#writing challenge day 17

[noa-de-cajou]

Day 17 : Washing something / Blurry image / The ultimate horror

Dolmund belongs to @corneille-but-not-the-author

The following text contains mention of relationship abuse and trauma and just. Well. References to Leonova. Which comes with a whole lotta ptsd.

Listen. I like my things clean.

Khaliun used to tease me about it, you’re such a cleaning freak, and that never failed to get a rise out of me, I'm a surgeon, Khaliun, of course those godsforsaken instruments need to be spotless or at least sanitized do you want RUST in your RAW ASS WOUND-

She'd laugh and say Ether, I'm kidding!

Said she couldn't help herself, that I was cute when angry.

Leonova sure as hell didn't find it cute when I plunged my scissors into her eyes. She was into a whole bunch of things, seemed to really enjoy gouging my eye out, but clearly the opposite wasn't well received. Should have felt satisfying to give her a taste of her own medicine – doctor pun intended – but it didn't.

Not only did it feel gross but now the blood won’t come off.

Her blood on my scissors, his gift.

I've been scrubbing with all the products I found but it's still not back to its original color. It’s still red, brownish, incrusted, like rust, and it's. Not. Coming. Off.

It wasn’t meant to be used like this. It wasn’t… It’s scissors. Not even surgical scissors. It’s to cut hair, hair, not threads, especially not flesh –

Cut hair. Cut hair. She cut it. My hair. I rub my hand against the back of my neck. It's short. It’s okay. It's short. I cut it. I cut it myself. Nothing to grab, nothing to sell, I'm fine. I’m okay.

Alright. Back to scrubbing.

It's gonna come off eventually. It's gotta come off.

That cloth I'm using's way too dirty. Can't even be called a cloth, that's a rag at best. Those scissors deserve better.

What would have happened if he didn't give those to me? How would I have escaped? Maybe if I used the knives on the table? Who am I kidding, I could barely stand, let alone outrun her.

I would have died. Alone in that basement, killed by the woman I loved most, with no one to tell where I was, no tomb, no memory, all of those years for nothing-

I scrub harder.

Even if it’s useless.

Fuck, it's been, like, an hour, when is it gonna…

Maybe never.

It’s ruined. I ruined it. She ruined everything. Now I won't be able to even cut my hair without seeing those damn stains. And she's a vampire so she’ll regenerate while I'll have to see this constantly.

You know what, lying to me for years and tearing off my eye was already bad enough, but sure, let’s say that was fine, but trying to ruin the only things that I have left from him, to sully his memory, my memories like that, it's the last fucking straw, now it's midnight and this bitch has gotten me scrubbing blood that had three years to dry off a fucking pair of scissors and… and…

It's not coming off.

Maybe she cut my hair with it too. My memories are too hazy. I can't remember. I don't want to remember. I want to erase it.

It’s not coming off.

I want to puke.

I scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub but it's not coming off it’s still there I remember everything and my eye hurts and my chest is too damn tight and I don’t want to remember.

Everything's blurry, I can barely see anything now, come on, get it together, you shouldn't cry for this, you've been through worse and…

And the worse in question is in those stains.

It’s not coming off, it's not coming off, fuck this, fuck everything, I hate this, why do I even bother, why won't it FUCKING-

“Ether?”

Shit. Shit. I scrub harder. Harder. Come on. Come on please please please-

“Ether, I'm coming in.”

No no no it’s still there I have to get it clean before-

The door opens. I squeeze my eyes shut, a tear escapes. Dolmund’s there. I can't see him but I know he’s standing there. Shit.

“What the hell are you doing kneeling on the floor?”

Can’t he mind his own damn business for once? How do I explain this? How do I explain…

“It won't come off.”

Great. Amazing. Couldn’t have sounded more pathetic if I tried. My voice doesn’t even remotely sound like mine. Good job, Ether.

Dolmund walks up to me. I'm so hunched over it makes him taller.

“... Again?”

Yeah. Again. I guess I just never learn. He doesn't even sound mad or disappointed and that's probably the worst part. I cough, try to get my voice to work.

“I need to… I don't know. Thought I might give those bad boys a good scrub again. Never hurts to try, right?”

“Never hurts? Look at your hand before saying shit like that.”

I open my eyes.

The cloth is all stained with blood. So are the scissors.

Didn't even notice my nails breaking.

And now it’s even bloodier than it used to be. Tears well up in my eyes again. Great. Just great. Can this evening get any worse? Stay tuned to find out.

Dolmund sighs with all the weight of his chest.

“Put those away and go patch up your hand.”

“I c-can't.”

“Why?”

“How am I going to defend myself if you try to kill me?”

That's ridiculous. He wouldn't do that. Rationally, I know he wouldn't.

But I thought Leo wouldn't either.

“Ether, you have eight guns on you. Use them. Defending yourself with scissors? You still in kindergarten or something?”

Oh, he thinks he’s so funny. I’d punch him if my hand didn't hurt like a bitch.

“Yeah, yeah, you can glare at me all you want once you put those away.”

“But I need-”

“What you need is a drink, Ether. A drink, and to get the fuck out of your room and fix your hand, your only good hand, in case you forgot.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

“I can deal with an hungover doctor. Not an injured one. Put. Those fuckers. Down.”

…

I do. Put the fuckers down, that is. After washing my blood off right away with some water. I shut my drawer tight. Out of sight, out of mind, or whatever.

“That’s better. You comin’, or do you need help walking too?”

He’d help me, if I said yes. But he knows treating me like I'm sick would be ten times worse. I can pity myself just fine, thank you very much.

And we know we both need way more than what we can give each other.

“I'm good.”

Just a little wobbly on them legs. Wooooo.

“Hope you got something strong enough.”

“You bet.”

The drink is indeed strong.

It's the only thing keeping my mind right and clear lately. I’m glad Faloi and Khaliun are dead so they don’t have to see this, but it’s their fault for getting killed in the first place.

Hey, at least I did Leo one better.

Can’t sell or eat a fucked-up liver.

[topsyturvy-turtely]

turtely's OTP challenge

now on ao3! (tumblr link)

read part 17 here: (prompt: washing something)

summary:

"I don't get it!", a very grumpy John Watson stomped through the flat. Almost aggressively searching for the one jumper.

Out of a sudden spur, John marched into Sherlock's room without knocking. Sherlock looked at him, startled. With John's jumper in his hands.

"Is that... my jumper?" John asked surprised.

Sherlock - looking caught - stared up at John. Looked at the jumper in his hands... looked at John again. "It... might be?"

Gen, 1.068 words, Getting Together, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, John Watson is Perfect

☝︎john watson looking for his favorite jumper be like (lmao i feel so unhinged for adding this gif to that fic , especially since he is fucking wearing it 🤣)

tags under the cut ✨

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga @sunshineinyourmind

[that-dreaming-dragon]

Archetropy

In some way, I see archetropy as embodying one's own symbolism. Or is it perhaps becoming a symbol yourself? To take on a role, to be in the framework, to embody or identify in some way with a archetype, trope. Compare to being something monstrous, or mythical, or celestial, to have a archetrope feels like to wholly embrace and live being something, and a bit more. It gets a bit fuzzy and there has been discussion of how having archetropal identity can share similarity to having conceptual identity. Yet, the distinction is there, for one is a solid identity, being it, or existing alongside it (conceptual alterhumanity), and the other is something more like symbolic or metaphorical relationship (archetropal alterhumanity).

If I were to say I have a solid relationship with orange or dream, I'd call those conceptual alterhumanity. For me, Mew, ninja, and Affinity Weaver (name pending) are the roles, archetype that I have, took on, or is already. They are not solid identity, but almost like a lifestyle, something that has a shape, a hole which I myself fill in.

In the case of Mew, it's the mythical, whimsical, cryptid nature of Mew. But it's also a sort of special side character in a game that isn't all powerful like the big L Legendary pokemon, yet it fills its own niche. The little mischievousness are also tied in, and a flavor of chaos. I am not a Mew, or identify with mew, but because of all these attribute that I have, my impression of what Mew is, the role Mew filled, which I myself have, Mew is a paratype-archetrope (or, paratrope) to me.

I feel like ninja is self-explanatory. This is definitely one of those chicken-or-egg situation. Is it because of my Naruto hearttype being a potential past life that I have this something with the archetype of being a ninja? Or is it something more generic, a past life outside of Naruto, which I'd suspect to be some sort of Japanese warrior, potentially a shinobi. And it's not just ninja, I have a penchant for stealth genre game, sometimes you are some sort of assassin, sometimes you are some thief. I guess ninja wrap those two up neatly into a single package.

What is Affinity Weaver?

It is something I already embody and live by. I have a self-made title, 糸編むの夢化竜, Thread-weaving Dream Dragon. The thread in question, currently English translation is much lacking and doesn't translate well at all, possibly due to not having such a cultural concept. I'm talking about yuanfen, Wikipedia translate it as "fateful coincidence", a concept in Chinese (and other Asian culture that has Chinese root, potentially Buddhist root) that talks of one's potential connection in life that was due to past lives, like a seed that's planted, a web that had been woven over centuries. I like to talk about it a lot in my earlier alterhuman community life, and I really wish to introduce the concept more in a more official setting, it is such a wonderful concept. Some may thought of only "fate" or "destiny", or even "soulmate", and they are all kinda touching a bit on the concept that is yuanfen. It's like trying to translate certain Chinese word into English, the complexity within a single or two characters is so difficult to express, even with a dozen English word used, it still can't really encompass the whole thing. Yuanfen is like that. I had wrote a bit on my view of how it is very prominant within alterhumanity, and just in general what it could be. I will transcribe it over to tumblr and dreamwidth at a later date, or write up a new one.

What I do on the regular, is that I connect others. If someone express a need for specific sub-communities, and I happen to know or are in them, I try to get them a invite into those spaces. Or if some folks share similarity, if not identical experience, I try to connect them to each other. Sometimes it is me learning niche word and to toss them at people should they need it, but that's something the community already do. Sometimes it's simply me sitting down with someone, and help them figure out their alterhumanity, in their appearance, or any possible way they connect to something. These all seem like something any community member does, but I'd like to think that I especially embody the role of being someone that Connects others. In a punny sort of way, perhaps that's why I enjoy and like Othercon and Otherconnect so much. Maybe I can jokingly call it a Otherconnect archetrope.

Really though, if English weren't the community's primary language, or if it were to be more accessible, I'd probably call myself a Yuan Connector archetroper. Or just have my title directly used, ("Fate") Thread-Weaver archetroper.

[missazurerose]

"In this and every life / I choose us every time"

(I have a wildly unhealthy amount of AUs going on in my head. They will get written one day.)

[hashioki7]

Their nightmare

Travis woke up to the cries coming from beside him.

"Laura!"

"Don't come near me!"

Trembling with fear, Laura tossed the sheets aside and flailed her arms and legs aimlessly with vacant eyes.

"It's okay, Laura! It's me! Everything's fine!"

Wrapping his arms around her thrashing form, he repeated those words in her ear over and over again.

"There are no more werewolves here. It's all over. There's nothing to attack you or blame you anymore. Everything's okay, it's all okay."

The hands that had been wildly striking out suddenly stopped. Her breathing, which had been as intense as a storm, gradually became regular, and her chest, which had been tumultuous, began to calm like gentle waves.

"Are you feeling calmer now?"

"…Sorry, Travis."

Wrapped in the sheets, Laura turned around in his arms, shyly smiled, and then looked down.

"You had another nightmare, didn't you?"

She silently nodded. Travis gently embraced her trembling form, holding her hand tightly from behind.

"Don't worry, I'm here."

"Thank you…"

With each shaky breath she took, Travis hugged Laura's body tighter and tighter.

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

"…Travis?"

Laura woke up to the groans coming from beside her.

She couldn't see Travis's face as he lay facing away from her. Only his white shoulder, peeking out from the sheet, seemed to be trembling slightly, at least that's how it appeared to Laura.

"Travis?"

She asked again. There was no response. She heard the sound of sighs being squeezed out, as if sobbing softly.

"You're having another nightmare."

Once again, She didn't expect a response. It was just like always.

The moonlight filtering through the curtain cast a glow on his back, making it seem like he was crying. No, he might actually be crying, Laura thought.

"It's okay, Travis."

She wrapped her arms around his sturdy neck and hugged him gently from behind.

"I'm here for you. It's okay, so relax."

As she whispered gently in his ear, she ran her hand through his straight, black hair. His labored breaths gradually calmed, turning into peaceful snores.

"Good boy."

With that final whisper, she placed a soft kiss on his neck, being careful not to make a sound. Feeling the gentle rhythm of his back against her chest as she held him close, Laura softly closed her eyes.

[bilightningwhumper]

@angstober 2024- Day 17; “Shhh…”

<<Previous . My Angstober 2024 Masterlist . Next>>

"Weary Rest" Masterlist --- TNEI Tumblr Masterlist

Summary:

Excerpt for "Weary Rest" (Sleeping Beauty retelling) Tired... So tired... But Petal doesn't want to sleep yet. Master has another idea.

Notes:

Characters: Petal- Sleeping Beauty Master/Dr. Valer- Evil Fairy/Maleficent Warnings: Noncon drugging (with needles), possessive+intimate whumper

Ao3 link

Word count: 286

Petal PoV

They could feel it. The fatigue. It was settling heavy in their bones. But they didn’t want to sleep. Not yet. Their body needed rest. It had only been a week since their last deep sleep spell.

Concentrating too hard on trying to pass by Master without notice, Petal stumbled over the carpet and into the wall.

“Oh, Peter, my love, are you tired?”

They stiffened, but turned to Master, keeping their smile light. “A little, Master. But I’m okay. Promise!”

Staying as still as possible, they shivered as Master walked up to them, as he took their jaw in his hand, forcing eye contact. “I don’t like it when you lie to me, sweetheart.” His voice was soothing, his eyes hardened daggers. “Your bloodshot eyes tell me the truth better than you do.”

Shit, shit, shit. They let out a pleading whimper, instinctively trying to pull away as Master pulled out the injector pen from his vest. As their arm was grabbed, they fell to their knees, keening softly. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying. I just don’t want to sleep yet. Please, don’t do this, please!”

“Shhh…” Master hushed them, rolling the sleeve up their arm and lined up the pen with their veins. “Master knows best, remember? You don’t have to be afraid of sleep here. I will take good care of you. Isn’t that right?”

They fought not to close their eyes as their pleading reduced to incoherent mumbling. They fought as their body sagged further to the floor. They fought, they fought, they… It was hopeless. Why did they even try?

Master was their world now. Their will wasn’t theirs. Only Master’s.

So they let go. Into nothing. Nothing. Noth-

TNEI Taglist:

@scoundrelwithboba

[tobi-the-minnow]

17.) Pane - a single sheet of glass in a window or door.

Looking in from the outside feeling the cold bite at their skin they shiver as they keep watching. Starveing for the warmth on the other side watching as what seems like friends and family chat idlely. It's starting to get to cold to sleep at night they need warmth. Being stuck in this cold is makeing them crazy. They're cold, they're tired, they're hungry; they start to slip open the pane and crawl inside and once in they find its just as cold as the crule world on tne out side. Theres no warmth here. Theres no nourishment here. Theres no rest here. Theres nobody to lean on here. The perceived family and friends are all faceless strangers standing stiffly as if they all froze at once. Nothing but lies on this side of the pane.

[psychologeek]

Wild heart (pt 1)

Part 2 part 3 part 4

Dani travel alone.

That's how it is.

Dani travel alone, and she visits from time to time, and then she goes away again.

There's nothing Jazz can do about it. Or want, honestly. She never really got to know that girl who looks like her brother. And that suits her just fine.

But one thing that Dani does - one thing she keeps - is calling them.

No matter where she's going, she calls at least once a week. At first she used to ask strangers to let her call her sister, saying that she's lost. But at her first visit, Jazz and Danny got her a smartphone.

It wasn't new, or branded. But it was ecto-resistant, and could connect to any WiFi network, and that was enough.

So Jazz wasn't especially worried the first week they heard nothing from Dani. At the second week, she started chewing her lips. But it wasn't unknown from Dani to go out in the woods and miss a call because she forgot about the days.

But during the third week, Tucker's bug at the GIW network got something about a new subject. An on-going experiment. A deeper investigation earned them a photo of a familiar child.

A photo and a name. A subject name. Because "it" wasn't a child. "It" wasn't a person.

"it" was a creature, and therefore free for the taking.

(Looking for the subject's name brought more information. And videos. A glowing figure in heavy shackles. A small figure, green slowly dripping as a clinical voice talks about findings.

But after all, it was enough to get them a location, and coordinates. Enough to know where to go.)

(Like it? I have more mini-fics in this au. And full size fics on ao3. please vote in my update poll! And the one for next week! Bc I try to work ahead LMAO)

This mini-fic takes place in "We're not broken (just bent)" and a sequel for "to love and protect", both will be posted as part of the Lost&Found series

[monthlywritingchallenges]

🌟 Comforcember Day [ 17 ]

🌟 Today's prompt is: [Frozen Fingers, Warm Hearts]

Let’s bring some warmth and comfort to this winter day! Whether it’s a cozy drabble, a heartfelt story, or a poetic moment, we can’t wait to see what you create.

[lunarcartoonist]

Day 17 - Journal

Self-explanatory.

Decided to do the Inktober Challenge this month, doing my Simple Things drawings - which I haven't done in a few years!

Feels nice to do traditional ink drawings again.

At some point I'll upload these drawings as cards on my Etsy store.

[failedmitosis]

"How do you have negative two purple coins? Um. Uh. You've gotta spend money to make money, honey."

[cozycompositions]

Hello, Lovelies! This is a little leftover from @juneofdoom Day 17: "Don't Lie To Me". Happy late 4th of July to all my fellow Americans! Little special fic for that coming out soon!

“Don’t lie to me, mon ami,” Lafayette practically begged. “You are not fine,” He looked around the clearing, almost trying to manifest a savior to help them. 

Alexander groaned, either from annoyance or pain, and tried to push Lafayette away from him. Lafayette gave a gentle push to Alexander’s shoulder, effectively pinning him back against the tree. The fact that he allowed it was a testament to how hurt he must be. 

“Just let me see.”

Alexander just stared at his friend for a moment before sighing. He pulled open his overcoat to reveal the deep gash in his gut, still oozing blood. Lafayette gasped, rushing to lower Alexander to the ground and put pressure on the wound. Alexander yelped in pain. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tried to assure the frenchman. Lafayette only shushed him, looking around the area again helplessly. Laurens should have been there by now.

“It’s not that bad,” Alex yelped again, cutting himself on, “I got a few good hits in, too,” he laughed humorlessly. 

“Now is not the time for jokes, Alexandre,” Lafayette chastised. Alex sobered, groaning as Lafayette applied a bit more pressure to his abdomen. Russling came from the leaves behind the pair. Lafayette threw his head around, helpless to do anything to protect them without allowing his friend to bleed out. 

Instead of an enemy soldier, however, John Laurens appeared from the woods. 

“Oh God, what’s happened?” He almost shouted as he ran to his comrades and dropped to his knees next to Alexander. 

“We got into a little run in with the enemy, when we were trying to escape the canonfire,”

“Do they know our location? The General will be here-”

“No, it was mere luck. They shouldn’t have been this far to our side.”

A cough from Hamilton drew the two men’s attention back to what was important. They looked down and tried to assess the situation. 

“You’ve got to stop getting yourself into these situations, Dear Boy,” Laurens huffed, caressing Alex’s pained face. Alex smiled up at his best friend, but all humor between the two was washed away when he coughed once more, but this time blood poured out from the corners of his mouth. 

“Oh God,” Laurens repeated. “No, no no-”

“Merde,” Lafayette exclaimed, pressing nearly all his body weight onto Alexander’s body. The noise that tore itself from Hamilton’s throat wasn’t quite a scream (there was too much blood and not enough air for that), but it was heartbreaking nonetheless. Lafayette closed his eyes, praying to the Lord to save his friend.

“We need a medic, Laf, he needs help,” John was crying. Alex wrapped a weak hand around Lafayette’s, uselessly trying to pull it away. His head tossed in pain that was drowning him and clouding his mind. 

Laurens moved his hands to cradle Alex’s head. Tears were falling down his cheeks as he gasped, yet a smile that didn’t meet his eyes still graced his face. 

“You’re going to be okay, we’ll get someone for you, Alex,”  he comforted. He turned to Lafayette, the smile gone. “We need to get someone for him. He needs help.”

Obviously, Lafayette knew this. He was quickly beginning to panic. Laurens was hysterical and Alexander was bleeding out in his arms. They were only two miles or so from camp, they might be able to make it. 

“We have to run,” he said to Laurens. “It might be the only way to help him.”

John sobbed. “If we move him he may die faster! We can’t-”

“Merde! Get it together, Laurens!”

Without any more words, Lafayette secured his arms around Alexander and lifted him up, trying to ignore the cry of pain that erupted from the boy. Later he would regret snapping. Laurens rose with them, wiping the tears from his face. They ignored how they were quickly replaced by new streams. He took out his pistol and rushed ahead. 

“I’ll make sure it’s clear.”

They walked, and after Alexander went limp in Lafayette’s arms, they ran. After sprinting for a while, the camp started to come into view. Lafayette could have cried. Laurens already was. 

When they entered the camp, there was an ambush of voices and hands trying to take Hamilton away from Lafayette. He barely noticed Laurens taking him away, handing him off to the medics' outstretched arms. 

“Gilbert,” Lauren’s voice cut through his thoughts. He wiped the tears from his own face. 

“Will he be okay?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t know,” Lafayette admitted. 

When Alexander awoke, he didn’t immediately recognize the room he was in. He sat up quickly, only to be stopped by a firework of pain in his abdomen. He gasped, crashing back down onto the sheets beneath him.

“Alex,” a voice said suddenly from his right. A figure came into his line of sight, hands touching his forehead and the voice shushing him gently. 

“John,” Alex recognized the voice. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them the world was a little bit clearer. 

“Don’t try to move too much, you’re injured.” 

That much Alexander could tell. The pain in his gut was burning, it was difficult to think of anything except the pain. He faintly remembered a flash of a red coat, the initial shock of the blade slicing through his stomach. He had called out for Lafayette.

“John,” Alex croaked. He brought his hand to clutch at Laurens’ which still rested on his forehead. “John, where’s Gilbert? Is he alright?”

John shushed him again, taking a seat in the rickety old chair next to the bed. 

“He’s fine. I told him to take a rest. He didn’t want to leave your side.”

Alex nodded, closing his eyes again and focusing on his breathing. He was alive. They were all alive.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence, both just basking in the fact that they were alive. John suddenly broke it.

“Be grateful for that pain, Dear Boy.” 

Alexander opened his eyes and tossed his head to face his friend, “Excuse me?”.

“Be grateful for the pain,” John repeated unapologetically. “For it is only proof that you survived.”

[topsyturvy-turtely]

OTP challenge - day 17

[link to day 16]

17: washing something

"Sherlock?", the name sounded from the laundry room, formed as a question by John Watson.

Sherlock hummed, doubting his flatmate would hear him but not caring. But said man kept going anyways, "Do you have any idea where my jumper is?"

"The hideous one?"

"You find all my jumpers hideous, I mean the grey one! I need to wash it!"

Sherlock eyed his bedroom door. "No idea."

*one week later*

"Where the hell is it?", John asked, kneeling on the floor, looking under the couch. Sherlock rather enjoyed the view.

"Where's what?", Sherlock asked, while continuing to eye John's arse.

"My jumper!", with that John stood up and flapped his arms, frustrated.

"I'm sure it's somewhere, you just gotta look better."

John grunted. "Thanks for your help, Sherlock." Annoyed sarcasm was floating from his voice.

*two weeks later*

"I don't get it!", a very grumpy John Watson stomped through the flat. Almost aggressively searching for the one jumper. The jumper! The John Watson jumper! He had to find it!

Out of a sudden spur, John marched into Sherlock's room without knocking. Sherlock, who was sitting on his bed, looked at him, startled. With John's jumper in his hands.

"Is that... my jumper?", John asked surprised.

Sherlock - looking caught - stared up at John. Looked at the jumper in his hands... and at John again. "It... might?"

"I'm... confused... Did you... keep it?"

"I... might have.", Sherlock said, visibly uncomfortable.

"But, why?"

"It doesn't matter!", Sherlock said, suddenly all of the awkwardness gone. He stood up and moved as if to exit the room.

"Oh, no. You're not leaving-" John stood in front of the door. "-until you've told me why you kept my favorite jumper for over three weeks!"

"It's for-", the smallest pause, almost unnoticeable, but John did notice. "-an experiment."

"Yeah? What kinda experiment is that? Why would you need a sheep wool jumper for it? Hell, the last time I had it I spilled freaking tomatoe-sauce on it!"

"I washed it out."

"You washed what out?"

"The tomato stain, obviously, John. Do keep up. Now will you let me-", Sherlock wanted to push by John, but the doctor wasn't having it.

"The whole reason why I was looking for my jumper in the first place, was, because I needed to wash it, so-", a realization hit John. "For god's sake- did you wash it by hand?"

With two big steps he was at his jumper. The red-brown stain still faintly visible. With an incredulous look he held the jumper up towards- nothing.

Sherlock was gone.

He had fled the scene.

When John quickly walked into the living room, he faintly heard the outside door close.

With an exhausted sigh, his jumper in his hands, John sat down in his armchair. What has Sherlock's mission been? Confused, John glared at his jumper. Then he picked it up, grabbed more laundry and turned the washing machine on. He had missed this piece of clothing. A lot. Maybe... if he looked into Sherlock's room...?

***

Sherlock called a cab as soon as he was outside of the flat.

He couldn't believe he had been caught like that. John is suspecting something for sure. He didn't lie however - he actually had needed the jumper for an experiment. He wouldn't waste his thoughts on this right now, though. He was dropped off at Bart's and immediately started working on some poor guy that had already been half-eaten by chrysalises before Scotland Yard had found him. The murderer was the husband of course - it is always the husband.

Sherlock lost himself in documenting the stage of decay of the corpse and for an hour or two he almost forgot about John Watson and his jumper. Almost, never all the way.

When Sherlock returned home, he found John in his armchair calmly typing away on his laptop. A relieved sigh escaped- and immediately got stuck in his throat when he saw his journal on the coffee table next to his flatmate. It was where he had kept track of all the different smells of John, and how it had been impacted by keeping it in his room. (He would never admit he sometimes would sleep with it. Well- It was for the experiment!) The jumper was the John-est thing he could find. John wore this article of clothing the most. Therefore it was the best sample for his research.

"Why are you still standing there like you've seen a ghost? Sit down!", John asked him. Slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal, Sherlock did as he was told.

The doctor then looked up, smiled, put his laptop away, leaned forward. Sherlock gulped and considered running away again. He was not ready for the conversation that was about to be held.

"So." John started, and Sherlock eyed the door. "Don't run away I am not mad, I promise.", John saw through his flatmate immediately.

Sherlock nodded.

But when he saw, John still had that assuring, patient smile on his face, it somehow put Sherlock off. He was just considering jumping up and running away again when John spoke up, "I'm gonna make a deduction."

Sherlock opened his mouth but John continued before Sherlock could say anything.

"You love-", John began too loudly. He cleared his throat. "You love... my jumper."

Alarmed, Sherlock immediately started to find an excuse. "Look, John. The only reason I took that-"

"Actually, I think you love... me."

Sherlock was dumbfounded. "No. No, John, you're misinterpreting this. I-"

"And I...", John took a deep breath. "...love you, too." John apparently wasn't gonna let Sherlock finish one sentence.

"-never meant to make our friendship... Wait. what did you just say?"

John looked at him, eyes intense. "You love me. And I love you, too.", he said matter-of-factly. A statement - a deduction - in John-Watson-style: Not a long monologue, only the hard facts.

"Did I seduce you, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'm certain you meant 'dedu-'" an abrupt ending. "Oh.", Sherlock said.

A smirk crept on John's face. Slowly, he inched closer towards Sherlock. He was sitting on the edge of his armchair now.

"I'm gonna kiss you now, are you okay with that?"

"John, what-"

"That was a simple yes-no question. So, what is your answer? Yes or no?"

Sherlock gulped and looked at John. "Y-Yes."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

And just like that, something, Sherlock never even dared to dream of, came true.

---

hi!

i, originally, wanted to update Human Urges but i have the biggest fucking writer's block with that fic. every time i open that doc i am immediately mad because i dislike it SO MUCH and do not know how to fix it. and then i just close it, because WHAT. if any of you are reading it - i apologize for the extremely slow updates. please know i will manage eventually and i hope it will be worth the wait!

anygays. decided to finally publish this silly little thing at least. hope you like it! lmk! thanks for reading and reblogging, babes! -🐢

btw i will probably join @fluffbruary - sounds like a cool challenge. maybe i can actually pull through with it :D

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman

[thedailyvio]

Day 33 - 36

WIP Below:

[enigmatic-mystery-777]

Emotional Downfall

You and Daniel are not talking after a fight had the previous week and you're terrified that this is the end. All you want to do is make up with him, but every time he's near, you freeze...

Taglist: @jgem87 @cuillere @stargaterevival @daydreampending @riverageleis @geekygumiho @frostysfrenzy

[hashioki7]

If Travis became a cat...

As the title suggests, Travis becomes a cat. It's a slightly longer story than the usual flash fiction of mine.

Travis woke up in the morning and realized that he had turned into a cat. The moment he woke up, he felt something was off. The bed felt strangely wide, and the ceiling seemed unusually far away. His body also felt unusually light. Looking down to see what had happened, Travis saw black fur and fluffy paw pads, and let out a scream, or at least he thought he did. In reality, all that came out of his mouth was a pitiful "meow".

Rushing out of the room, Travis jumped onto the bathroom sink and looked into the mirror. There, staring back at him with insolent yellow eyes, was a round, black cat.

Travis felt despair. But strangely, there was no resistance to accepting the situation. After all, he had witnessed people turning into werewolves for six years. He understood that strange things could happen in the world.

But why me, of all people?

This is really trouble, he thought. Today, Laura was supposed to come to North Kill to meet Travis. Looking at the clock, it was 10:30. She said she would be waiting at the café from 10 o'clock.

"I intend to stay until 2 o'clock. If you don't want to come, you don't have to. But I want to talk to you."

He remembered the message she had sent him. Honestly, Travis didn't really want to see her. Because of Laura's actions during that incident, Travis had lost most of his family. Of course, he had also done terrible things to her. He didn't know how to face her now.

It had been six months since the incident. Travis thought it would be best if they both forgot about it.

But maybe this is rather convenient. After regaining some composure, Travis thought so. She is a veterinary student. And she had even experienced turning into a werewolf. If he could somehow convey his current situation to her, maybe she could come up with a scientific solution to this strange phenomenon.

It was strange that he still had such trust in her after that incident, but Travis didn't have the luxury of thinking about that now. Once he made up his mind, he jumped out of the open window and ran to the café.

Laura was sitting alone at the café's outdoor terrace. There was a cup of hot coffee in front of her, but she hardly touched it. Nervously, she alternated her gaze between her smartphone screen and the people passing by. It was clear she was waiting for someone.

Seeing her looking so helpless, Travis felt a pang in his chest.

"Laura."

He ran to her feet and weakly spoke. But his voice only turned into a meow and dissipated into the air.

Oh no. Travis felt for a moment like he wanted to disappear into the ground.

"Oh, what a cute cat,"

Laura noticed him and gently reached out to tickle him under the chin. Inadvertently, Travis let out a purr again, and he felt dizzy.

No, that's not it.

Travis made the shushing sound that cats make when they're angry. Laura said "hey, stop", but he jumped onto the table in front of her without a care.

"Laura, it's me. It's Travis. I woke up like this this morning. I need your help."

No matter how desperately he pleaded, his voice only turned into the meow of a cat. Laura looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"You're quite friendly"

There's no way that's true.

Travis, feeling exasperated, stopped meowing, realizing how ridiculous it was. Isn't this girl supposed to be aiming to become a veterinarian? How could she be so unable to understand animal feelings? Travis narrowed his yellow eyes and glared at Laura, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on her, an animal lover. For some reason, she smiled and rested her chin on her hands, gazing at him affectionately. Maybe that's it after all. Because now he was just a cute little cat on the outside.

Still, Travis had never imagined her looking at him with such an expression. Such a soft and gentle face. Feeling strangely agitated, Travis licked his paw nervously.

"If you'd like, would you accompany me? I've been waiting for him and got bored."

She started talking on her own, oblivious to Travis's thoughts.

"I've been waiting for an hour. That rotten sheriff is so rude, making a girl wait. I've been messaging him, but he hasn't even read them."

She sighed deeply, furrowing her brows in frustration as she looked down at her smartphone screen.

"He's not coming. What a coward. He's still the worst corrupt sheriff. I was a fool to expect anything from him."

"It's a misunderstanding, I'm right here." As usual, this girl speaks so rudely about him. Travis tried to protest desperately, but all that came out was a threatening hiss.

"Thank you for being angry with me."

That's not what's happening! Does this girl really have the talent to be a veterinarian? Travis wondered, feeling too drained to even muster up anger as he slumped limply onto the table.

"Maybe it was unnecessary after all," In stark contrast, Laura muttered in a subdued voice. Travis, who had been curled up, twitched his ears at her words. Feeling a sense of unease at this change, he lifted his head and found Laura, with a face on the verge of tears, holding her head. Travis's eyes widened in astonishment, and his pupils dilated quickly. However, no matter how surprised he was, all that came out from Travis was a short, indistinct "meow" sound, neither a confirmation nor encouragement in his current feline state.

"I knew deep down that he wouldn't come. …Because of what I did. To him, and his family," she continued. Her shoulders trembling as she let out a deep sigh. Travis finally noticed the dark circles under her eyes. "He did some terrible things to me too… and there are a lot of things I want to tell… but now I understand. He isn't as bad as I thought, and he was trying to protect me," she confessed. Travis straightened up, feeling a sense of awkward. Before he knew it, his gaze was fixed solely on her. "I should have talked to him more. I've been thinking about it for the past six months. So I thought… maybe it's not too late to do that now. I can't undo what's been done… but I still want to talk to him properly. I want to face that together with him," she continued, her expression heavy with sorrow. "But it's none of my business, really. If I were in his shoes… I wouldn't want to see me. I guess I've gone off the rails again," she added. A single tear falling from her lowered eyes.

It was the first time she had shown weakness in front of him. Even when she was imprisoned for two months, when her lover turned into a werewolf and attacked her, and when she killed Silas—she had always been surprisingly strong.

Why is he only realizing this now? Travis cursed his own heart. She was just a girl. She had her own worries and sorrows, just like him.

"Laura."

Even though he wanted to convey that he was here, the voice that came out was just a meow again. But Travis didn't mind. If this voice could comfort her even a little, then that was enough.

As she said, he was a coward. She was sincerely trying to face the consequences of her actions. And yet, he was afraid to face his hatred and guilt towards her. He was trying to pretend it never happened and run away.

—If he had come here yesterday in human form, could he have lightened her burden even a little?

His stomach felt tight. Laura still didn't raise her head. If words couldn't convey it, then he had to convey it through actions. Travis quietly approached her. But here, he hesitated for a moment. Even though he was in the form of a cat, he didn't have the courage to lick her face. After much deliberation, he decided to purr and rub his cheek against her arm.

"Are you comforting me?"

"Ah, I see. You're really talented as a veterinarian." Travis thought.

Although her eyes were still wet, Laura wiped her cheeks and smiled a little more brightly. "Thank you. You're right…it's not like today is my last chance. If I can't meet him, I can come back again until he meets me." That's troublesome, Travis thought, but he decided not to say anything. And then he realized that even if he said something, it would just be in cat language, so she wouldn't understand anyway.

Anyway, there was nothing more he could do at the moment. And feeling terribly tired, Travis suddenly felt sleepy. It would be better to go home and sleep. He didn't know why, but he instinctively felt that way. With one last meow as a farewell, Travis jumped off the table and reluctantly went back home.

The next morning, Travis woke up and breathed a sigh of relief as he held his hand in front of his face. The bed was as usual. There was no sense of discomfort in his line of sight when he got up. Looking into the mirror, he saw the familiar unfriendly face of the sheriff staring back at him. What had happened yesterday. Leaning on the bathroom sink, he thought for a while. But what he was thinking about wasn't the miraculous phenomenon of turning into a cat. It was Laura and—the tears she had shown.

She said she would come back as many times as it took to see him. So if he waited, maybe he would eventually receive a message from her. But he didn't think he needed to wait for that. First, he wondered how he should apologize for not being able to go to their appointment yesterday. How would the excuse "I turned into a cat" go over? Frowning deeply, lost in thought, Travis went back to get his cellphone from the bedside table.