Logan pulled away and his attention dived back into the pages of his book.

His mind, however uncommon an occurrence it was, blanked then. Blanked of all thoughts about fish and allergies, and zoned in on the heat that was still lingering on his leg. 

At least, for a few moments. Just long enough for everyone to take a deep breath of the peace.

"Can people be allergic to sharks!?" Remus whispered, sounding somewhat panicked.

Virgil, looking especially tired now, slipped from his chair and left the room, audibly killing one of the Mario Brothers in the process.

"What if...what if I'm allergic to sharks. I wouldn't know if I was. Ever."

"Remus, how about-"

"Lo, I could be violently allergic to sharks. So could you. Just give me a minute."

"I really don't think-"

"Oh God, they could be allergic to me.."

Sometimes Logan wondered if this distressed Remus: being trapped in a chain of thinking with no way to escape. Sure, he himself suffered for curiosity but not in quite the same way.

"Remus, may I try something?"

"I'm the seaweed, Logan. I am the seaweed that would send a shark into anaphylactic shock-"

Logan briefly considered placing his hand back on his knee before Roman's voice emerged from the darkness of his mind - 'go big or go home'.

And so, Logan found himself hooking his hand in Remus' collar and pulling him towards him. Save for the small 'oof' that he breathed out as he hit Logan's chest, he was immediately quiet. 

Remus could feel a burning heat chase up his neck from his chest, but nonetheless, settled quickly with his head tucked beneath his chin and Logan's knees bent slightly on either side of him.

"Is this okay?" 

Remus could barely register the words, let alone form his own. He hummed, and failed to resist burying his head further.

"I hope I didn't overstep, I just noticed-"

"shhhh, s'okay"

He adjusted his glasses once more, ignoring the heat in his face and scanning the page. There was a momentary shuffle for comfort as he rested his arms and his book on Remus' back.

A tiny flicker of relief bloomed in his chest at the realisation that Virgil had left, before blowing it out almost immediately. There was nothing wrong with this: maybe it wasn't the most strictly platonic of choices, but there was nothing wrong with it. And, you know, if Logan found himself holding his book in one hand because the other was busy carding its fingers through Remus' hair, there wasn't anything wrong with that either.

[bennybentacles]

hargreeves as the hearbreaks of the roaring 60's

luther is sweet and timid, soft smiles and gentle nudges, mouth making soft sounds and full of questions. he is blunt and cruel with mouth that spits blatant truths, he refuses to sugar coat things, he is petty and unforgiving, holds grudges like a vice grip. he is sad songs played in a juke box, a sweet melody hummed on the way to work, a nostalgia you cant quite shake off, a taste of bitterness that seems to cling of on the roof of your mouth, unable to wash off. he is the soft glow on the streetlight, the gentle nudge of the wind, the harsh booming thunder and the ravenous fire. and he is untouchable and oh so beautiful

diego is soft whispers and ghosting fingers, he is lingering touches and quick glances, he is the smell of flowers that mixes with the very air that you breath in. he is harsh words and cruel sneer, he is the raging fire and cutting look, he is blazing iron to the flesh, always leaves am ugly scar whenever he goes by. he is the whistle in the air when an item is thrown too fast, he is the detached last message in your voicemail, the last awful word that you can never forget no matter how much you drink. he is the flowers that seemed to thrive despite you forgetting to take care of it, he is the eye of the hurricane. both peaceful and destructive.

allison is wide smile in her painted lips, she is full of promises, she is a wonderland, the ground she walks in deserves to be worshipped upon, she is addicting. she is missed calls and forgotten anniversary, a stain that never seemed to come off, a chip in the varnished wood, one that you can never ignore, she is a cigarette smoke that clings into your dress, a nicote stain in your fingers. she is an adventure, late night stargazing and early sunrise watching, she is the background music in your life, she is the wild flower in the cracks of the road surviving despite the hardship, she is the smell of the cologne of your love one that never seemed to wash off years after they left. she is the painful reminder on how beautiful she really is and how you can never find someone like her again.

klaus is the manic laughter and the crackling fire, a haunting melody played in the witching hour, a taste of sugar amidst the bitterness, he is the hug that you cherish even after he has already let go, he is the fist sunlight that hit your eyes in the morning. he is the harsh gunshot and the booming crack of the lightning, he is the glass shattering and knife hitting bone, he is the cruel reality. a harsh reminder, a reality checker, he is the belt hitting your skin, creting a sick version of art, he is the trip when you take too much and your heart seemed to be replicating the pouring rain on a thunderstorm. he is the vision that you see when you are about to pass away, he is the stillness in the midnight, he is the quiet mornings when the weather is just right, he is the devastating forest fire that took claim to millions of life. he is gorgeous and he leaves a path of destruction in his wake

five is the fast days, when everything just go by and you are left shellshocked for a moment, he is a freight train, he is the smell of coffee and the sweet smell of bread, he is the shoes that you have already worn in, he is the seat that you always favoured. he is angry, a hot lova burning you quick, the pounding of a hammer to a nail that breaks it apart, he is the smudge in the crisp white paper, he is hottest day of the year, the flood after the rain. he is magical, a fae that leaves you disoriented, he is the wind that ruins your hair, the lipstick that matches you well, the glasses that never helped you read even tho it says its the one matching for you. he is clever and yet he never tried to bend so that he can match with somebody

ben is small smirks and quiet laugh, he is the calm in the middle of a vintage shop, he is the smell of the old bookstore, a gentle lifting of the page of a book, a murmur of a prayer to a lonely god, an apology that barely left the mouth. he is the longing of a love one lost in the war, an emptiness after a great mental breakdown, the harsh sobs in the losing battle, he is the blood between the nails and the damaged gaze into nowhere, he is the laugh that is too hallow and empty, a smile too vacant and a cry too emotionless. he is the pitter patter of the tiny feet in the hardwood, the echoes of what used to be, a mockery of what couldve been, he is the soft smell of burning candle, he is the melting point of brass, a gentle flow of a quiet river and the quiver of a intense earthqauke. he is too pretty yet to sad and he is the most wonderful person youll ever see

vanya is the laughter that escaped your mouth by accident, she is the smile to you give to children that looks at you at the grocery, the gently smiles you send to older people that pass you on the street, the gentle nudge on the leave that juts out of the bush, the undignified squeal that you give to the dogs you pass by and the replica of a cats meow the you do when you see one. she is the vinyl that scratches on the recorder, the breaking of your favorite mug, the wet puddle that got in your boots, the dry leaves that didnt crunch when you step on it. she is the orchestra playing the unfinished melody, the cry that lifts off your mood afterwards, she is the aching in your back when you sat too much, the hot chocolate in the coldest winter, she is the harsh spotlight and the soothing cold in the middle of a hot fever. she came with the light and she took it with her when she left

[sadisticbloodlxst]

@shichishi-chii​ said:

"don’t  leave  me!" Chii to Kou ( 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 )

⌞ Just where had he chipped the polish from his index finger? He had just applied a brand new layer of it the previous morning. What a shame... The vampire thought as he inspected the pink coat of varnish covering his nails.

⌞ Part of him truly wondered where and when he had ruined the cute design he had worked so hard to paint on himself that morning. However, the other, bigger part of him just wanted to see how the girl would react when faced with being ignored.

⌞ She had been breaking down for a while now, begging him to stay near her, to not leave, to pay any scrap of attention to her efforts, and that made him wonder what would happen if he pushed her just a little bit more.

⌞ “What do I get in return if I stay?”

[postmortem-bookworm]

Bright - Bucky Barnes - Part One

Fandom: Avengers

Type: Series

Word Count: 1,753

Character(s): Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Shuri, T'Challa

Warning(s): Cussing, Mentions of attempted suicide (but shouldn't be anything triggering), smut (maybe), mentions of X-Men, Steve is crushing

A/N: This picks up almost right after Black Panther, but before Bucky is awake, there is no Thanos, and everyone is alive.

My first series! Please enjoy!

Shifting nervously in her seat, she watches though the window as Steve and Natasha talk to the King and Princess of Wakanda in privacy. Steve seems to notice her watching as he looks over at her, giving a small smile, which Natasha seems to notice, because she turns to look at her with a unconvincing mirror of the Captain's, and her blood runs cold. Steve hasn't smiled much, since the battle of team Iron Man verses team Captain America at the airstrip. Natasha does smile much, period. This can't be good. She twirls a lock of burgundy hair around a finger, her nail is painted with chipped black varnish, something she'll miss from now on, unless someone in this almost alternate dimension, has any.

"-hut all ready for her stay." The King says as the door to the room opens, the four of them exit as she shifts in her seat once again, gnawing at her bottom lip as Steve nods to the King, before walking over to her, grabbing the suitcase resting at her feet.

"Good news, you can stay. They even have a semi secluded area where they've prepared your hut." She narrows her eyes at the Captain, his baggy eyes and mussed up hair, like he's ran his fingers though it a thousand and one times, doesn't help convince her much that this is for her safety, and not their own. His emotions are chaotic as they practically slap her in the face. "Maeve?"

"You should shave." She says as he reaches up to rub the beard that isn't quite stubble anymore, but isn't a full on beard yet, the apples of his cheeks are red, and the Princess giggles.

"I am princess Shuri, I will help deliver you to your new home, and help explain our culture to you, as best as I can." She says in a friendly manner as she steps up to Maeve, holding out a hand to the American. "Welcome to Wakanda, Ms. Smithe."

"Hello, Princess Shuri. I am pleased to meet you. Please, i-if you don't mind, please just call me Maeve, or Mae." She smiles, shaking the princess's hand, and Shuri drops her hand, smiling.

"Only if you call me Shuri." She says. "Come along. Brother, are you coming?" She asks, looking at the King. T'Challa nods and smiles, everyone following the Princess. The King is close to the Princess, Mae falls behind to talk to Steve and Natasha.

"We will be at your call, anytime you need us, Mae." Steve says as he puts his free arm around her shoulder. Regret and thankfulness emit from the Super Soldier, her exhaustion at everything lately makes her unable to shield against the emotions, though she's grateful she still can fight back against his thoughts.

"You know we won't be able to be here right away, but we'll be here as soon as you need, Mae. This isn't us abandoning you." Natasha says, draping her arm over Mae's other shoulder.

"I'm used to it." She says, ducking out of their hold, moving to follow the King and Princess closer. Natasha and Steve exchange looks with sadness radiating from the duo, as the burgundy haired mutant reflects the emotion back.

The hut sits in a grassy meadow, it's a medium size made out of wood, with a pergola off to the side, and stream in the back behind the small forest. Another hut sits not far away, but other than that, there isn't another in sight. The hut has modern equipment in it, a TV, fridge, stock and oven, running shower, and toilet, with a small bedroom tucked into the back, with a queen-size pillow top mattress. The floor of the hut is wood, with a nice rug every few feet, and plush couch in the living room. A modern house with an un-modern appearance. Outside the pergola is white, with ivy and flowers twining up the posts, a bench sits on the inside, and a foldable art easel is tucked in it, to the side.

"This is nice." Steve says after he sets her suitcase on the end of the bed. "It's remote, so you won't have to feel all of those emotions, of a bunch of strangers. You won't hear their thoughts." He smiles at her as she touches the drapes over one of the windows, before looking over at him.

"It'll do." She says simply, causing Natasha to give him an almost patronizing look, and Mae turns to her. "It's not just his fault." She looks at Mae in confusion, like she's not feeling what Mae knows that she knows Mae can feel. "I can feel your irritation." Natasha sighs as she walks over to rest a hand on Mae's shoulder. The air is tense, making her grateful that the King and Shuri decided to stay outside, to let the three of them have their time.

"This isn't like your parents, Maeve! We're not abandoning you, but we need to do this, for everyone's safety. Not just our's, but for your's as well." Natasha says in anger.

"Bullshit!" Mae snaps, jerking away from the two of them. "You can lie to me, and to yourselves, but your emotions betray you! You think that I'm too dangerous after what happened at the airstrip!" She clenches her fists, before wrapping her arms around herself. "Ju-Just leave! You did what you set out to do, so just go!" She turns away from them, fighting back tears as Natasha looks at Steve, who nods as he leaves the hut.

"I'm not leaving, Maeve." Natasha wraps her arms around the young woman, who is curling into a ball. "Not while you're like this." Natasha pets her hair, holding Mae close. "You're my sister, Maeve. You're my sister and I love you, and I would NEVER abandon you." Her whispers are soothing, her emotions just solidifying the affection she has for Mae.

"I'm sorry, Nat." She sobs, curling up against the assassin, who caresses her hair, silently crying as well. "I just can't forget about how it felt, when my parents left me at the School." Natasha shushes her, and pets Mae's hair.

"It's alright, Mae. I'm not going to hold it against you. We have to protect ourselves, but you too. Your emotions affect your abilities, and we can't have that happen when we're on the run." Natasha explains, and Mae wipes her face, and nods.

"I understand. It's okay." She takes a deep breath, and Natasha smiles at her as the two of them stand up. "Promise me, you'll be safe." She says as she hugs Natasha, who hugs Maeve back in return.

"We'll try, but we can't promise that." She points out, causing Mae to nod sadly as they part. "Now, go tell Steve goodbye." Mae smiles as she walks outside, Natasha is right one her heels. Steve smiles as Maeve smiles sadly at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek with a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry." She murmurs, causing him to shake his head, his cheeks taking on a ruddy color as he cups her cheek with a free hand.

"No, doll. It's not your fault. I'm just sorry we can't stay." She smiles up at him, leaning up on her tiptoes to throw her arms around him.

"Please be safe, try and protect each other." She whispers in his ear as he places his hands on her waist, hugging her back.

"Of course, doll. And, don't forget that we're here for you, no matter what." He murmurs as she nods, leaning back on her heels. She ignores the rush of warmth in her chest, knowing that it doesn't belong to her. "You take care of Bucky for me, when he wakes up, okay?"

"Of course, Steve. You can count on me." She promises, causing him to smile, and scratch his scruffy cheek.

"I know, doll. I'll... give you two a minute to say goodbye." He says, gesturing between Natasha and Maeve. He walks a bit away as she turns to Natasha, who is smirking at her.

"What?" Natasha shakes her head and laughs, yanking Maeve by the wrist into her arms.

"You couldn't be more oblivious, even with your powers." Natasha says, hugging Maeve.

"No, I know how he feels. But, it's just a crush for him. He feels warmth when he's near me, but elation at the mere mention of Peggy's name." She steps away from Natasha. "And, I don't feel that way about him. I don't feel that way, after..."

"Logan, I know." She grinds out his name, before kissing her forehead. "Rat bastard." Her snarl has Maeve throwing her head back, laughing as Natasha blinks, before smiling. "Good to see you laughing. I love you, sis."

"Love you too, sis." She hugs the assassin again. "I'll see you soon, yeah?" She grins.

"It'll be fun." Natasha promises.

"Bye, Nat." She says, and the assassin nods as she starts to walk away, the King nods the Maeve, before walking towards the other two, walking them back toward the castle as one of the women warriors comes into view, standing on the hill with her spear in hand, waiting as Shuri rolls her eyes.

"Mae, these are you Kimoyo beads." She hands the to Maeve, who slides them on her wrist. "I've personally designed them, they will allow you to make calls, and purchases. Brother has taken care of funds, so you need not worry about it." Shuri explains, causing Maeve to nod as she studies the beads. "There are many other things they can be used for, but you can learn about them later."

"Thank you, Shuri." Maeve says as she slides the bracelet up and down, looking at them before, looking up at the Princess. "Would you- I mean... Could you- I feel..." Shuri was her stumble over her words, before nodding as she gestures towards the door.

"I will stay, until you are settled." She says with a smile, the two of them duck inside the hut, the lights coming on as the sun starts to set outside. The two young women talk for a few hours, about the world outside the Wakandan boarders, and Maeve's history with the Avengers and her life before. Shuri talks about the culture of Wakanda, her shenanigans with her brother, and his wife Nakia, and even life inside the castle. It turns out, they're just two lonely girls, craving a friendship. This might work out for the two of them, after all.

[im-robins-bitch]

Yours | sugardaddy!ash 

warnings: implied smut, almost smut, this is sugar daddy ash so 18+ pls

words: 3.6k

this is my first time writing anything like this so feedback is appreciated

Ashton had a soft grip on your butt, holding you in place against his chest. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead as you wove your fingers through his light chest hair. “Do you want me to get you anything after work doll?” Ashton hummed, making his chest rumble and you nuzzle your head against his shoulder releasing soon you were going to have to shake out of your post-sex haze. 

“Mmm...i can’t think of anything” You sighed, watching the way his chest rose and fell with his every breath. The sun was peeking through the curtains, casting a little light into his shadowed bedroom. 

“That’s unusual?” Ashton chuckled, “sure you don’t have a fever?” He said, pressing his hand against your forehead. 

“Ashton!” You giggled, batting his hand away, “I just haven't seen anything I want is all…” You thought back, trying to even think of the last time you went into town for anything but food, to conjure up the memories of the lively store windows lining the streets of LA. 

“How about I surprise you then,” He suggested. You didn’t reply, starting to pull yourself out of his silk sheets and warm embrace. 

“I should get going, I’m meeting some of my friends.” You shuffled out of bed, your toes digging into a familiar plush rug. You slowly made your way around his room collecting your clothes ignoring Ashton’s obvious staring as you bent down to pick each item up, wiggling your bum at him as you pulled your panties back up your legs, rolling your eyes at the small rip down one of the sides. 

“Are you sure you can’t stay just a bit longer?” Ashton whined, he had pulled himself into the sitting position but he still refused to leave the comfort that his large bed provided. 

“You have to get the studio” You reminded running your hands through your hair, trying to calm down the ball of frizz your hair had turned into. You turned to Ashton again, a smile dancing on your lips when you saw the sad pout on his face and his dramatic glare at the alarm clock.

“Bye daddy” You sang, grabbing your phone from the nightstand pressing a kiss to his lips. 

He shook his head, trying to suppress a smile “stop calling me that,”

“That isn’t what you were saying a few minutes ago” You grinned, giving him one more lingering kiss to the cheek. 

You wished you had stayed a little longer with Ashton.

 ou hadn’t been surprised when your friends turned up late, they usually did, but while Jay was spitting apologize and offers to buy you your drink, Corrina showed up as cheerful as ever in her signature cat eye sunglasses and red fur coat laughing at your annoyance “Babe, you should know we’re gonna be late by now, just come later or don’t complain” She was joking, mostly, but you couldn’t help but suck on your teeth. 

“I was going to, but I remembered the one time I came late and you didn’t and I had to spend the whole time making it up to you while you gave me the silent treatment” You grumped, crossing your arms and sinking further back into your seat. She only rolled her eyes, shaking her hand at you. 

“Because you’re never late, always such a good girl.” She teased making your cheeks turn crimson. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to last night, chills going up your spine as you recalled Ashton in your ear calling you the exact same thing over and over like a prayer. 

“How are the holiday's plans going?” You asked Jay trying to get the memory out of your head.

“Amazing, so we have 3 different countries planned, but we’re hoping to have more. Imagine, me, backpacking across the globe, Rob is so amazing did you know he’s done this two times already!” Jay rambled his head resting on Corrina’s shoulder as he dreamily stared at the muffins.

“He probably with his last two boyfriends.” Corinna laughed, “If you come back with dreads I won't forgive you.” Her laughter died as she hit the front of the counter, giving the barista a bright smile as she listed off all three of your orders. You bit back a smile, knowing this was her way of making up for being late although if you pointed it out she would deny it. 

“How about you?” Jay asked, “Have you managed to scrape together any holiday plans?” 

“Oh, yeah i sorta, figured something out.” You mumbled, chipping away at the nail varnish on your thumb. “I’m going to seoul…” 

“What?” Corinna said, spinning around to face you again, lowering her glasses down her nose. “Last week you said you couldn’t even afford a day trip to florida?”

“Corrina!” Jay scolded

“Who are you even going with?” She questioned, “cause no offence but aren't me and jay your only friends.”

“None taken.” you muttered, “I’m going with Ash, he offered and since it’s my dre-”

“You’re still doing that??” Corrina exclaimed, almost knocking out the barrister when he called her name. “I thought that was a joke? Is that actually how you got the money to go to italy with us?” 

You looked away from her, deciding to look for a free table instead. 

“Wasn’t that two years ago?” Jay asked. You shook your head, surely it hadn’t already been two years since you and Ashon began you started counting the months on your fingers, eyes growing wide when you realised it was true. “Wish my boyfriend would buy me things..” Jay sulked. 

Corinna rolled her eyes “What’s the point in having a boyfriend if he doesn't buy you anything. That’s all boys are good for, and they aint even good for that, my girlfriend buys me things all the time, she even lets me borrow her clothes.” Corinna boasted a proud smile on her face as she played with the ring on her finger. “and she’s not old.” She grinned looking at you like the Cheshire cat “But i suppose some people have to settle for a boyfriend who’s older than the earth itself”

“he’s not my boyfriend and he’s not old.” You pouted, the three of you spotted a table and sunk into the booth, you sitting in the middle of the sofa on your own not feeling like dealing with Corinna’s malting fur today.

“Isn’t it kinda gross though,?” Corrina pondered her eyes lighting up with mischief. “And wrinkly?” She giggled, making Jay snort in response.  

“I just said he’s not old, and he’s actually-”

“Oh god, Jay she’s starting to get a taste for old men.” 

“For the last time he is not-”

“I know! how about we set you up on a date? what was it you said again- oh yeah someone who could snap you in half that was it right” Jay suggested, as corrina laughed at your description of your type. “I think I know a guy we could even set it up for tomorrow”

“Not happening,” You said chipping  at your nail polish again looking down at the table, a light blush on your face. “I just-”

“Come on, you said it yourself, he’s not your boyfriend, he’s probably hooking up with old ladies all the time, one date can’t hurt,” Corrina said, putting her hands together, giving you the best puppy dog eyes she could muster while Jay looked up at you with fluttering lashes and an oversized pout.

The idea of going on a date made your stomach twist in knots, you had always hated dates, nervous beyond repair with new people. You had no desire to be with anyone at the moment, you had Ashton you didn’t need a boyfriend. You opened your mouth about to refuse when you suddenly you pictured Ashton out on a date, a girl running her hands through his dark red hair, you had seen them, in magazines. Pictures of him in clubs surrounded by pretty girls sometimes they made you wonder. 

Suddenly you heard Corrina and Jay screaming in delight, talking about planning outfits and how much fun you were going to have and you released you had agreed to go on a date. You were about to tell them you changed your mind when Corinna looked at you with a bright smile “You know what this means, we get to go shopping!” She squealed. You bit down on your straw taking a long sip of ice tea. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. 

You got back home, expecting only to see Maurice curled up on the sofa napping away the day like he always did but instead, you were greeted by Ash, pulling you through your door by your hips, pressing a needy kiss to your lips. You put your hands on his chest pushing him away “what are you doing here? How did you even get in?” You asked, dropping your bag to the floor. 

“You left your door unlocked, you really shouldn’t do that doll.” He scolded, nipping at your neck. You bit your lip, you had been in such a rush to see him last night you had completely forgotten “And I remember telling you this morning that I would surprise you” 

You grinned, kissing him and grabbing at his shirt, pulling him further into the living room. “Well consider me surprised” You rubbed your nose against his jaw before going forward to kiss him again, but he only moved further away from you a smirk on his face. 

“ ‘fraid this isn’t the surprise Doll.” He smiled, grabbing your hands and tugging you through the living room and up the stairs towards the direction of your bedroom “Although I suppose it’s more of a present for Maurice” You raised your eyebrow giggling when he covered your eyes with his hand. 

“It better not be a new mattress, I know you hate mine, but i like the springs” You hummed, trying not to trip over the familiar bump in your bedroom carpet.

“No doll it’s not a new mattress,” Ashton’s other hand was still holding onto yours and he gave it a squeeze when he finally uncovered your eyes. 

Your eyes scanned around the room when you noticed in the corner of the room was a tall cat tower, shaped exactly like Sleeping Beauty's castle. Your eyes started to water as you rushed towards it, your fingers dancing across the roof. “Where did you get this? I’ve been dreaming of this my entire life” You gushed the familiar castle filling your heart with warmth and nostalgia.

Ashton grinned, crouching down with you throwing his arm over your shoulder squeezing you tight. “I had it made for you, I remembered you talking about it and so-” He was cut off when your body slammed into his, sending him crashing to the floor as you hugged him tightly, covering his face in kisses “thank you, thank you, thank you.” You chanted between kisses. He laughed, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Welcome baby” He hummed, he cupped his hands around your face staring deep into your eyes moving to kiss you when your cat jumped onto your head and then to his new castle making you headbutt Ashton. 

You both groaned, grabbing your heads in unison. “Are you ok?” Ashton asked. 

You nodded “are you?” 

Ashton smiled “I think you might need to kiss it better.” You laughed before planting a loud kiss against his forehead. “Still hurts a little I think I need one more.” You kissed him again more softly this time.

You sat up, resting against his large thighs. His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief.  He flexed his thigh making you squirm in shock when you got an idea. You wiggled against his lap, shifting when he sat up as well, wrapping your arms around his neck threading your fingers into his hair, tugging on it slightly. “Doll?” 

You hummed in response, rolling your hips against his thighs, tugging his hair a little harder this time. 

“Baby?” He said again, his hand grasping your cheek pulling you to look at him, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. 

“Yeah?” You replied, innocently batting your lashes. “Do you need anything?” 

“You know exactly what I need baby.” He growled, his grip on you tightening making your thighs clench. 

Your hands uncurled from his neck, trailing down his sides to rest at the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers trailed across the waistband, before landing on his belt. You looked up at Ashton asking for permission when he nodded and your hands grappled with his belt buckle sighing with relief when you finally pulled his belt off, throwing it across the room. 

You pulled down his zipper tugging his pants down his thighs. His hands snaked to your hips and he attached his lips to your neck, undoing your pants with ease, dragging them down your legs letting you kick them off. You let out a whimper when he bit down on your sweet spot. He grabbed your ass dragging you closer on his lap squeezing hard. 

“A-Ash.” stuttered, as his hand smacked against your ass thrusting you forward. 

“Such a good girl for me.” He mumbled against your skin. He dragged his hands up your side only to bring them back down to hook his fingers around the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them. “Did i rip these doll? Gotta get you something new.” 

Your eyes widened, pulling away from his touch. “I-I-I just remembered I need to go and do something.” You sputtered, pulling your panties back up your legs. You looked into his eyes, remembering the girls from the magazines all over him, picturing him running his hands up their bodies, kissing their lips.

“What? Go where?” He questioned watching you put on your jeans for the second time today. 

“Jay’s I was gonna stay at his today, we’re having a film night” You dashed out your bedroom when Ashton's hand wrapped around your wrist. 

“Y/N, are you ok? I haven't done something have I?”

“I’m fine, you’re fine, it’s all fine, I’m watching films ok.” You explained, your words coming out a mile a minute. You wiggled out of his grasp running down the stairs to the living room. 

“Baby!” Ashton yelled, sighing when you didn’t stop. “Baby!” He huffed, finally catching up to you at the front door while you were trying to your shoes back on. “Look, Y/N if you don’t want to do this anymore I understand, I know-”

“Do you not want to do this anymore Ash? Because it sounds like that's what you want me to say? I know you see other girls-” 

“Y/N what are you talking about-” 

You huffed, cutting him of not liking the direction of this conversation. You darted out the front door slammed the door, hoping Jay would be cool with your impromptu movie night trying to ignore the uneasiness crawling up your throat. 

Your date was going awful.

At first you were quite hopeful, he was the type of guy that used to send to your knees. Broad shoulders, big hands and a nice smile, but your wheelie bin had more personality than he did.  You assumed he must have been shy at first, but when he got the waiter's attention by snapping his fingers at them you knew this was going to be a long night. 

You leaned back in your chair, picking at the stiff fabric of your dress. Deciding not to wear anything Ashton had bought for you had been a struggle as he had somehow managed to fill up the entire contents of your wardrobe, leaving you with a stiff black dress you had worn once to a job interview.

Just as he began to raise his hand to ask, well click, for the cheque you noticed a waiter close to you and asked for dessert, the only redeeming feature of this restaurant was the chocolate orange brownies and you were determined to enjoy something today. Your date sighed in response, but you were over caring about his feelings when his responses had evolved from yeahs to the occasional hum.

The silence between the two of you was becoming unbearable and you were about to try and start a futile conversation again when a group of four rowdy guys came in, laughing with each other. You felt the atmosphere of the room instantly lifted when you heard a familiar giggle. 

Your heart began beating out of your chest when you turned and spotted a familiar head of red hair. You tried to shrink in your chair, pulling up the menu and propping it up on the table trying to cover your face. Suddenly you felt awful, picturing him yesterday when you ran out on him and now you were on a date. You shook it off reminding yourself that you weren't together, he had explained it himself when you first started your relationship. As long as you told him you were seeing someone else he wouldn’t mind...you hadn’t told him. 

“One brownie,” The waiter announced, placing the plate down in-between you and your date. 

“Thanks,” You smiled tugging the plate towards yourself. You looked over at Ashton, almost hoping he had noticed you, but of course, he hadn’t. You felt your jealousy creep up behind you again, he never said that he had to tell you, what was stopping him from doing this same thing, after all, you were doing it. 

You looked from your plate of brownies to your shit date. You remembered when Ashton had brought you some of these because he knew you would like them, you wished you were here with Ashton, you wished you were home with Ashton cuddled up in bed, you wished you had never gone on this stupid date. Never argued with him this morning just because you were jealous. you felt your eyes begin to sting and before you could help it you were crying your tears dripping onto your brownie diluting the thick chocolate sauce.

Your date looked shocked, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish before he raised his and started clicking. “We’d like the cheque please.” He grumbled. The waiters rushed over, rolling their eyes.  

“It’s already been paid, sir,” 

“What? By who?” Your date questioned while you continued to sob into your plate. 

“That gentleman over there.” The waiter explained, pointing over at your red-haired lover. Making you cry even louder as he asked you if you wanted your brownies to go. 

It felt like Deja Vu as you walked through your door two days later, Ashton standing in your living-room countless shopping bags swinging from his arms. “Ash?”

“Doll! You’re home!” Ashton greeted, holding his arms wide, trying to embrace you but being held back by the bags hitting against you. “Oops.” He smiled dropping the bags to the floor and going to embrace you again this time succeeding. You cherished the moment, wrapping your arms around him taking in his scent. 

“I missed you,” You mumbled, nuzzling your face into his chest. 

“It’s been two days baby, how can you miss me already.” He laughed. You shook your head, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Ok, ok, how about you open your presents.” 

You whined, holding onto him tighter, refusing to let go. 

“Babbby.” Ashton scolded.

“Daddddyy,” You countered making him shake his head and wrangle himself out of your grip. 

“I told you not to call me that,” He said trying not to smile. He sat down on your sofa, pulling you onto his thigh, he wrapped his arms around your waist making you relax against him. “Ok come on baby, how about you open something?” 

You sighed, turning to face him. You cupped your hands around his face, your eyes scanning over his every feature, your thumb rubbing against his cheek. You tried to remember everything, the curve of his nose, the curl of his smile, the exact shade of hazel that made you fall in love with his eyes. You brought your lips together, memorising the feeling of his lips against yours, you nipped at his lips, begging for entrance. When the two of you kissed it felt like two waves crashing into each other. You only pulled away when you had to your body desperate for air. 

You took a deep breath “Ashton I don’t want to be your sugar baby anymore.” 

The smile fell from his lips, his mouth curving into a frown. His hands barely holding onto your waist. “I-you-we-...” He was speechless his eyes growing dull, beginning to sting.

“I don’t want you to buy me anything anymore, I don’t need extravagant gifts, I don’t need any gifts.”

“I-” He interrupted only to be cut off. 

“I just need you.”

Tears dripped down Ashton’s cheeks as his mind tried to process what you said,  “Just me?” He whispered, his lips ghosting yours. You pressed your lips to his so hard you knew they were going to bruise. 

“Just you.” You confirmed. His arms were tight around your waist as he pulled you both off the sofa, swinging you around making you squeal as your legs flailed out. “You don’t mind?” 

“MIND? I’ve never wanted anything more.” He sniffed, “Fucking hell baby, I thought I was about to lose you, why would you word it like that?” 

“Hey, i thought i was gonna lose you too!” You scowled, pecking him on the lips.

“Baby, I love you more than anything how could you ever think I would let you get away.” He croaked. 

“You love me?” 

“Was it not obvious? I built your cat a fucking castle,” Ashton giggled.

You pecked his lips again. “I love you too,” and again “so” and again “so” and again “much”

“Be mine? properly this time.” He asked, his eyes staring deep into yours, his breath panting against your lips. 

“I’ve always been yours”

[rsbry-beret]

There’s Only So Much You Can Do

CHAPTER TWO- Libra

Find it on Ao3 here

Libra-

The new moon is a time for beginnings. Start a new project, initiate something- there’s no moment like the present! It’s an especially good time for dreaming.

On Wednesday, Tobin dreams something that isn’t a dream, again.

He is standing on an abandoned street, not one he recognizes immediately, but one that he probably could place, if he tried.

He doesn’t try.

Four figures are approaching him slowly, silhouettes hazy through the thick fog. As they come nearer, Tobin sees that they’re four human-shaped creatures, each riding horses- one red, one white, one black, and one pale green.

He watches them come nearer, but time passes slowly and they seem just as far as they ever were.

The footsteps of the horses are silent.

Tobin wakes up in a cold sweat.

-0-0-0-

Parker is more than a little concerned when Tobin told them about his dream-vision-prophecy-precognition-thing.

Tobin had figured, yeah, probably it was important. One doesn’t usually have a psychic-related dream and then ignore it. That wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

Tobin’s subconscious had weight, now. Serious weight.

Parker was flitting around, grabbing a few books off of shelves and dodging things that fall in the process, instead of just picking them up. Tobin followed in their wake, righting what he could. Parker headed to the back room, and Tobin followed, like he always did.

“You’re sure, four figures?” asked Parker, then kept going before Tobin could answer. “Four figures on horses. You know, maybe it’s a coincidence! There are plenty of things that ride horses. The four could just be a number.” Parker sat in their chair and sighed.

Tobin sat as well, watching Parker stare at their books spread on the table between them before tentatively saying, “when has anything been just anything?”

Parker looked up at Tobin and-

-fear fear fear-

-said, “That’s what I’m scared of.”

They picked up one of the books and flipped through it. Tobin craned his head to read the title, ‘Book of Revelation’.

“I’m not Christian,” he said without thinking.

“No,” answered Parker absentmindedly, still searching for something. “No, but lots of people are.” They stopped. “Here. Here it is.”

Parker flipped the book around so Tobin could read it, if he wanted. He didn’t want to, though, just waited for Parker to explain it.

“I’m not saying this is definitely what you saw. It could be lots of things. But… this is probably what it was.” Parker tapped the page before continuing, “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“Oh, shit.”

Tobin had been magic for literally one day, and already there was an apocalypse going on? ‘Jesus Christ’ was probably an inappropriate swear at the moment but, God, for real?

“Yeah.” Parker cleared their throat. “The one on a red horse with a sword is War. The one on the black horse with a balance is famine. The black one is death, and the white one with the bow and crown is… debated, actually.”

Tobin tilted his head and started to read the passage before Parker started talking again, this time rushed and quieter, more like thinking out loud than anything else. “Some people say it represents Christ, other people say it represents the Antichrist. Then other people say it’s pestilence, other people say it’s pollution… the figure is described in the text as a conqueror, which, in terms of vague bad things, is really incredibly vague.”

Tobin nodded and opened his mouth to say something, before closing it and nodding again. There wasn’t much he could say.

They both sat in silence for a lingering second.

“It’s almost 8:30. I know you woke up early to tell me this, but you really should get to work.” Parker was still staring, eyes cloudy, at the words. Tobin stood slowly, unsure of if he should leave them like this.

Parker didn’t move an inch as Tobin walked out of the back room, weaved through the shelves and out the front door, and made his way down the street.

Even once Tobin couldn’t see them anymore, he knew.

-0-0-0-

“Where were you this morning, Tobes?” asked Leif when Tobin reached his desk with four minutes to spare. “You were already gone when I woke up. Don’t tell me you’re an early riser, now?”

Tobin thought about his… precognition. He thought about the lingering smell of bergamot that felt burned into his skin, and the black tourmaline under his pillow that didn’t do anything to help.

He laughed. “Nah, man, that’s you. Just forgot to pick something up from the store yesterday, set a reminder in my phone so I could grab it this morning.”

Leif smiled and accepted it easily. “Cool. What’d you get?”

Tobin hesitated, searched his pockets for something and pulled out a loop of leather cord with a jasper pendant.

Leif’s smile flickered. He pulled back the arm that was reaching for Tobin’s shoulder. “That’s pretty. For a date or something?”

“No,” Tobin replied, a little thrown by Leif suddenly acting all weird. “It’s for me.”

“Oh.” His face brightened again. “Cool, cool. I like it.”

Tobin tried to meet his eyes, but Leif was looking steadfastly at his computer keyboard. “Thanks.”

-0-0-0-

“Okay, so, the apocalypse is coming, and I’m supposed to stop it?”

Tobin had never really appreciated small spaces before Parker’s back room. It could fit the table and two chairs, plus an extra bookshelf shoved right against the wall, but it wasn’t much larger than a janitor's closet in actuality. With two people inside, it felt smaller. With two people and sixteen books, it felt much smaller.

“I think.” Parker opened another bible and shut it again without looking. “I mean, why else would you have a vision about it?”

“Precognition,” Tobin corrected, trying to make out the titles of the books piled between them. New American Standard Bible, Buckland’s Complete Book Of Witchcraft, even, if he was seeing things right, The Book Of Revelations For Dummies.

Parker made a questioning noise and Tobin clarified, “I’m calling them precognitions. It sounds a little less…”

Parker started just to the left Tobin for a moment, then finished “...magical.”

Tobin shrugged.

The silence stretched.

And stretched.

“Anyway,” Tobin said, “anyway, who says I can stop the apocalypse? I hate to break it to you, but I think we missed a few steps already.”

“So you didn’t see the four horsemen?”

“Well. No, I did.”

Parker sighed and pushed back an inch. “There you go, then.” They pushed their glasses up their nose, ran a hand through their course, dark hair. “Look, I’m not exactly an expert on the literal apocalypse, alright? You’re cool, Tobin, and you’ve got a real gift. Of course I want to help you with it. But…” They started picking at their fingernails, brown varnish chipping off and falling in flakes to the table. “I don’t know everything. I don’t know what’s happening. I just know that we need to stop it.”

Tobin watched Parker fiddle with their nails. He nodded. “You’re right.” Tobin picked up the For Dummies book and opened it to the first page. “I mean, if we don’t fix this, who will?”

-0-0-0-

Later, at night, Tobin would wonder if he could stop this even if he tried.

He was laying in bed, trying to sleep, but his last precognition was still turning itself over in his head. Eventually he gave up, and got out of bed to sit cross-legged on the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to think.

His mind kept going back to the first story Parker told him in that back room, about Drunk Jack, who kept trying to outrun the inevitable, and ended up condemned to an afterlife in which he wasn’t even accepted into hell.

Willow-the-wisp. A hopeless hope.

Tobin thought about what Leif would say, if he knew what was going on.

I might not be able to help, he would tell him, but I want to be here for you. If you fall, I’ll catch you. And if I can’t catch you, I’ll fall with.

Tobin thought about what his mom would say.

Chin up. Some things have to be faced head on.

Tobin thought about what his first boyfriend would say.

Sometimes, we don’t know what we’re doing. We have to keep trying, though. Fumbling aimlessly in the dark is better than standing still.

Tobin thought about what Parker would say.

Religion is a lot of things all at once.

It’s stories, a bunch of stories passed on and changed from interpretation, just like all other stories are. It’s a set of rules, so people know what’s right and what’s wrong, and how to act to be ‘good’. If someone follows a religion, it’s real to them. But there are lots of followers of lots of religions. Some people say they can’t be real all at once, and maybe they’re right. But I think that as long as you believe something hard enough, it’s at least a little bit true.

So if you think this is how we stop this, then it’s how. It’s as easy as that.

Tobin took a deep breath, and fell asleep, right there on the floor.

[zombriekid]

Moments in the Fall: Actual Dialogue [Alucard/Gender Neutral Reader]

Series: Hellsing

Summary: it’s the very first time the two of you share a dialogue where he doesn’t outwardly threaten your life; it may not be the most enlightening but it seems you’re finally getting somewhere with the vampire in red.

“Are you afraid of death, mister Alucard?” You ask with a quiet voice. “More specifically, of dying?”

The man in question lets your enquiry drift in the space between you two, but there’s no cumbersome tension or boiling anger here aiming to trawl the collective mood down. Rather it seems that His silence is born out of consideration, interest, as if He’s mulling over just exactly how He feels about the prospect of His own passing.

In the meantime you drop yourself into a crouch, your hands pawing at the sides of the bag until you feel the cool plastic of the zipper under your fingertips. A manner of seconds, the white polyester teeth peel back wide enough for you to reach inside, and when your touch meets the desired slab of wood you entrap a corner within your grip and hoist the board out.

“Death is an inevitability for all things organic, it’s not question of ‘if’ but rather ‘when’.” He says.

You glance at His profile haunting the corner of your eye before you gently settle the board down among the blades of the lush, green grass. “So in other words... no?”

“In other words no.”

A short hum bubbles in the back of your throat as an acknowledgment of Alucard’s answer, and no the irony of asking an undead being if He fears dying- while fenced in by a smattering of broken tombstones all wielding the name “Hellsing” on a clear summer night- is not lost on you.

“And what of you, revenant?”

You trace the board’s patchy varnish with your eyes, and the chipped paint of the “hello” and “goodbye” etched into the bottom left and right corners respectively with your nails. You’re fond of this old spirit board, it reminds you of your late grandfather and the numerous Halloweens and sleepovers spent hovering over it. Papa’s passing was your very first encounter with death, but it was a natural, painless event that made it seem like he merely slipped into an afternoon nap. Perhaps that had served as an influence over your perception of mortality.

“Nah, not really,” you pause for a second, “I mean I’m kinda worried about what’ll happen to my soul after I die- ya know, am I gonna have unfinished business and will that trap me somewhere? But I’m not scared of the actual dying part.”

“Most humans are.” 

“Yeah, well most humans aren’t actual ghostbusters either.”

There’s a brief lull in the conversation- a fact that will drive away any hope of you snoozing later because holy shit you’re having an actual conversation with Alucard?!- before He pipes up with another remark, and you can practically hear the sneer in His voice. “Are you? Because I don’t recall them using a toy to deal with ghosts.”

“Then you’re just not remembering right. Besides, I’m using this ‘toy’ as a trigger object.” You bite back with a single huff. “That’s medium talk by the way for-”

“-for bullshit.”

Oh if looks could kill, as they say. Alucard is not impressed nor intimidated by the ferocious gutters in the skin of your furrowed brow or the savage downturn of your mouth, He simply maintains that familiar unpleasant grin as you try your damnedest to burn an impression of your glare into the side of His skull.

“You know you can go back inside the manor, right? It’s not as if I asked you to join me!”

“And miss another one of your pathetic attempts at proving that you’re not full of shit? Never.”

Emotionally you resemble a geyser, nearly exploding from the mouth with a choir of colorful expletives vulgar enough to make a sailor blush, and demands to know who raised Him and why they deemed it appropriate to procreate and curse the world with His existence. In fact you manage a single “fuck y-” before a gentle vibration rumbles against the side of your thigh. It’s your phone, and in the business of man-eater monster hunting one has to be ready to heed the call to arms at any moment’s notice, so instead of unleashing your torrent of wrath upon Alucard you swallow it down like a horse-pill, rip your phone out of your pocket, unlock your screen, and read the text that awaits you.

Text from: The Fuzz (Seras)

“Just got an assignment from sir Integra. Wheels up in an hour.”

Back in to the pocket of your shorts does the cellular device go. The spirit board finds a home within your backpack as well, and once the bag’s straps are upon your shoulders you stand at your full height and shake the prickly tingles from your calves.

Once again you level the vampire with a vicious stink-eye, “after I’m done with this assignment-” you jab a pointer finger His way “-we’re gonna have a good ol fashioned seance. You and me. And I’m gonna make you eat your words, you fedora wearin’ asshole.”

It’s now that Alucard gives you His full attention, turning to you with an ever growing grin and a soft- but no less derisive- chuckle rolling from the pit of His large chest; His teeth glimmer in the moonlight, and you don’t ignore this.

“Looking forward to it, Murray.”

_______________________________________________________________________

a/u: don’t necessarily like it but i need to shake the cobwebs now that company is gone, so here you go. i have a series of prompts/themes i’ve created where i cover very specific yet easy to miss hurdles you and the ol count overcome before we get to some heavy shit, and this one’s about the two of you actually managing to have a “decent” conversation. there’s another obstacle that’s been beaten in this but i’ll let y’all figure that one out yourselves. don’t forget to give this a like, leave some feedback, and reblog it if ya liked it! and hey, thanks for taking the time to read it <3 

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Study in Pink

Chapter Five

Dad leads us into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade is pulling on a coverall and points to a pile of the same.

"You need to wear one of these," he tells Doctor Watson as I take off my gloves and replace them with some latex ones.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asks, gesturing towards John, clearly not recognising him from the flat earlier.

"He's with me," dad replies as Doctor Watson pulls off his jacket.

"But who is he?" Dad looks up and meets Lestrade's eyes.

"I said he's with me." Looking uncomfortable, Watson picks up a coverall and looks to me and dad.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?" I look at him in disbelief, and he shakes his head at his stupidity. Forensics would have a field trip if we wore one of these, plus it's harder to make deductions if your entire body is encased in cheap plastic.

"So where are we?" Dad asks Lestrade as he takes a pair of latex gloves for himself.

"Upstairs," he answers, leading us to a circular staircase going up the centre of the house. 

As we climb the stairs, I get a distinct feeling of deja vu and I look up. If I remember correctly, there's an old nursery at the top of these stairs. 

"I can give you two minutes."

"May need longer," dad says casually. We can only find basic information in that time - the more useful stuff takes a little longer.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."

They still use this place, even after what happened with me?

Lestrade leads us into a room on the second floor which is desolate apart from an old rocking horse in the far corner. This is my room. Emergency portable lighting is the only thing that lights up this room and scaffolding poles hold up the parts of the ceiling which have started to deteriorate.

The body itself is situated in the middle of the room, face down on the worn floorboards with her arms either side of her head. She's wearing an overcoat in a bright magenta and matching dress, nails and high-heeled shoes. As dad hangs on back, I walk over to take a closer look. The room is silent, apart from the fast-paced thinking of me and dad, and the slower brains of Watson and Lestrade who are struggling to draw even one conclusion. Their floundering is so loud it's almost audible.

"Shut up," dad says suddenly, looking accusingly across to Lestrade and John who both look startled at his outburst.

"I didn't say anything," replies Lestrade.

"You were thinking. It's annoying."

Lestrade and Doctor Watson exchange a look as dad steps forwards to stand beside me. I turn back to the body, but my eyes are drawn to an engraving in the floorboards which is scratched to her left side. The nail varnish on her middle and index nails are chipped and rough compared to her other, spotless, nails. She's left-handed, I establish.

I look back at the engraving and see that it spells 'Rache.' Instantly, I think of its meaning in German - revenge - but quickly dismiss it as a theory. Why would she write that in her last moments? It would have caused her pain. Her index finger lies at the bottom of the 'e', suggesting to me that she died before she could finish writing. How could this word be finished? I cycle through the alphabet: Rached? It's a name of Indian origin, so could it be the name of our killer? Unlikely - serial killers usually target people unknown to them; its improbable either party knew the other's name. Or Rachem - a Hebrew word for mercy? Again, why would she use up the last of her energy writing a plea for mercy - especially as 'mercy' would not only be shorter and therefore quicker to write, but something that she would have voiced orally to her killer (unless she was mute which may not be impossible but is certainly improbable considering her profession). Rachel, then? Another name, but it's unlikely it would refer to her killer as it's obvious this was a man's job. Poison may be a "woman's weapon," but I have no doubt in my mind that it was a man who did this. Perhaps Rachel was her daughter or sister - someone special to her. But why write that in her last moments?

Not particularly happy with my conclusions, but not having much luck with the rest of the alphabet, I move on and kneel beside the body to check over her jewellery - a good way of getting to know her relationship status and an indicator towards her personal hygiene habits which can sometimes be of use. I pull out a small magnifier from my coat pocket and use it to examine her delicate gold bracelet. It's clean and has been regularly cleaned since it was given to her; the same can be said for her earrings and necklace, but not for her rings. No: both her engagement and wedding rings are both dirty. She's married, but unhappily. The scratches on her rings suggest that she's been married for at least ten years, but now she's growing bored of him. I work the wedding ring off of her finger and hold it up for further examination. I can see now the difference on either side of the ring: the inside is as clean as the rest of her jewellery, but the outside is in huge contrast to it. Her partner wasn't satisfying her needs, so she went elsewhere. One affair couldn't have lasted this long, so a string of lovers, then? The ring would have been cleaned each time she slid it off her finger to seduce another man.

Next, I move onto her clothes to see where she comes from. I run my gloved hand down the back of her coat and it comes away wet, but it hasn't rained in London today so she must have come from out of town. Digging into her pocket, I find an unused umbrella and conclude it must have been too windy - a theory that's proven as I run my fingers along the underside of her collar. I pull out my phone and start to search through the recent weather forecasts for the last three hours - a time radius that would mean her clothes wouldn't have time to dry from the rain. Cardiff! She's from out of town, then, so she would have needed a suitcase. I scan down her legs to look for a splash pattern to show me what size bag she would have had before spotting a few specks of mud on her tights. There's only a few on her right leg and none at all above the calf or on her left leg which suggests that she was only wheeling a smallish case behind her. She seems quite fashion conscious so she would only have used a bag like that for an overnight trip. She never reached the hotel, as we can see from the fact that her hair is still tangled from the strong wind in Cardiff. So where's her case?

"Got anything?" Lestrade asks, obviously trying to pull a conclusion from us so they can get off their butts and actually do something. I must say, I'm rather pleased with my deductions today; they're getting better.

"Not much," dad answers indifferently, and turns to me, "Sophia?"

I smile and answer. "Only a few things here and there, but I believe I've covered the basics."

He nods and stands, peeling the gloves off his hands so he can start typing, maybe trying to work out where she came from, or something else which I've missed.

I take another look around the room as I wait, an uneasy feeling still in my stomach as the shadows of the numerous, heinous, crimes play through my mind. I shake it away dismissively.

"She's German," says Anderson, appearing at the doorway. "'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something ..."

Dad walks quickly over to him and slams the door into his face before can inflict any more torment to our ears. "Yes, thank you for your input."

"So she's German?" Lestrade asks.

"Of course she's not," dad scoffs. "She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night ... " he smiles smugly, and it's evident that he's finally found the weather forecast for Cardiff. "... before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious."

"Sorry – obvious?" Doctor Watson asks, looking lost.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asks, but dad ignores him.

"Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?" he asks.

"Of the body. You're a medical man."

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside," Lestrade intervenes, and I roll my eyes. I thought rule one was 'do whatever Sophia and Sherlock tell you to do' which means just go with it. This is how the arguments usually start between other senior members of the police force. I thought Lestrade knew better.

"They won't work with me."

"I'm breaking every rule letting you two in here."

"Yes ... because you need us," dad says and Lestrade stares at him for a few seconds before he drops his gaze, helpless.

"Yes, I do. God help me."

"Doctor Watson," dad says, and the doctor raises his gaze from the body.

"Hm?" Doctor Watson looks towards Lestrade, seeking permission from the Detective Inspector.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself," Lestrade replies, rather tetchily as he turns around to open the door. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes!" As I look back, I notice he's slipped out of the room for a minute - probably so he can avoid putting this in his report.

We walk over to the body and I squat down above her head as dad and John take opposite sides. Doctor Watson winces as he lowers himself to the floor, leaning heavily into his cane to ease the pain of his psychosomatic injury.

"Well?" Dad asks quietly after a moment, looking for Doctor Watson's opinion on the cause of death.

"What am I doing here?" Watson asks softly.

"Helping us make a point."

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

"Yeah, well, this is more fun."

I grimace: Watson is a moral and empathetic man - not exactly the type of person who would respond well to us enjoying this.

"'Fun?' There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

Lestrade reappears at the door as John drags his other knee into a kneel so that he can look closer at the body. Putting his head next to hers, he sniffs for any signs of alcohol before drawing back up and checking her skin. Finally, he kneels back up and looks across the body to us.

"Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

"You know what it was. You've read the papers," dad says.

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth ...?"

"Sherlock – two minutes, I said," Lestrade says, calling time. "I need anything you've got."

We stand up to address him as Doctor Watson struggles to his feet. "Victim is in her late thirties," dad starts. "Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asks, looking around. I spin around, but I can't see any sign of the case. Forensics must have taken it for evidence.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

Lestrade raises his eyebrows. "Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ..."

Dad squats down to point at her ring as I continue to search for the missing case. "Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for?" He says, standing back up, and moving towards Lestrade, his analysis speeding up as he reaches his conclusion. "Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"That's brilliant," Doctor Watson says admiringly and dad looks around at him. "Sorry," he apologises, his eyes flicking towards Lestrade.

There is definitely not a suitcase in this room.

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asks, folding his arms.

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

"It's not obvious to me," says John slowly.

Dad pauses as he looks at the other two. "Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring."

"Sherlock!" I scold, and I turn back to them to explain. "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" I pull out my phone and show them the weather page. "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" Doctor Watson remarks loudly and I turn to him, my eyes narrowed.

"D'you know you do that out loud?"

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

I shake my head slightly, frowning, unused to the compliments. "No, it's ... fine."

"Why d'you both keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asks, bringing us back on topic. Dad spins around in a circle to get a look a proper look at the room.

"Yes, where is it? It's not in here, Sophia would have found it by now. The victim must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?"

"No," dad answers sarcastically, "she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asks, and dad points down at her tights where the small black splotches are.

"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night." Dad squats down by her legs so that he can look at them more closely. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade says shrugging. I look up at him to meet his eyes. If he's correct, then the murderer has made his first mistake.

"Say that again," dad demands slowly, clarifying that he heard right.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." I bolt for the door and start checking all the rooms on this level.

Dad follows me out onto the landing and leans over the rail as he hurries down the stairs. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" There isn't a reply.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade calls from the top.

Dad starts to slow, but keeps moving. "But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks!" Lestrade yells sarcastically as I join dad on the stairs, my search unsuccessful. "And...?"

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings." Dad claps his hands in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?"

We stop in between levels as dad looks up. "Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case." He drops his voice, now talking to himself and me. "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." Doctor Watson suggests and I shake my head.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking like that."

"Oh," dad says suddenly, coming to some realisation as his eyes he claps his hands in delight. "Oh!"

"Sherlock?" John yells, sounding concerned for my father's sanity.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade asks, leaning over the rail.

Dad smiles to himself with joy. "Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!" Lestrade yells down to us, annoyed.

"Oh, we're done waiting!" Dad shouts as we start moving again. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" We reach the bottom of the stairs, and Lestrade and Doctor Watson disappear from our view.

"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Lestrade calls after us, and dad backtracks, climbing a few stairs.

"PINK!"

[philipronans]

go where you breathe free [1/7]

this was meant to be a oneshot for @gxldentrio‘s birthday but as per usual things ran away from me and now i’m in hell. this also isn’t what i originally intended, hence why it’s late so for that i’m sorry! sirius is pretty depressed in this, just in case anyone needs to take care of themselves - i don’t think trigger warnings are needed, he’s just very in his own head about it

the first week

Sirius wakes up to the smell of something floral wafting through the open crack of his bedroom door. He battles, briefly, with the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids, and kicks his legs free of the duvet, pushing it towards the bottom of his bed. It’s hot, even for late May, and although his curtains are drawn tightly across his window he can already feel sweat starting to prickle against the backs of his knees. Sitting up is a task in and of itself; there’s a lethargy settled in the very marrow of him that means it takes him a few attempts before he succeeds.

Finding clean clothes quickly becomes another adventure, hidden amongst everything else on his floor as they are, like flakes of gold buried in the sand. Not that he even needs to get dressed, really - it’s not like James, or Lily for that matter, have never seen him in his underwear before - but there’s a voice in the back of his head whispering with the volume of an earthquake to do it. So, he roots around for a pair of jeans that aren’t obviously stained with anything, and then has to sift through several t-shirts before managing to find one that doesn’t smell like three day old Chinese.

Sirius kicks wearily at the pile - more like mountain, if he’s being honest - closest to him, and sighs. He doesn’t bother promising himself to clean it up later, just turns around so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore, and picks his way over to the mirror in the corner. The Sirius in the reflection is wan, dark circles taking up residence under his eyes, and he prods at them with the pads of his fingers. He flicks idly at the sleep gathered on his eyelashes and then scrapes a hand through his hair to pull it into something resembling a ponytail. It’s been a few days since he last ran a hairbrush through it, and it shows. Pursing his lips, Sirius rolls the hairband from his wrist and double ties it.

Lily is already in the kitchen by the time he wanders in, scratching at the stubble lining his cheek and trying to ignore the way it catches on his fingertips. A huge bouquet of flowers - that he won’t even begin to pretend he knows the names of - lays on the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room. A vase stands at her elbow, filled halfway with water, and she’s got the sachet of flower food in one hand, a pair of extremely large scissors in the other. She doesn’t look at him until the last drop of food lands in the water, but when she does, her smile is brilliant.

“Good morning!” She says, stepping away from the counter so she can drop the packet and the cellophane wrap in the bin.

Sirius watches her for a few moments before the smell of whatever the flowers are gets him to edge a little closer. “Mornin’. Where’s James?”

“Nipped over to Tescos.” She says, letting the lid of the bin clang shut again. Then she shifts a little so she can quickly wash her hands. Lily’s eyes are kind when she glances over her shoulder at him. “You sleep okay? James said you might have trouble because of how sodding hot it is.”

There’s a warmth in his chest that Sirius doesn’t have the words to explain, so he shrugs. He shuffles over to the fridge and doesn’t even bother getting out a glass before taking several long pulls from the carton of orange juice (without pulp, he’s not an animal). “It was… okay.” He says eventually, ignoring the face Lily pulls when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s been worse.”

There are parts of him that Lily’s missing, that he refuses to let her see no matter how much he trusts her, but just this once she seems to hear what he’s omitting because she’s smiling again. “That’s good.”

It doesn’t take long for Sirius to grow itchy with the way she’s looking at him, so he quickly sets about getting himself breakfast instead. He has no idea what the time actually is, but in his humble opinion, there is no wrong time for a bowl of coco pops. No matter how many times James tries to convince him they’re rank. Sadly, there’s only one box left - the variety pack he’d bought slowly dwindling until all he’s left with a rice krispies. He pulls a face, even as he resigns himself to the fact he’s going to have to get more at some point.

Lily waits until he’s got his head buried in the fridge again, with his bowl tucked against his chest, before saying, “There’s no milk left.” The smile she gives him is mischievous, and he can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed about it.

Sirius would be lying if he said he doesn’t briefly consider using the orange juice instead. Briefly. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Instead he lets the door fall shut with a thud and stares forlornly down at his cereal.

“James should be back soon, I think. He wasn’t going out for much.” Lily offers, and when he lifts his head long enough to look at her, she’s leaning against the edge of the sink with her arms crossed loosely under her chest. Her smile is kind. He tries not to see the pity in it, and ducks his head back down.

Instead of answering her, he moves over to the dining table, footsteps inneringly soft against the floorboards even now. He slumps into the nearest chair, bowl sat in front of him, taunting, and he reaches out to grab a handful. Popping a few into his mouth, Sirius starts chewing hard enough to feel it in his jaw. His eyes are unfocussed, staring aimlessly at the photograph hanging on the opposite wall. None of it gets processed, it’s all just one swirl of colour bleeding into another.

An undetermined amount of time later - although it’s probably only a few minutes, given the meagre dent he’s made in his coco pops - Lily places a tall glass of orange juice at his elbow.

Sirius manages to drag his attention from the wall long enough to meet her eye. “Thanks.” He mutters, voice barely more than a croak.

Lily hovers for a moment, clearly unsure of whether to sit down with him or not. It doesn’t take her long to make her mind up, though, because she leaves him alone - he’s grateful for that, too.

The quiet isn’t… nice, exactly. But it’s peaceful; gives him time to come back to himself. It happens slowly, as it so often does; colours bleeding into each other until they become tangible - things he can reach out and touch if he wants to. For the moment he just focuses on the table, the wood worn smooth from countless days spent just like this one.

The universe is a metronome and Sirius the pendulum, tick tick ticking through his own existence without hope of ever slowing down or stopping. Sometimes he falls out of rhythm, whenever life decides to knock him off kilter, but he always manages to find his way back eventually. Today is no exception, and once he feels present enough in his own head to actually do something, he fiddles with the glass of orange juice for a brief moment before downing half of it in one go.

He takes it with him, dangingling it loosely from his fingertips, when he finally gets up. The bowl gets left behind, but he makes a silent vow to actually eat as soon as James gets home. Their flat isn’t exactly small, especially given they’re in London and the rent is cheap, but there aren’t all that many places he can go other than his room. So when he ends up in the living room, Lily doesn’t so much as blink as she puts her book down and reach for the remote. She doesn’t even seem to notice the magazine that goes careening off the coffee table onto the floor.

Instead she raises an eyebrow at him and gestures with the remote. Her nail varnish is chipped around the edges, jagged electric blue in stark contrast with how pale she is. “Wanna watch something?” One of the wonderful things about Lily, and there are several even if Sirius is loathe to admit it, is that there is never any expectation. He’s free to do, or not, whatever he pleases whenever he wants - it can be overwhelming sometimes, just how free she lets him feel.

For the first time this week he doesn’t feel like he has to escape back to the safety of his bed, so he sets his glass down on one of the free coasters and picks the magazine up as he sinks into the sofa cushions. It’s not a big sofa, by any means, but sometimes it feels like they’re on opposite sides of a very large chasm. Sirius meets her excited little grin with the smallest twitch of his own mouth. Maybe not quite a chasm.

“What did you have in mind?”

-----

They’re only half an hour into their chosen movie when James gets home, but Sirius is barely paying attention anyway. There had been a brief, albeit passionate, debate on the merits of shitty horror versus shitty sci-fi, before they’d settled on a low budget, straight-to-DVD slasher.

The only noise James makes for a few minutes is the rustling of plastic shopping bags - more Bags For Life, from the sounds of it. Just their luck. Sirius finds himself glancing over at Lily when cupboard doors start banging, and he isn’t entirely sure why, even as she sinks further into the cushions.

“I’m too lazy to move.” She says by way of explanation, and it’s enough to get a laugh out of him. It’s rusty, catching in his throat in its desperate bid for freedom, but it makes Lily’s eyes soften. Sirius pretends he doesn’t notice, even if there is a heat in his cheeks he can’t quite ignore.

Thankfully Lily turns back to face the screen, leaving him time to try and make his body do what it’s told. The murderer lumbers out of the woods just as Sirius manages to push himself to his feet, hatchet swinging from their hand as they hunt down one of the incredibly dumb teenagers that somehow always seem to be the protagonists.

“Want anything?” He asks, because despite everything else that might be said about him, he still has manners.

Lily watches him for several seconds, but just as it starts bordering on too long she shakes her head. “No, thanks.”

Nodding, Sirius snags his glass and then quietly pads out of the room, followed by the sound of the first kid being hacked to death.

There are a lot of things Sirius is ready and willing to brag about being good at, but one of the few things he truly prides himself on is his ability to be very quiet when needed. The noise in his head is so loud, all the time, that he’s always used his own silence as a weapon. Even now, it’s no different, and the way James smacks his head on the open cupboard door is both validating and hilarious. Sirius doesn’t do anything more than snigger as he pads over to the sink so he can rinse his glass out - experience has taught him more than once just how disgusting dried juice is to clean.

“You have got to stop doing that.” James grumbles, rubbing at the vaguely pink mark on his forehead. Sirius has to fight down the urge to wrap his fingers around James’ narrow wrist, something strange coiling in his belly.

He tries not to think about it too hard. “You’re gonna make it worse.” He says instead, rocking back on his heels and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I thought being blind meant everything else was enhanced, anyway?”

“That only works if you abide by regular human physics.” James says, voice nearing on a whine. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests mischief, though, and Sirius feels something in him settle. James shakes his head, roots around in the nearest bag for a moment, and before Sirius gets a chance to see what he’s doing, something sharp hits him in the chest. He has to scrabble to catch it, but when he looks down it’s to see a new variety pack of cereal against his chest. “You’re almost out, right?”

Sirius eyes him curiously for a moment, that same strange feeling settling heavy in his lungs and making his breath painful. It eases as Sirius smiles. “Cheers, mate.”

[antlereed]

Those were the first words my new spouse spoke to me. They were warped, layered with hissing and groaning from somewhere else. Its hand was flickering as it reached towards me, a shiny black card in it.

I didn’t understand what had happened, truth be told. One moment my mother and father were putting me to bed after a long day of revelry, celebrating my coming of age and marriage prospects, and the next I woke in this unknown room with a being that gave me a headache if I tried to look at it for too long.

“What could something else be? What do you mean my parents sold me to be your wife?” My voice was shaking, and it was then that I noticed the tears streaking down my face. My wife just watched, hand still stretched towards me, before sighing and taking a small step forwards.

“When they were young, I was summoned to give them power and wealth. In exchange, I required the going rate at the time: a first born. My one caveat was to wait until you were of age, to give them time to explain and prepare you for the task ahead. And, truthfully, I was uninterested in raising a child.” Another sigh, another small step. My head throbbed as I watched it move, her form undulating and shifting constantly. She was beginning to come into some sort of focus, I could see legs and arms, hips and the beginnings of a torso. She was beautiful in the same way a corpse dressed for a viewing was.

“Clearly, they neglected to do that. So I’m offering you a deal, a pact if you will. Take this card,” again that same hand is stretched towards me, nails painted with chipped black varnish that come to a sharp point around the shiny black card, “and take the time to prepare yourself how you see fit. I can give you small boons of power as well, abilities to help you better navigate this new portion of life, if you so choose.” I take the card, ignore the cold thrill that sprints up my arm as our hands touch briefly. The numbers are black, matte against the shine of the card itself, with my name engraved into it. The card is heavy, metallic and cold to the touch as I turn it over in my hands in a fake observance.

“Would we still be married?” I regret the words immediately, feel again like a young girl getting reprimanded for speaking out of turn in the presence of adults. My voice is small as the card is turned in my hands, and out of the corner of my eyes I see her hesitate for a moment, hand flexing before closing and retreating. A small part wishes for her to reach out and comfort me, but it gets swallowed whole.

“If that is what you wish, I wouldn’t refuse you. Part of my offer is selfish, I will admit. You have some time to properly decide, take this as a proposal on my part.” A ring materializes on my left hand then, the same matte black as my name on the card. A glimmering stone sits on the band, catching light that doesn’t exist in this room and keeping it trapped inside. The girls in town would be falling over themselves for an engagement ring like it.

“And these, powers. I would like some, whatever you wish to grant me at the least. I will admit I don’t know what you’re capable of.” I hear her laugh, and my heart jumps at the small victory.

“My darling, I am capable of a great many things. But I understand your request. As long as you wear my ring, a portion of my power will be at your disposal to do with what you wish.” I glance up then, and my breath is stolen by the woman-thing before me. Her clothes are of a style that has been out of fashion for nearly a century, a mishmash of skirts and waistcoats that blend into more modern appearance at the edges. Constantly shifting like she had been at first, as if unsure. Her hair is long, growing out of her scalp in unsettling waves as I watch, billowing behind her like a cape in the nonexistent wind of the room. Her eyes are jet black, matte except for two pinpricks of light that act as irises.

“You have, lets say a month, to accept or deny my proposal. In that time feel free to do as you wish, I can be contacted whenever you see fit in that time. Until then.” Her hand reaches out again, and her cold cold fingers wrap around my wrist, even colder lips pressing to the back of my hand as her eyes watch mine.

“Enjoy your gifts, love.”

The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. “Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don’t they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask.”