#like bachs been gone a while!!!

[inchidentally]

@vastappenen LISTEN okay so this is the full spin-off of the Charlos part of my Prince Lando AU post

I cannot write real fic so this is just like me doing a retelling of what's gone on in my mind lol - and this is the post of Charles in White that's screencapped above

(side note my friend was listening to this haunting music while I wrote this so it might help set the scene - it's called "Fancy on a Bach Air" by Yo-Yo Ma)

this gets a bit NSFW toward the end so fair warning!

ok so to start, this is what was in my original post

Unfortunately the royal courts of Europe were shaken by a quick series of upsets: His Serene Highness Lorenzo of Monaco abdicated the throne in search of a quieter life - his heart had never been in it since his father, the former Sovereign Prince, had become ill and abdicated. This left Lorenzo’s unwed brother Charles to be hastily crowned Prince Regent at the tender age of 22 (too young to be crowned Sovereign Prince bc modern monarchy rules I’m inventing). As a result Charles suffered the loss of his long-time suitor, nobleman Sebastian Vettel, who couldn’t bear the thought of being Sovereign Prince let alone of a land that wasn’t even his own.

Enter the Sainz Vázquez de Castro elders seizing the opportunity and negotiating a deal with Monaco in private conclave with the Papal State (??) to wed their son Carlos to the Prince Regent. Carlos is ashamed at giving in to the temptation… to not just be Prince Consort but to be Sovereign Prince, to rule over the vast wealth of Monaco and by extension the Holy See, to have the coveted beauty Charles in his bed. So he agrees to be spirited away to Monaco and the ugly business of dissolving his betrothal to Lando is left to members of church and state.

But Carlos experiences a complete conversion when Charles is on his knees in the cathedral - looking up at him with docile green eyes as Carlos’ fingertips touch the warm red roses of Charles’ lips as he holds the chalice of holy wine for Charles to drink. Carlos was almost hard beneath the ermine and velvet robes in a house of God when the crown was on his head and Charles next to him - and slightly below - smiling up at him with filaments of gold hanging from pendants on his chaplet, framing his achingly beautiful face. If Carlos feels his immense happiness and prosperity darken whenever he sees Lando’s picture or encounters him at one of the courts then no one need know.

ok so I've removed this from the narrative to of course be charlos true happiness endgame and removed Seb entirely, or he can just be called a close confidante and possible candidate to marry Charles but not very serious.

I imagine young Carlos Jr. moving through the royal courts as a child and teen and seeing the royal children of Monaco sometimes. in my weird version of royalty I have it that Lorenzo is the natural successor to the throne and therefore has always been allowed to dress and be seen "normally". as a second child, Charles was always the rightful property of whichever alliance would maintain Monaco's independence. he was raised mostly in the Prince's Palace and when playing or venturing to where he could be seen he's attended by a retinue of guards each carrying a gonfalon to conceal the young prince from view. on the rare occasions that the prince will be around those not within his immediate family or private staff, he is carefully wrapped in embroidered, jeweled white silks or cottons (depending on the climate) with only his eyes visible. the only color allowed being a scarlet silk girdle around his hips. until he reaches maturity or is married he wears a ferronnière with a single white diamond at his forehead. (I imagine the wrapping as looking like fancy white fireproofs that cover the hands as well and a long, flowy tunic over the top with smart little white renaissance boots (that Charles hates).

Prince Charles is also not permitted to speak outside of his family circle/staff but he is taught multiple languages and fond rumors spread that the prince has a charming lilting accent that comes from a little of everywhere. he is also taught the piano and there is a place on the shore that only locals know of where fairy echoes of his playing can be heard. they call it his 'lone voice' because the mood inside the palace can be judged by the prince's choice of music. childish and jolly for a while, then more challenging pieces, until his eighteenth birthday and an unknown dirge for his godfather who had perished during a racing tourney that summer. the prince's music would change over the years but it would never be joyful again.

I imagine many instances over the years of Carlos Jr. being coaxed by a conniving Carlos Sr. into bowing low to the small, mummified-looking creature that everyone assures him is a prince. the eyes and vague suggestion of white-clad hands and feet are the only indications that this is true, but the big green eyes are very expressive and seem to smile whenever they meet Carlos' own big brown eyes. Prince Lorenzo has a kind smile and would be a good playmate but solemnly maintains his position by his parents' side. Prince Arthur comes along in a bundle of energy and mischief - being blessed with a birthright to total freedom so long as his elder siblings are alive. he enjoys being swung around and thrown in the air by Carlos Jr. which helps pass the tedium of royal engagements. Arthur is clearly the favorite of Charles who rather mothers him - especially when the Sovereign Prince falls ill and hushed preparations are made behind palace walls for Lorenzo to take the throne. Charles is so deep in mourning for his godfather and soon his own father that his presentation at court is delayed indefinitely as it would be cruel to open him up to marriage bids that would inevitably take him from his home.

in the meantime, Carlos Jr. has grown into his large features and promises to inherit all his father's looks and daring. at his father's encouragement - "by the time you wed a virgin, you will need to know everything there is to know about pleasing them" - Carlos enjoys countless conquests across every continent on the globe. he's a seasoned bachelor by the age of 20 and has been given his own estate outside of Madrid to party, race expensive cars and drink expensive wine. but even as he wakes between the thighs of this or that beautiful boy or girl, his mind recalls the hours spent at court in Monaco trying to discern the subtlest lines of Prince Charles' body beneath the absurd layers of drapery. he knows for sure that the prince is slim but not scrawny. that his posture is upright and proud and stands about the same height as Carlos. at times when he scoops Arthur up to hold on one hip, Carlos can discern the fine dip of a small waist - probably small enough for Carlos' big hands to meet around. what a gift-wrapped present for whoever got to marry him!

but by the time they next meet, news has traveled all over of the Sovereign Prince's health and plans for the reluctant Prince Lorenzo to be hastily crowned. during their first visit after this news, Carlos Jr. makes his usual low bow to Prince Charles but when he looks up he sees tears clouding the prince's green eyes. it twists Carlos' heart and he boldly takes the prince's hand and presses a hurried kiss to the silk and at the same time trying to speak with his eyes how sorry he is for the prince. the small noise Charles makes at Carlos' boldness is a precious secret Carlos holds like a tangible thing against the breast of his tailcoat as he hurries down the steps before any of the other royals can notice what he's done.

[this is when the above section from my AU comes in and Carlos is attempted to be married off to Prince Lando, Lorenzo abdicates, Charles can only be named Prince Regent bc of his status etc and a hasty arrangement is made for him to marry Carlos]

at their wedding I imagine Charles' veil/headdress to be much lighter and tied in a simple knot at the base of his head. the only time Charles is called to speak is to swear fealty to the crown, to his country, and to his husband (it's also the first time Charles' voice has been heard by almost everyone in the Cathedral including Carlos. it sounds like joyous music, dipping deep and rich one moment and high and sweet the next - with a little bubble of laughter at the end. Carlos wants to hear him talk forever.) when the priest finishes his blessing, Carlos put a hand beneath Charles' chin and guides him to stand. he moves closer to Charles than he has ever been permitted and circles his arms around his neck to untie the knot. the veil falls away and a collective gasp rises up from the cathedral through the clouds of incense. Carlos doesn't gasp so much as suck in a triumphant breath through his nostrils and lifts his chin in triumph. Charles is not just the chaste ideal of beauty that the court and citizens of Monaco had whispered about for years, he is the vision of temptation itself: a delicate brush-spatter of freckles beneath a flush on finely molded cheekbones, a straight French nose that was the final word on French noses, and perfectly smooth lips in the shape of a patriotic 'M' and the exact red of Monaco's flag. the prince's hair and brows have all the shades of a glossy hazelnut and a thick fan of lashes surrounded the green eyes - all that Carlos had known of him until now. but soon, he would know everything about Charles and in a way no one else ever had or would.

Carlos is supposed to buss a small, ceremonial barely-there kiss to Charles' lips to please the court but of course he can't help himself and, holding Charles' face in his big hands, presses a fiercely possessive (thankfully still close-mouthed) kiss that nearly makes Charles collapse. murmurs go around the cathedral of "well, those Spaniards, you know".

when they are crowned, my version of royalty has the priest setting the heavy gold crown on Carlos' head but Carlos in turn places the chaplet of gold leaves and gemstone pendants on Charles. Carlos is flying as high as mortal can when he can finally lead Charles out to the balcony and show him off to the waiting public. Carlos wonders if there's a man on earth who possesses more wealth than he does at that moment.

but there's one more thing he doesn't yet have! oh you bet the bedding ceremony is weird and fucked up and poor Charles is using the short time they have alone as they move through the halls (merely flanked by guards) to nervously and apologetically explain to Carlos what they will need to do. something about protocol for regents who found it difficult to "perform" under such circumstances etc. Carlos just puts a big warm hand to Charles' lips as they are rushed along, leaning into to whisper that he'd take Charles' virginity in front of his own grandmother if that's what was required and his desire still wouldn't be dampened.

the chamber is small and has one purpose. the clergy stand behind wrought iron mullioned screens but Charles can see their eyes clearly and has known many of them all his life. he'd probably faint dead away from nerves if Carlos didn't pull him close and kiss him so deep and dirty it should've turned Charles' white gown red with lust. Carlos tells him to look only into his eyes, that he'll take good care of him. there's a whole intense sexy element to Carlos unwrapping Charles the rest of the way, just like the birthday present he'd imagined when he was a teenager. he probably spends WAY too much time on foreplay considering the witnesses are only there to see one thing and then leave but Carlos knows that Charles deserves this. by the time they've reached the point where Carlos can reach a hand between them and literally 'come' up with the goods to hold up and be viewed, Charles' moans are reaching up to the rafters. there's a rustle and murmured blessings as the priests finally withdraw.

Carlos is like FINALLY and decides to give Charles every bit of the benefit of his vast experience and looks smug as hell when Charles' attendants have to physically carry Charles to his own bed bc Carlos fucked him senseless lmao

agfalsgfsla this was so weird and detailed and I do not know WHERE it came from but if an actual writer sees this and wants to write it properly PLEASE tag me or message me!!!

EDIT: these are great photo references for adult Charles and Carlos in this AU

source

#charlos #carlos sainz jr x charles leclerc #mine #I hope you enjoy @vastappen !! #f1 royalty au #prince of monaco

[milknhonies]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 4 || Masterlist || Chapter 6

Chapter Summary: After defending your housekeeper, Sherlock takes a rough hand to your backside....

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Spanking, Domestic Abuse, rough kissing.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: I am sorry this took forever to post but I'm lucky and glad to say I should be moving to a new rental home in a month. Yayyy!!!

Inspiring Song: Partita for violin n°2 by Bach.

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6:30am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England

With baited breath you hurriedly rushed to push your husband out of the line of the door way. You shoved Sherlock and with some surprise, he moved. He rolled his eyes and pressed his back to the wall beside the door.

You feared an inevitable future. Mrs Hudson would enter your dwellings. And see your husband...how ironic for you to be scared of something meant to be.

Mrs Hudson knocked again and you heard the handle of your door twist.

A strike of horror whipped you into action. You fluttered to the cracking door as the old woman announced in a hushed whisper.

“Y/N dear, are you awake? Your mongrel of a groom is gone if you would like to come out now!”

Your fingers clenched into fists behind you and the offended snicker from Sherlock from next to you beside the opening door didn’t help your embarrassment. He knew you didn’t approve of his past behaviours but to be made apparent how much you deplored him was humiliating.

You forced a tight smile for your landlady as she took a step closer into the doorway. How you wished you could’ve asked her to leave, but how could you, it would seem rude after all her kind hospitality and assistance.

She greeted you with a happy wink while still under the belief her original tenant was no longer in the house. But her eyes did flutter after she glanced you up and down, surprised by your prepared dressed state.

It was a unspoken question, ‘Who helped dress you?’

You gently interpreted aloud, “Oh...he is still here...and...” your lips became dry. Why did Mrs Hudson have to be so invasive as landlady even if under pure intentions?

The old woman grew pale with her wide grey gaze. Her lips smacked open. You looked over your shoulder and gasped with a jump at the ridiculous state of your husband standing directly behind you, with a naked torso.

“Mrs Hudson,” he smirked, “Good Morning,” he said rather proudly with his hands settle on his finely shaped hips. His tongue lazily licked his bottom tongue with his eyebrows raised.

He found the lewdness incredibly hilarious. ‘Great, my husband is not only arrogant, rude and mean- he is also childish one would gather.’

“Quite...” she said as colour grew quick to her face in the shade of a wet red rose. Her wrinkled throat tightened. Her fingers gripped at her apron while her lips pursed disapprovingly.

Your husband briskly moved you aside by holding your hips and directing you out of his path before he strutted out from your door frame entrance.

You and the elder woman did perhaps inspect the curve of his bottom in his trousers for too long as he swaggered back to his bedroom. A plump arse in a husband has never been known as a requirement, but for the advice of a future generation you were sure to note it.

Mrs Hudson somewhat breathless and at a disadvantage twisted her head back and leant to your ear inquisitively, “What happened?” her eyes darted back and forth.

It was then as you saw her forehead shrink, you realised, she was concerned for your safety, for your health and wellbeing.

You could only imagine the distress the dear Mrs Hudson experienced when she found you in a puddle of blood on your bed only two days prior.

Your own lips parted and you raced to find the words. You struggled and stuttered to explain how on earth you came to lay in your bed with your own husband. It felt challenging and at half your conscience considered lying for the sake of modesty and privacy. It shouldn’t have been so difficult to say; you and Sherlock were bloody husband and wife. A small laugh in the back of your head jingled.

“Well...ugh...as husband and wife we...came to an agreement.”

Your fingers came up to touch your lips. A small smile was upon them. How else could you say your husband showed you terror and bliss all in one night. You knew it was not custom for a groom to tie up his bride and ravage her to a mindless state of ecstasy.

It had been so terrifying and exciting. The debate crossed your mind, ‘should I fear him, or submit with praise?’

He had treated you so awfully until this morning. You raced to wonder what had changed his mood so speedily in your favour...’Was it the deal? The debasing?’ In which you relinquished your pride and dignity to him that you already had so little of.

Her eyes narrowed at your wording, “An agreement?”

Those shrivelled pink lips settled in the shape of a pondering ‘o’ for sometime until Sherlock stuck his head back out from his rooms while buttoning a white shirt.

“We fucked Mrs Hudson,” he bluntly muttered startling you both in the midst of shock. It was uncouth to swear as he did, especially as a gentleman, especially in front of women. He was so unlike his high browed brother.

The older woman clicked her heels together and sputtered, “Sherlock!”

“-now if you aren’t too busy gossiping with my wife,” he sneered, cutting Mrs Hudson off, “I would very much like a cup of tea!”

“Well I never-!” the elder woman crossly huffed with her blushed face still blooming.

Your girlish grin disappeared. There he was. The rude and demeaning man.

Your fingers clenched to fists. The disrespect to Mrs Hudson was an insult to you. After all these hours in this new home, this woman sacrificed her time to help you. She did not deserve foul treatment from your husband even if he had always behaved that way to her in the past. You were now living here and wouldn’t stand for it.

You couldn’t allow this treatment to continue, “Sherlock!” both of their heads snapped at your raised tone, “Do not address Mrs Hudson in such a manner again!”

The man deemed London’s greatest detective looked bewildered, as if you slapped the man himself in the face. That masculine confidence fleeted from his face. Your landlady fluttered her eyes at your outburst. Perhaps you appeared aggressive, your knuckle pressed to your lips.

Your chest felt tight. You were panting. Yes, you had yelled so loudly it would be no question if those on the sidewalk below in Baker Street heard your bellowing.

You were angry. Resentful. The spell of his magical touch and charm had worn quickly off. Back you were to being a forthright wife.

His tongue stabbed the inside of his cheek. His eyes narrowed. Whatever was he thinking?

“Very well,” he said and he nodded once, “Mrs Holmes.”

He began fiddling with the buttons of his trousers, tucking his shirt in.

You lowered your hand and placed them on your exaggerated hips.

You gave a little huff to add on, “And say please to Mrs Hudson when asking for tea.”

Mrs Hudson glanced between you both before scurrying back to the dining table where breakfast had been so generously laid out. She clearly was smart enough to know not to intervene in this rising argument.

The smell of cinnamon and porridge filled your nose. Mrs Hudson quietly poured you a cup of tea. From the corner of your eye you watched the steam rise.

“For god sake woman,” Sherlock grumbled with exasperation and waved his hand in front of himself, “She is merely the housekeeper.” 

You stood between them and wagged a finger at him, “And landlady.”

He sighed with annoyance and rolled his eyes. His lips pinched. Accepting his defeat in his stubbornness he spun on his heels and re-entered your room. He left his door open.

You took a step forward and remembered yesterday how cross he had been when you entered his space without permission...’permission be damned.’

You swallowed down that cold prickling fear and followed him in and took note on how he sat on the trunk with deviant tools within. He hiked up his trouser legs up. He sighed at your presence- not fully annoyed but not fully relieved either. 

You knew where he kept his shoes and what type after your savage pilfering clean the day before. You selected for him a dark navy cravat to match his chosen blazer he pointed out to you. You selected a golden pin and black dress boots for him.

He cleared his throat and muttered a soft “Thankyou,” as you handed him the cravat and pin while you silently knelt to the floor and began slipping on his garters, socks and shoes onto his feet.

He looked like stone. His face unreadable. You could not tell if he was annoyed, amused or just plain bored by his lack of emotion.

Maybe you had shut him up and taken him down a peg. Indeed, perhaps you had really humiliated him in front of Mrs Hudson to the point of expressionless silence.

6:40am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England

He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or if he was to be frightened by it.  Your quick submission, your gentleness after such a loud scolding. You had such a voice. You had a fearsome outburst that you used said voice with.

So seeing you play demure wife with the snap of second put him on a strange edge...what game were you playing at?

He sat back on his hands and stared at you struggling to button up his buttons he did the only thing he knew how in regards to people. He analysed you.

Your hands were clammy...sweaty and warm indicating either your heighten blood from your outburst or the after affects of your embarrassment when Mrs Hudson discovered his existence in your bedroom.

Your breath was slightly ragged. You were nervous he decided.

He glanced at how every few moments you wriggled your hips. Very faintly. Disguised as an attempt to readjust your sitting position, whereas in fact...you appeared to make soft rocking motions...

Oh, he smiled internally...you were aroused and embarrassed. You were helpless and desperate. Poor little lamb.

He looked around his room and back to you on the floor. You both were in rather a similar pose last night before he blackmailed you into sucking his cock. He twitched his head to the side and wondered how scandalous and quick he could pull out his cock and shove it past your teeth; all the while Mrs Hudson stood only a few feet away past the door with her back turned to you both.

How naughty...

And your sweet eyes looked up from his shoes...if only you weren’t sitting on your skirts. He mourned for all he waited more than ever was sneak it  beneath your shift and between your thighs.

‘How charming,’ he larked in his mind, ‘Polishing my shoe with her pussy.’ Your hairless pussy in fact.

Sherlock didn’t not hate body hair. But rather he liked the satisfaction of making pain in doing something as torturous as ripping hair from a sobbing woman. And the softness was something that never ceased amazement.

He did once mention to John before his comrade met Mary how on occasion, cunnilingus on a hairy woman was comparable to kissing a man on the face. John, he recalled, laughed at Sherlock and announced he had never eaten a cunt, so why bother eating one covered in hair... now it was all the man could ever speak of when it came to his wife that he worshipped.

When you finished folding his trouser paints so that mud would not soak the hem, he leant forward and place a finger under your chin.

Your pupils flickered. Oh yes. You were definitely aroused, he concluded.

And he felt somewhat generous. He cupped your cheek and lifted you higher to your feet.

“Come here,” he whispered.

He almost burst out laughing watching how your eyes fluttered. His thumb scraped over your lip. He pinched your cheeks and pulled you into his face before he slowly stood off his bed.

He pushed his tongue inside and moaned. With how you tried to return the movement he smirked. You were desperate and he knew you wanted to please him. He flicked around and sucked your bottom lip.

Pulling back you were panting loud and your eyes wide.

He gave you passion, so what were you to do with that?

“Now Mrs Holmes, go sit down for breakfast,” he purred, “I will be out shortly.”

His cock was getting hard and he needed to give himself a moment or else he felt compelled to fuck you right there, Mrs Hudson could rightfully fuck off down stairs if she didn’t want to see the show....

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6:46am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England

On weak, shaky legs you turned away from him. Your hand stumbled along his door frame. You could feel the hot buzz still on your lips. You felt hot all over. Behind you, he softly shut his door. You needed to sit down and so you reached out to your side of the dining room. You hobbled into your chair and reached for your warm tea.

“Well you must’ve done something right,” the landlady chuckled under her breath, wiping her hands lazily on her apron, “I haven’t seen him so caught off guard since his mother last visited. Put him in his please, she did.”

You nodded slowly. Sherlock Holmes would always be a true enigma. You sipped carefully. He kissed you with great heat, after you had scolded him? It made no sense.

“Is it within the best interest that I remain rather than leave you alone with him?” Mrs Hudson whispered as she saw your gaze staring off at the nothingness of the room.

Your eyes fluttered to focus and you smiled up at the kind woman. You squeezed her hand and shook your head.

“No, I am sure I can manage my husband Mrs Hudson,” you rose and carefully took the tea pot from her hands, “I think I shall pour his tea.”

Your land lady peered at you suspiciously as she relinquished the china. She smiled grimly and nodded before walking off and departing the apartment.

Sherlock wasn’t so scary now that you knew he wasn’t cross. And surely...if anything occurred, Mrs Hudson might intervene? Yes?

So where the hell was she last night? The thought wasn’t really your own, it just came up in the back of your mind watching as she left the apartment.

Your husband didn’t take long to come out, fully dressed. He sat down and searched over the table.

Mrs Hudson had brought up warm croissants, fresh butter and a scrumptious jam to lay on top.

You stood over him and poured tea into his cup. You felt his eyes rolling up and down your body. When you stood away, he poured in his own cream.

You placed the pot down gently and returned to your seat.

In those few seconds there was peace and power, submission and dominance. And you didnt even know it...

You folded the napkin over your lap and spread a fine line of jam over the bread like treat.

Sherlock? He sipped his tea and wouldn’t stop staring, to the point where it made you feel intimidated. What was he looking at? Was there jam on your face?

He clear his throat again and shook his head. He tore a piece of a croissants with his fingers and stuffed it into his mouth. It was something you disapproved of. But you didn’t have the patience to teach a man almost twice your age on the art of table manner etiquette.

And after an eternity of silent air filled with chewing and sipping...

“Finished your breakfast?” Sherlock smiled, rising from his chair, you nodded and patted your lips. You needed to return to your room and find some hair pins along with a hat if he expected you to join him.

“Good...” Sherlock said coming around to your side and helping you out of your chair with a single lending hand...and he led you to the main sitting room.

You tried to turn around go back to your room, maybe he forget the negative propriety of a woman wearing her hair unfixed in public.

He caught your wrist and tugged you to the side of the chaise.

“Bend over,” he purred into your ear.  You blinked.

“What ever for?” you audibly pondered before hearing him sigh frustrated.

You looked between him and the lounge.

His voice was coated in a acidic hiss, “Bend over or I’ll make you.”

You didn’t understand. Naively you bent over the arm. Had he lost something between the soft mattressing? Your fingers reached for the small cushion to look under when you felt him start to lift your skirts. Your eyes widened. What the hell was he doing!?

You went to stand up straight before he pushed his hand on your upper back and pushed you down again. You grunted and grizzled.

He tossed your skirts up over your backside to your waist. His hand softly rubbed across your drawers. The weight of his palm made you jump in surprise. His finger traced the splitting fabric. He pushed the pieces aside.

You held your breath. Your fingers clenched the chaise as you tried looking over your shoulder.

He couldn’t have been suggesting that he would mount you like this...here.. out in the open of your home...surely not...

He smirked at the alarm written all over your face. He bent his head down to you...he kissed your cheek and peppered small pecks to your ear.

“I’m going to strike you ten times,” his hot breath came.

Your eyes widened and your nose curdled.

“What ever for!?” you repeated with a sneer while you tried rising up again. This time, he shoved you down harder.

Sherlock smiled mockingly, his voice was sweet and high but beneath it was hate and sadism, “For speaking against my authority in front of Mrs Hudson.”

He cupped your backside and you swallowed hard.

It wasn’t right! He didn’t need to be so rude to the house keeper. You felt the coming punishment to be unwarranted.

“Such a pretty bum...” he sighed pawing at each unmarred cheek, “Such a disobedient wife...” He awed slightly...you were trembling. You shut your eyes and prayed to turn back time.

The first slap took you entirely by surprise, a sob tore itself from your lips instantly as his hand made contact with your backside.

You stomped your foot and tried twisting around to stop him but he flung you back over the chaise. And then the woosh of a flying hand swatted you. The burning crack of his palm left you feeling choked and brought to tears faster than ever before.

You cried immediately. And do you know what your torturous husband did? He let you cry...he let you catch your breath. He waited until you quieted...and then he hit you again. The third time hurt as well yet, felt stronger. It was the force of the hit that was more like a punch then a slap to your rear end bringing you into a shocked gasp.

You stomped your foot and whimpered, “Unhand me! You brute!”

He chuckled and smacked his palm fast against your bottom, the rising flame of nerves made you whine pitifully.

“Stop!” you pleaded, “Sherlock please!”

The soft touch on your abused arse cheek did little to soothe the stinging pain and the third slap made it far worse. Your skin was turning a shade and felt indescribably hot.

“We are almost finished Mrs Holmes, take a deep breath for me,” he asked.

You sniffled terribly trying to clean your sobs. Your eyes were watering while Sherlock’s pale hand rubbed up and down your sensitive thighs. Your belly jumped and butterflies fluttered. You felt tingly and in need of a cold cloth. You attempted to wriggle away once more but that only made Sherlock grasp on you tighter.

By the sixth slap your whimpers evolved into breathy pants. You felt his run his fingers soft and slow on your hot skin. They were cold and like a balm to the suffering he inflicted. You felt the swirls and managed to feel him draw an S and a H.

It became a vile pattern where he allowed you to compose your crying and fall quiet before delivering hell by his palm.

You could only recall the last spanking you received was from a school teacher when you were nine years old because you spilled ink down the dress of a girl bullying you.

The next whip made you gasp and continued to lessen the soreness you tried breathing through your lips shaped in a ‘o’ which made a most heinous noise...a moan.

“You are taking this very well my pretty Baker Street whore.”

You knew it had to be Sherlock’s voice but it felt so far away now. Your lower body felt incredibly warm and light.

“Never again will you humiliate me In the presence of our housekeeper, do I make myself clear?” his voice became a lifeline.

You were trembling beneath him. You felt him step closer and the side of your neck.

You didn’t agree with him, you didn’t humiliate him, he humiliated himself with his lack of manners. You were tired, relaxed, starting to accept the burning heat of his hand. You heard him chuckling in your ear. Your mind was falling to pieces.

“Yes s-sir,” Your voice shook which fell into a voice a new moan as the next strike connected to your bottom.

“Very good little lamb,” he said pleasingly. He slowly released his grip on your back and ran his hand lightly over your displayed flesh.

He rubbed his thumb into your muscle and took glee in your snarling hiss. He tapped your exposed hip softly.

“There,” he said slowly lifting you from the lounge and letting your skirts fall back to your ankles. He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, kissing each cheek as he went.

When reality crashes hard like a stormy wave, you flinched and moved away from him. You cupped your mouth and tried not to cry but the tears fluttered fast.

You felt him stand behind you and you wished you could’ve run away. You felt so embarrassed and ashamed you made such lusty tones. He wrapped his hands around your waist and towered above you.

He asked quietly, “Are you sure you want my fidelity now?”

It felt like a open wound that he was digging inside further. It was cruel, his smugness.

And this was a really trap. You could swear it. He wanted a reason to be allowed to return to Mayfair Row.

He wanted you to waver, to give in, to let him betray the wedding bed. It was like a candle filling the room with light. He didn’t spank you because he was embarrassed that you scolded him in front of the housekeeper, oh no, no, ‘twas a beneath the layers. Sherlock was trying to break you into letting him do as he desired, to continue his habits before your marriage.

You gulped and squeezed his hands; the tools he just beat you with. You felt sick. You felt angry. You felt like you had successfully figured out the solution to an ancient problem...

You could’ve caved in...you could’ve let him ruin the marriage entirely...the shame...you were fragile and almost let him.

You almost, but you didn’t.

You swallowed hard and fluttered your eyes and stated tightly, “It will take more than a whipping by your hands to make me let you go back to whoring, Mr Holmes.”

You turned your neck to glare at him. And instead of a snarl or a frown or disapproving look, he was smirking. His brows were raised in pleasant surprise.

“Marvellous,” he whispered, “an utter spectacle, you are.”

You scoffed and wiped your eyes again of a burning tear and shoved to move past him to go retrieve your hair pins and hat.

He followed on your tail and cackled, “Oh don’t be so prudish...I too heard that little moan.”

Your throat tightened as you tried ignoring his relaying fact.

You came to your room and saw him through your mirror leaning on the door frame, watching you. You perfected your usual modest style while you snapped, “If you honestly believe I under any circumstances enjoyed that, you are truly-  terribly mistaken.”

He was chewing his bottom lip and racing his eyes over your entire body. He was comically a wolf starved for his lamb.

You couldn’t even sit down at your vanity with the heat radiating on your backside under all your skirts. You didn’t even want to come out with him today, you almost dared state you would stay home after his assault.

However, lord only knows where Sherlock would really gallivant off to if you didn’t chaperone him today. Any man can break a promise.

He came into your room slowly and went to your hat box. He handed you the straw brim and cleared his throat, “Get your gloves, we must make haste.”

You rolled your eyes at him and snatched your hat from his hands, “If we were in such a hurry it might’ve deterred you from your unnecessary beating.”

He was fast as lightning and holding your jaw tearing out a gasp from you as he huffed, “Indeed, If we weren’t in such a hurry, I would have my cock down your throat for that comment Mrs Holmes.” His eyes turned a shade darker that dragged a bolt of fear back down your spine.

His smile was not as cheery, it had transformed into a sneer in lilt, “Gloves. Now.”

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#sherlock holmes x female reader #sherlock holmes x poc!reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock holmes x reader #Dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dark!sherlock holmes #dark!henry cavill #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x female reader #dead dove do not eat #henry cavill x #henry sherlock #enola sherlock

[seoafin]

you and nagi meet in middle school. he is a loner with a penchant for playing videos games and sleeping during class. you are a high maintenance individual with dismal grades known for your dour disposition and carrying around the violin you practice obsessively. the two of you have no friends. your middle school has designated and granted you a music room to use where you can practice in peace for your upcoming competitions. until one day you find nagi curled up in a corner of the room, asleep. obviously you're peeved. this music room is for your use only, not some secret hideout slackers can use to catch up on sleep. but also it's not like he's being a disturbance. you'll let him off. just this once. then you'll start to lock the doors.

it's not until the sky is pitch dark outside and your fingers twinge with use do you begin to gingerly pack your violin. you get so absorbed in playing you wouldn't be surprised if the slacker got up and left hours ago. you are surprised when you turn around to find nagi spread out on the floor, gaze latched to the ceiling, wide awake. in a drowsy voice, he tells you that that single song you were playing over and over again sounded like the OST of some game he likes. (you are immediately offended. the great composer bach didn't die to be compared to some video game soundtrack). then he asks if you're in this room everyday, practicing, because he can't comprehend that level of effort and devotion to anything because he isn't that interested in anything. but he liked it. the sound of you playing. you were good. the best he's ever heard. and all you can hear is the best the best the best and you're so pleased that you don't mind when he comes back the next day. and then the next. then the two of you are walking to school together and walking home. (wow the two of you were neighbors?) and when you get into the prodigious hakuho academy on a violin scholarship, nagi tests in with ease because he didn't bother to do any research and just chose the rigorous high school you got into.

it's good for a while. then it isn't. there's a violin competition gone wrong. you lose. badly. second place, which realistically isn't bad. but you wanted first. you wanted to be the best. realistically you've always known you weren't a genius. you weren't born with the talent. your fingers were fumbling over the same strings other fingers were gliding over. but you practiced. every single day. hours every morning before school and hours every night after. it's the first time you've ever competed against a genius, and you're heartbroken at the gap between your skills. your competitor took up the violin only four years ago. you've been playing since you were a child. the news outlets call him a prodigy while you're just a temporary talent.

nagi tells you to give up. realistically, he says, you'll never be first as long as long as you're up against a genius. what he doesn't tell you is that the devastation on your face made his heart hurt. he doesn't want you to hurt. but your heart breaks all over again. you lash out. it's the last time the two of you speak together on friendly terms and nagi doesn't talk to you again. turns out, there's somebody else occupying and monopolizing his attention now.

you meet mikage reo and it all goes even further downhill from there.

#you meet mikage reo with his arm slung around nagi's shoulder like they're old friends and your first thought is Murder #aggressive antagonistic love triangle <3 #nagi seishiro x reader #blue lock x reader #m.bl

[trashyswitch]

Day 31: Aftercare

Lucy keeps bothering Schroeder while he's practicing piano. And unfortunately for him (or fortunately for her), she has now found out his one weakness: he's very ticklish...

And the Peanuts characters are back once again! I hope you enjoy! And thank you so much for coming along for another ride through Tickletober. It's been very fun!

This fanfic is inspired by this post by @comfytickles. :3

Schroeder was playing some songs on his little red toy piano, content to be playing the music made by his favorite composers. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Johann Sebastian Bach, Frédéric Chopin…and his absolute favorite artist, Ludwig Van Beethoven. A man of pure class and authenticity. Pure genius beyond comprehension. Even now, centuries later, his music is forever admired. And Schroeder will make sure Beethoven’s music will live on through his own playing on his little piano. 

“Oh Schroeder~” Someone called. 

Schroeder mentally groaned. He knew this voice way too well…it was Lucy, hoping to get him to notice her. Not wanting to give her what she wanted, Schroeder tried to ignore the voice as best he could, and just focus on playing the piano. He played the notes as he knew them, specifically playing Sonata No. 23 in F Minor, Op. 57 “Appassionata” by Beethoven. He focused on the notes as he played this melodramatic piece. 

“Hello?” The person called, waving a hand in Schroeder’s face. 

Despite the hand blocking his vision, Schroeder knew this toy piano’s notes off by heart and managed to successfully play through her disturbances without losing his spot in the piece. “Fine…be like that.” The person said, before walking away. 

Schroeder looked up from the piano for a moment. “Huh?” He asked, confused. Though he mentally congratulated himself for ignoring her long enough, he grew confused as to why she had walked away so easily. Lucy was NEVER that easy to get rid of…she was like a flea on a dog! She stuck to his piano like glue, whether he wanted her to or not. 

Schroeder continued to play the piano, now unbothered by Lucy. He was getting towards the halfway mark…also known as, his favorite part of this piano piece. He smiled a bit more to himself as he played up and down the keys like a prodigy. He could not imagine his life without his precious toy piano. It was his favorite thing in the whole wide world! He could never give up his piano, even if he tried. 

Schroeder played through his favorite part. Though his face looked unexpressive, he was practically beaming from inside. He could not be playing a more perfect piece to describe this beautiful moment. It was such a comforting, emotional piece. 

“Schroeder?” The same voice called. 

Schroeder mentally sighed. She’s back…his time alone is already being cut short. She had only been gone for a few seconds…or so it felt. Perhaps it may have been a little longer. He wasn’t entirely sure. 

“If you don’t talk to me, then I’ll make you.” The voice said. 

Schroeder mentally rolled his eyes. What is she possibly gonna do to him, to make him talk to her? Poke him? Shout in his ear? Hopefully not. She’d better not ruin his piano playing either…That would be a tragic day…

“Hmmm…” The voice muttered beside him. Now what is she up to? 

*poke* 

“GAH!?” He shouted, pulling his arms back and hugging his sides. 

“Peek a boo!” She teased, giggling. 

Schroeder grunted and rubbed the feeling away with his hand, before attempting to go back to his piano. 

“Boop!” She declared, poking both his sides. 

Schroeder yelped and hugged his sides again, before looking at Lucy with a scowl. “Hey!” He reacted. 

“Hehehehe! What’s wrong? Ticklish?” She asked him. 

Great…She found his one weakness…

Schroeder stuttered. “I-...I-I-n-no…W-wha-” 

Lucy laughed. “Wow! How have I never known your weakness?” She asked. 

Schroeder growled. “I’m not ticklish!” He told her. 

Lucy giggled again. “Oh really?” She squeezed his side a few more times for good measure. “Then this shouldn’t bother you one bit~” She teased. 

Schroeder jumped and hardened his belly, in the hopes to stop the tickles from affecting him too much. “AH-! N-No!” He grunted. “Come on, Schroeder. Laugh for me!” She teased. 

Schroeder squeezed his eyes shut in one last attempt to stop himself from spilling any laughter out of himself. “L-LucystOP!” Schroeder yelled. 

“Boop, boop, boop, boop! Squish-y-squish-y-squish!” She declared, squeezing his sides playfully. 

Schroeder gasped and finally let out all his laughter. “BAHAHAhahaha! Stahahap! Stahap-stop-stop-NOHOHOhoho!” He laughed. 

“Bingo! I gotcha! Tickle tickle, Schroeder~!” She declared, going for his belly next. “Laugh for me, Schroeder! Laugh for me!” She taunted playfully. 

Schroeder attempted to grab her hands and push them off, but found her fingers were way too fast for him. Everytime he would land his hands on hers, she would move them and go somewhere else. It was a little unfair. 

“Luhuhucyhyhyhy! Stahahahap! Ihihi cahan’t!” Schroeder argued. 

“You can’t what? You can’t stop laughing? Oh, imagine having such a wonderful problem!” She reacted. 

“Luhuhucyhy! Ihihi’m sorry! Ihi’m sohohorryyhyhyhy!” He yelled. 

“Sorry? For laughing?” She clarified. “Schroeder…” She turned to his front and poked his belly button before looking up at Schroeder. “Never apologize for laughing.” She told him. 

“Nononohoho! Nohohot that!” Schroeder squealed and fell onto his back, unable to keep himself upright anymore. “NOHOT THEHEHEHERE! LUCYYYYHYHYHYHY!” Schroeder shouted. 

“Ooooh! Sweet spot?” She asked. 

“STAHAHAP IHIHIT’S SOHOHO MUHUHUCH!” He yelled at her. 

“So much laughter? Oh, I know! I could listen to it all day.” She declared. 

He giggled and shook his head. Realizing Lucy may never stop tickling him, Schroeder took it into his own hands and started poking and squeezing her sides back. 

“BahahAHAHA! WHAHAT?! NOHOHO TICKLEBAHAHACKS!” She shouted at him. 

“Ihit’s nohohot fahahair ohotherwihise!” He told her. “Hehehe- Yohohou neeheed it back.” He replied. 

“IHI’M SOHOHORRY! SORRYHYHYHYHY!” She shouted. “PLEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAP!” She begged. 

“Can’t handle tickle-backs?” He teased. 

“IHIHI CAHAHAN’T! IHIHIT’S TOOHOHOHOHOO MUHUHUCH!” She told him helplessly. 

“Okay, okay. Unlike you, I’m merciful.” He told her. He stopped his fingers and sat himself up. “No more tickles, okay?” He told her. 

“Awww…But I like hearing you laugh.” Lucy told him. 

Schroeder tilted his head. “R…Really?” He asked. 

“Yeah…your favorite music is Beethoven…” She looked at him with a giggle. “And my favorite music is your pretty laughter.” She told him. 

Schroeder widened his eyes and grew a stupid little blush onto his face. Did…did she just…Oh…Oh no…No no no! Schroeder held his face and groaned. “LUCYYY!” Schroeder shouted into his hands. 

Lucy gasped and clapped her hands together. “Did I make you blush???” She asked with a giggle. Schroeder groaned and flopped himself onto the piano, hiding his face in his arms against the red toy piano. 

Lucy giggled and walked away. A few seconds later, Lucy walked back to Schroeder with a cup of water. “Here…to help with your blush.” She told him. 

Schroeder sighed and lifted his head up, visibly red in the face. He picked up the water, took a sip of it, before drinking more of the water. “Thank you.” He replied. 

Lucy then took Linus’s blanket from his hands, and wrapped it around Schroeder. “There you go.” She said. Schroeder raised an eyebrow. “This is Linus’s.” Schroeder mentioned. 

Linus looked at Schroeder. “I thought she was gonna steal it for the sake of stealing it…But if it’s for you…then I trust you with it.” Linus replied. 

Schroeder smiled. “Thanks, Linus.” Schroeder replied. 

“Just don’t lose it like Charlie Brown did.” Linus told him as Schroeder wrapped it around himself like a shawl. 

“Okay.” Linus replied. 

Lucy leaned on the toy piano, and crossed her leg on her knee. “Feeling better?” She asked. 

“Kinda…I still wanna finish the song though.” Schroeder admitted. 

Lucy smiled and turned to look at him with starry eyes. “Okay.” She replied. 

Schroeder looked at Lucy with surprise. Wait…was she…actually going to let him finish his song?! Cause a little reminder, that this is Lucy we’re talking about. A person who doesn’t let him practice at all, because she feels that special lovey-dovey feeling towards him. 

Schroeder slowly started to play the piano, before speeding up the playing a little bit. Slowly, Schroeder got back into the wonderful music that is Beethoven. He played through the other half of the song, playing as if Lucy wasn’t even there. And to a point, it almost felt like she WASN’T there! She was so quiet and attentive, it was almost impressive. 

Schroeder smiled brightly to himself as he gently ended the song. With the hands on the last notes, he put his head down dramatically…before lifting up his hands and putting them in his lap like a true musician. And right when the moment couldn’t be more perfect…

A pair of hands start tickling his belly. 

And Poor Schroeder, was thrown into a fit of laughter all over again…It was like the aftercare and the caring Lucy she had just shown him, was completely gone…and the teasy Lucy was back once again, to taunt him and tickle him. 

Though…maybe a little bit of taunting isn’t so bad…

#piano #ludwig van beethoven #cute #silly #teasing #augtickletober2023 #tickletober 2023 #ticklefic #ler!lucy #lee!schroeder

[vintagetvstars]

Submissions and Bracket Update!

Hello everyone! It has officially been one week since launching this blog and opening submissions for our first hot vintage tv stars tournament, the hot vintage tv women's bracket! We are currently sitting at 118 total submissions! With at least 79 hot vintage TV ladies submitted. So far I've managed to sort through about half of them. Because we have a decent number of submissions I am currently planning on closing submissions on Friday, April 5th. This will give everyone a few more days to get in submissions before we start our tournament. Submission have slowly been winding down each day so it seemed like giving everyone a few more days to submit their favs and then getting to work setting up the bracket would be ideal. Though, if enough people feel like we should gather more submissions first and give everyone a little more time then I'm happy to push this proposed date back. But right now with almost 80+ submissions I think that's enough to give us a satisfying and fun bracket. After Submissions close I'll take some time to finish organizing everything before polls go up for round 1. There will probably be some housekeeping things after submissions close so stay tuned. As of right now I am shooting to start round 1 sometime between April 8th - 12th depending on how long I need to get things set up behind the scenes. So stay tuned for an announcement on the exact date! One housekeeping thing before the list of current hot vintage tv lady contestants. It seems there might have been a bit of confusion on how to fill out the submission form.

The place for the contestants name is where you put the name of the hot vintage tv lady you are submitting for the bracket.

And the suggested poll pic is for you to place a link to a picture of your hot vintage tv lady that I can use to represent them in the polls.

If you filled out the form incorrectly previously, no problem, please feel free to resubmit your fav with the form properly filled out this time. I can't use submissions that are submitted incorrectly, I simply don't have enough time to try and figure out what was intended from limited information. I've updated the form to clarify these things. Finally bellow is the current list of submitted hot vintage tv ladies for the bracket! Please keep in mind that this list is subject to change as I have only gone through about half of the submissions so far. It's possible there might be people on this list that will be disqualified later for not meeting our criteria.

If your fav isn't on the list, then they aren't in the bracket, so please feel free to submit them while submissions remain open!

Nichelle Nichols

Mary Tyler Moore

Bea Arthur

Diana Rigg

Gillian Anderson

Carol Burnett

Loretta Swit

Marlo Thomas

Lynda Carter

Betty White

Rue McClanahan

Barbara Feldon

Fran Drescher

Carolyn Jones

Claudia Black

Lisa Bonet / Lilakoi Moon

Sarah Michelle Gellar

Sarah Jessica Parker

Elizabeth Montgomery

Kathryn Leigh Scott

Julia Louis-Dreyfus

Miranda Richardson

Melissa Joan Hart

Mariska Hargitay

Lisa Robin Kelly

Elisabeth Sladen

Leighton Meester

Barbara Stanwyck

Kellye Nakahara

Shannen Doherty

Carol Cleveland

Aimi MacDonald

Catherine Bach

Valerie Harper

Jane Krakowski

Amanda Tapping

Penelope Keith

Kylie Minogue

Jonelle Allen

Rachel Bilson

Terry Farrell

Joanna Lumley

Siân Phillips

Karyn Parsons

Courteney Cox

Sherilyn Fenn

Eliza Dushku

Debbie Allen

Lucy Lawless

Jane Seymour

Jan Smithers

Carole André

Nana Visitor

Jackée Harry

Janet Hubert

Yvonne Craig

Peggy Lipton

Lisa Hartman

Julie Newmar

Anne Francis

Barbara Eden

Vivica A Fox

Grayson Hall

Joan Bennet

Julia Duffy

Mag Ruffman

Gina Torres

Mira Furlan

Tina Louise

Lara Parker

Eartha Kitt

Deidre Hall

Dawn French

Dawn Wells

Lalla Ward

Kat Graham

Joan Chen

Eva Gabor

Eve Arden

#vintage tv stars poll #breaking news #todays news

[griseldabanks]

"I trust you with my life." for John and Sherlock

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

It had been a lousy day. Back-to-back patients that left him only fifteen minutes for lunch, someone had bumped into him on the way to work and he'd dropped his phone on the sidewalk and cracked the screen, and on top of everything else, it was pouring rain. As he hurried down Baker Street, all he could think about was sitting in his chair with a nice cup of tea. At the moment, he didn't even care if Sherlock was still stuck in the same cloud of gloom he'd been in all week. At least this latest bit of doldrums in their caseload had left Sherlock quiet, rather than bouncing off the walls and shrieking away on his violin.

Yes. Some quiet and warmth, that was all he needed.

As soon as John stepped through the front door and hung up his dripping raincoat, he realized it wasn't going to be as quiet as he'd hoped. The sound of the violin echoed down the stairwell to him, but at least it was an actual song this time, instead of erratic notes that belonged in the soundtrack of a horror movie.

Sherlock stood in front of the window in his dressing gown, playing what seemed like a complicated piece as he watched the rain fall. John thought he was beginning to get a sense of Sherlock's moods from what he chose to play. When he was really thinking hard, he would often play something from Bach or Vivaldi, as if its steady rhythm kept his mind focused. John didn't know much about music, but whatever Sherlock was playing right now sounded complex enough that it probably required more of his attention. Something to keep his mind occupied when there was nothing else at hand.

John made a beeline for the kettle. While he waited for the water to boil, he crossed over to the fridge to grab the milk.

Only to discover they were out of milk.

And bread.

And eggs.

“Sherlock.” He ran his hand down his face, wiping off the last bits of rainwater. “You didn't go to the store, did you?”

Sherlock kept playing, fingers flying over his instrument with flawless precision.

“Sherlock!”

“What?” Sherlock snapped, stopping abruptly and whirling around to face him.

“I told you we were out of milk,” John said, trying and failing to keep his voice down. “I asked you to go to the store, and you said you would.”

“What? No, I didn't.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn't.”

“Yes, you did!” In the back of his mind, John was aware that they were starting to sound like children, but he couldn't stop. “I left you a list and everything!” He picked up the slip of paper on the kitchen table. It didn't seem to have moved since he'd left it there that morning.

“I doubt it,” Sherlock snapped, tucking his bow under his arm and stalking across the room. “I would have remembered something as simple as that.”

“Yeah, unless you 'deleted' it from your 'hard drive,'” John said, rolling his eyes as he passed the shopping list over. He'd even gone to the trouble of spelling out exactly which brands to get, to make it as simple and straightforward as possible so Sherlock wouldn't somehow end up getting shampoo instead of milk again.

The kettle switched off, and John turned to the cupboard where they kept the tea. With a sigh, he shuffled through the various options of herbal tea that wouldn't require milk. “I trust you with my life, but I can't even trust you to do the shopping....”

Sherlock didn't reply as John put the teabag in his mug and poured water over it. When he turned around to head for his chair, he found Sherlock standing stock-still in the doorway, staring blankly at him.

“Sherlock? You okay?”

He just continued to stare, one hand holding his violin in a precarious grip, one clutching the shopping list.

John waved his hand in front of Sherlock's eyes to get his attention. “Hello? Earth to Sherlock!”

Finally, Sherlock blinked and seemed to snap out of his reverie. “You...trust me with your life?”

John frowned. “Yes?” He waited for the punchline, the moment Sherlock would somehow turn it all around and end up mocking him.

Instead, Sherlock just blinked rapidly, as if the thought baffled him. “Really?”

“Yes. I think you've saved it enough times by now to have earned that, at least.”

Sherlock still looked flummoxed. “No, but you...truly? You really, honestly trust me with your life?”

“Yes. Now can I sit down, or are you going to make me stand here to drink my tea?”

With a start, Sherlock stepped aside and let John pass. John sat down in his comfortable chair with a sigh of relief and took his first sip. Chamomile hadn't been what he'd been craving all day, but it wasn't unpleasant. Maybe if the rain let up a little, he'd pop down to the corner store once he'd finished his tea and....

John followed Sherlock with his eyes as he slowly walked over to his chair and sat down, moving as gingerly as a bird-watcher trying not to frighten away a rare bird. He watched John as if he were the most fascinating specimen he'd ever seen.

Continuing to sip his tea, John determined not to let the staring faze him. He'd endured much worse from Sherlock, after all. He hadn't intended his words to have such an impact on Sherlock, but he supposed it wasn't a normal sort of thing for people to say in this day and age.

But then, nothing around Sherlock was ever 'normal.'

#ask and you shall receive #catkin-morgs-kookaburralover #ask games #let me count the ways #bbc sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #i set this somewhere around the end of season 1/beginning of season 2 #don't know why it took me so long to write this but it's like i had some kind of mental block #hopefully this isn't too much like that moment in the sign of three

[imchronicallydepressed]

☆This is still a work in progress, but this is mostly what the first part will be. I will most likely post this on Archive of our Own at some point, just cause some people might prefer to read it on there.

☆I absolutely adore feedback, so please let me know if I can use some work on certain spots or even if it's just to tell me you enjoy it.

☆Double spacing exists solely cause I felt it looked better, I may take it away. Idk

☆ENJOY, PLEASE

Metal Institute

Pt.1

♠︎♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♠︎

You're not good enough

You'll never be good enough

Everything you do only leads to disappointment

Your family hates you

Your mother

Your sister

Even Your father

They all hate you

"Shut up."

You're a mistake and that's all you'll ever be in this life

"You're wrong."

Why do you think they put you in here then? Do you think this is some camp? Get to play around outside all day then go sleep in a tent? Tell stories around the campfire while indulging in sweets?

You're living in a fucken fantasy, Glam.

A laugh. "My name isn't Glam. It's Sebastion and You're nothing but a voice in my head, schizophrenia as the doctors call it. Father put me in here to make me better and that's exactly what the doctors are doing." A smile crossed his lips.

Blasphemy and you know it. We both know it. I'm your conscience and you need to accept that cause guess what, You're stuck with me.

You hate the name Sebastion and you hate playing the Violin. You love rock music and your best friend was a guy you met by the dumpster, remember that?

"I don't know what you're talking about. Father never allowed me to have friends and I would never make friends with someone near the dumpster no less."

How about your favorite song, huh? What about Twisted Sister?

"That music is unholy, shouldn't even be legal. It's rubbish. Bach and Vivaldi are-"

Bach and Vivaldi are the real rubbish. You hate that shit. That's all you were forced to listen to, forced to play.

The father you claim to love you beat you with a ruler. Remember that?! Remember how he made you bleed?! All because you were off by an eighth of a pitch!

"Stop it. You're lying."

These doctors that you claim are helping you are doing the fucken opposite! They're brainwashing you into staying under your father's thumb!

You should've ran, should've went back to your friend, but instead you stayed and look what happened! He beat you and now your in a mental asylum! All because you didn't want the type of life he was making you have!

"S-Shut up!" His hands went to his face, covering his eyes as tears slowly began to trickle down. It wasn't true, was it? His father wouldn't lock him away just cause he... wanted a different life, right?

Look at yourself! Look at your wrists! Look at the scars your father inflicfed upon you! Look at the marks from the binds that held you down while the doctors performed their sick experiments on you! What about your ankles? Tied so damn tight that it nearly cut off blood flow, all so you couldn't escape!

Look at those wounds covering your body and tell me that I'm not speaking the truth.

He moved his hands down from his face, leaning over to the dim moonlight that shown in through the plexiglass window. Tears rolled off his cheeks now, one after another as he examined his wrists, the scars that will forever remain due to his dear father.

Look at them, Glam.

Tell me, does this look like something a loving father would allow? Would a loving father allow such experiments to be had on his one and only son? Would a loving father beat their son?

He placed his hands over his mouth, trying to muffle the soft sobs that followed his tears. He'd been so far gone with all the 'treatments' that he blantly accepted them. He blantly accepted being strapped to a cold metal table, allowing the doctors to inject God knows what into his veins.

The food he ate, the beverages he'd recieved... who knows what was in them, what sort of shit he was being slipped. Not to mention the effects he'd been feeling. The nausea, the headaches, the fuzzy memories, and now he was hearing voices...

You finally get it, don't you?

Your father doesn't love you. You will forever be a disappointment in his eyes and you will forever be in your sisters shadow.

"L-Leave Lydia out of this... she doesn't deserve to be... placed on the same platform like father." He spoke again, dragging his hands down his face and pulling his legs up.

As much as he despised being constantly compared to the likeness of his sister, she'd never once laid a hand on him. She'd actually used to be the one to bandage him up when they were younger, while their mother hid in the shadows, too scared to stand up for her children.

Tell me, Sebastion... what sort of platform does your loving father deserve to be put on? What sort of outcome does he deserve in all this?

"Outcome? He won't get to receive the deserved outcome. In the end, I'm stuck in here and... those doctors will continue to try and... 'fix me'."

Oh, don't you worry about that. He will get his fill of Karma. Don't frazzle your pretty mind with such worry. Besides, you have me! I will get you out of here.

"How will you help me escape? You're nothing but my own conscience. Besides, the guards in this place are armed."

You needn't worry. All in due time. Why don't we look at the future, though? Why don't we look at what will come to your father?

So tell me, when we do escape, and we will by any means necessary, what end does your father deserve?

He began to laugh, his eyes seeming to fill the dark room with vivid thoughts. Then his laughing grew. It became louder and louder, more maniacal. The things he was seeing, the actions he was performing... Violent actions. The same actions he had once written down, the same actions his father had confronted him about upon finding his journal.

He still felt like such an idiot for that mistake. If he just... double checked, and made sure that the 'line of defense' wasn't at a risk of being found out about. None of this would have happened. He might still be stuck at home, sure, but he'd have his best friend. He'd have access to his records. He'd have access to THE record.

"I'll tell you what he deserves! I'll tell you what end I want to grant him!" He stood, going to the window and placing his hands firmly upon it, glancing up at the moon.

"I want to see his blood spill. I want to beat him with that fucken ruler until he's begging for mercy. Maybe even a baseball bat!" He turned, facing the darkness of the room, more laughing emitting from his mouth. Now he really did sound like he belonged in such a place.

"I want him to suffer and bleed, the same way I had to. I want to see that bastard cry and beg for forgiveness!" He could only continue to laugh as he fell to his knees, the vision growing more and more realistic by the second.

Glam ran his fingers through the tangled mess of hair, looking up at the ceiling for a moment with more maniacal laughter.

"Maybe I'll make him play the Violin. Then I can stand there and criticize every bar and note he plays! Slap his wrists until blood it dripping to the floor!"

Good! Good! You're getting the hang of it! That's the spirit! You're spine is tingling with the excitement, the anticipation!

So remind me, what's your name again?

"Glam! My name is Glam..." He spoke calmly now, placing his hands on the ground in front of him.

Right, you're finally getting it. What else do you know?

"I-I have a best friend... what was his name again?" He glanced around the moon lit room for a moment before scratching his head, fingers getting tangled in the matted mess of hair.

You know this answer, Glam. Don't expect me to help you with such stupid questions.

"I-I don't remember..."

You need to remember him! Don't let your memory start fading away, now think harder. What was his fucken name?!

He held his head in his hands for a moment, more tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He couldn't remember him, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't remember his name, why he was called that...

Just... who he was physically. What he looked like, how he had helped Glam through the bullshit. The messy brown hair, the disgusting green jacket, that annoying voice and those horrid yellow teeth.

"C-Chive..." He finally mumbled to himself after a moment. That was his name, right? He knew it at least started with a C.

Good boy, Glam. You're making progress. Do not forget Chive. Don't forget what he looked like or what he did for you. If you forget him, then that might as well be the end.

Glam put his face in his hands again. Don't forget? How was he supposed to manage that when he was being tortured and experimented on day in and day out. Hell, he barely remembered the last this he ate.

The fact of the matter was that without his friend, he'd never discover the beauty of rock music. The beauty outside of that fucken prison of a house. Sure, he had to deal with some... painful repercussions, but it was so worth it. Getting to play in front of a crowd, especially play music he was actually proud of? It was the best feeling in the world to him.

"He probably thinks I abandoned him..." He gripped his hands into fists. "M-my one and only friend... thinks I abandoned him..."

Who would ever know what became of Glam outside of his family. -He was sent away to a special music school, one that didn't allow such... worthless talent to blindly be accepted- That was probably along the lines of what he'd say to the school anyways. Chive would never step foot near his front door, so it's not like he'd come knocking.

Stop worrying. We'll get out of here in no time. Soon enough you'll be back at his side and the two of you will be playing again before you know it. You'll even have your favorite record back.

Remember that song Glam? It's your favorite.

He began to chuckle softly, tears still rolling down his cheeks. "We're not gonna take it..." He started singing, the vocals raspy and sloppy.

No! We ain't gonna take it!

"We're not gonna take it anymore..." He pulled his knees back to his chest, tears continuing to flow as his off key singing kept up, his voice seeming to echo in the emptiness that was his confinement cell.

That song. It'd got him to discover life outside of classical bullshit. Now it was gonna be the song to help him escape this hell. No matter the cost.

#metal family #metal family glam #childhood trauma with guitars #mf glam #Metal Institute #Ive been hyping it up for a few days #finally at a comfortable spot to where I can post this #scared af that ya'll might hate it #I am accepting feedback with open arms #Not the final product #When I do eventually post it to Archive a few things might be edited and changed #keep that in mind #Enjoy ya'll #This took a lot of confidence to post tbh #Im scared it will get nothing but hate #lol #metal family fanfic #fanfic

[davidkendall]

I've ranted about this elsewhere, but I wanted to share the rant here, too.

Pictured is a Getzen trumpet. My Getzen trumpet, from my high school and college trumpet-playing days (along with all the mutes that went with it). To be fair, I haven't played it in decades. And, to be fair, I had left it in what I thought was the relative safety of my ex's attic. I have bins of stuff of hers; she had some stuff of mine. On Saturday, we finally orchestrated a long-sought-after (by me) exchange of stuff. While she had mentioned that there had been a leak in the roof several years back, she did not mention that the trumpet case had been soaked, and that she had never done anything - like, anything - to dry it out. So, my trumpet has been sitting in a soggy case for, literally, years. I mean, the case was still very heavy from water just sitting in it. As you can see, it did not hold up well to that.

As I said, I haven't played in years. But, that trumpet does have a soft spot in my heart. My dad bought it for me, back in the day, when it became apparent that I was a more than decent high-school trumpet player. Everyone else was getting a Bach; I got a silver Getzen; not only was it unique, but it was the same kind Doc Severinsen of the Tonight Show played. And when I showed up in school with it, it got a lot of "oooooos" and "ahhhs". (I've done some research over the weekend; it was (and is) a very good horn and I'm sure my dad spent a pretty penny on it, back in the day.)

But what really bugs me is that it just sat, in a wet case, for years. No care or consideration for it, at all. I mean, it's clear that it was never even opened after it got wet; it just sat in a soggy case. And in the meantime, I stored all of her stuff safely, in secure, water-proof bins, and I delivered those bins of pristine condition. Meanwhile, I get this. (There was another bin of computer programs and paperwork, also destroyed by water. All trashed now.)

Fortunately, a local music store specializes in instrument clean-up and restoration. I took the trumpet there today and the young woman in charge of fixing instruments assured me the horn was salvageable. It'll take some work, and about $350, but it's worth it to me. First of all, my dad got this for me, so there's a sentimental value to it. And, once I'm gone, someone can get something for the trumpet, because, in good shape, it's worth a lot more than $350.

But I'll never understand why people can't take care of things entrusted to them.

#personal rant #rant posting

[tortoisesshells]

drabble meme: either 34 (stars) or 67 (playing the melody) with dealer's choice for characters? :)

34. stars

“You’re not nearly as quiet as you think, you know,” said Elizabeth in the dark, dropping down to the deck of the Pearl besides the still-filthy rag-pile that had, in another life, been James Norrington.

“Neither are you,” he replied.

She replied that she had not been trying to be quiet, and he, bad-temperedly, half-slurred, said that while the moon and stars were in the sky she might try it.

This was new, and she could not say she liked it; she did not have to put up with it, either. Elizabeth sat in the dark a few moments longer, and after the rag-pile offered neither an apology nor a snore, she slunk back below.

67. playing the melody

“All the truly fashionable men in London, Captain Norrington,” said Elizabeth, hitting a wrong note on the harpsichord with such deliberation as (she hoped) to have successfully convinced most of Port Royal that it had been correct, and Bach’s composition to have been flawed, “Have taken up the flute – or so my cousins took great pains to tell me.”

Captain Norrington made a polite noise at her. She supposed this to be significant, but could scarcely say: since her return to Port Royal from England, he’d been another man entirely – or perhaps she was a different person entirely, since she had been gone a year to see her family and be paraded around all the drawing rooms of London to see who would best suit pretty, polished Miss Swann and her father’s thousands of pounds. She was not too sorry to have turned up her nose at the one or two who had convinced her Aunt Bertram – even if one of them would have been a baronet someday – even if it had meant her father looked at her more carefully now, as though he was not always quite sure what he was seeing.

But she had been silent too long, and Captain Norrington cleared his throat and, after he had turned the page for her, asked quietly: “If you had rather another attendant, Miss Swann –?”

Send me a number and two characters, and get a five sentence drabble!

#fic #my fic #pirates of the caribbean #elizabeth swann #james norrington #do i want them to be happy? yes. am i capable of writing them happy? signs point to no. #anyway if it turns out there's deleted scenes after all these years of jimothy n & elizabeth sniping at each other on the Pearl in DMC; #i /would/ be a very happy writer.

[raised-u-fr0m-perdition]

the girl that kindness forgot | 5

TALK ABOUT IT SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW

Quote of the chapter: “What’s that for? A sort of Boy Scout agent swearing thing you’ve learnt?”

…

"What's a piano doing in my living room?" Lockwood fumed, glaring at me while I was finishing a mug of coffee. 

"Place was feeling a little numb. The piano made it more homely." 

"This is my home. It's already homely, that's why it's called a home- you know what? I can't be asked. Where's George?" He left the room, leaving me in the living room. I ran my hand lightly over my dad's old piano, my thumb stroking our names carved into the right hand corner, filled in with gold ink. It was beautiful, made with mahogany. I pulled the stool out, taking the cover off carefully and running my hands over the keys. And that's when I thought about our song. That beautiful song that we made our own. That's when my hands started to play and I started singing the words.

“I walked across an empty land I knew the pathway like the back of my hand I felt the earth beneath my feet Sat by the river and it made me complete

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone? I'm getting tired and I need someone to rely on

I came across a fallen tree I felt the branches of it looking at me Is this the place we used to love? Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone? I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

And if you have a minute why don't we go Talk about it somewhere only we know? This could be the end of everything So why don't we go Somewhere only we know Somewhere only we know

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone? I'm getting old and I need someone to rely on So tell me when you're gonna let me in I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

And if you have a minute why don't we go Talk about it somewhere only we know? 'Cause this could be the end of everything So why don't we go Somewhere only we know? Somewhere only we know…” I reached up to wipe a tear, but something stopped me.

"What's that awful song?" Lockwood had appeared again, but Lucy was behind him, trying to whisper something urgently. "Honestly, you could play anything, Bach, Mendelssohn, Einaudi and you choose that?" 

"Lockwood!" Lucy snapped, eyes steely. "Can I have a word with you outside?" 

"Like- outside, outside?" 

"Out. Side." She took Lockwood outside, slamming the door. I ran upstairs, closing my suitcase and picking up my jacket, putting it on before calling my chauffeur, walking downstairs. 

"Thanks, Marco." I cut the call, and found George on the landing. 

"Where are you going?" The look on my face said enough, and then the truth dawned upon him.

"He insulted it, didn't he?" I nodded, fighting back tears. "I bet Lucy's having a right go at him right now, and speaking of which, so should I. Just... take care of yourself, yeah?" 

"Thanks, George." I went out of the front door, and sat in my car with my driver, unnoticed by either Lucy or Lockwood. 

"Do you have any idea what you just did?!" Lucy scolded, folding her arms. 

"Insulting a stupid song." 

"That's no stupid song. Artemis' father used to sing it to and with her all the time. It was their song. And they didn't even get a proper goodbye, so you've been a real flippant jerk." Lockwood had a brutal realisation of what he did. He had plenty of memories of his parents and every mention of them broke him inside bit by bit. And his rival was suffering the same losses and he tore her right down to the ground. 

"I..." For the first time, he had no words. 

"You need to apologise to her." 

"Lockwood!" George was running down the steps, and he looked mad too. "Artemis just left and you didn't even notice!" 

"Left?" Lucy gasped. 

"Where did she go?" Lockwood asked. 

"To SP3CTR HQ of course. She even left a note at the table saying she couldn't bear with this anymore. Apparently something was getting too overwhelming." 

"We can't do this without her. We need to get her."

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I couldn't be around those three. Every day my communication powers broadened and I could feel it all piling on me like a tower of Jenga, ready to collapse on me at any given moment. 

"Miss Hernandez, Inspector Barnes is here to see you." Laila called, so I stopped looking through my bookshelves for something, one thing that could help me. 

"Send him in." I straightened my suit just as Barnes walked in, stopping in front of my desk. 

"Good morning, Miss Hernandez." He greeted, nodding.

"Same to you, Barnes. Is the transaction done?" 

"Yes, it's paid. Anything else you need me to do?" 

"Yeah." I paused before looking at him. "Have you ever heard of a ghost with a psychical connection and a direct satanic connection?" 

"Never." He walked over to a sketch I'd drawn and was studying relentlessly. "Is that it?" 

"Yeah." I clicked my tongue. "This is what killed my dad and put my family in ghost lock. It gave me powers and now it's haunting every single memory or dream I possess."

"Is it not a Type 3?" 

"Visitors, phantoms, they can't hold tangible objects. This one was holding a the most ancient and valuable relic in history. Satan's dagger." A look of disbelief and fear unusually crossed Barnes's face; no one had seen Satan's dagger since it being forged. Until it resurfaced in the attempt to murder my family.

"It's not possible. It went missing right after it was forged." 

I pointed to the scar over my eyebrow, the gap and scar both visible. "Is it really impossible?"

"It attacked you with Satan's dagger?" 

"Yeah." We had a long pause. A tense one. 

"Does Lockwood and Co know about this?"

"I left them today. They don't know about this ghost attacking with Satan's dagger. It's too distracting." 

"Good. I don't want Lockwood's nosy busybody self to poke into this." 

I nodded, folding my arms. "Agreed." 

"In the meantime, I'll get one of my junior officers to scan the shelves, try and get you a few books to work this out. While that's happening, I need you to keep those three at bay." I got buzzed through my earpiece, so I held my finger to my earpiece. 

"Yeah, Laila?" 

'You have Anthony Lockwood waiting for you downstairs. Should I send him up after your meeting with Inspector Barnes?' 

"No. I don't want to talk to him." I heard vague chatter, before she spoke again.

'He insists. Should I still refuse?' 

Why the heck is he so stubborn?! "Send him up only after Barnes is safely out." I turned back to Barnes, "Lockwood's in the lobby. I have an impromptu meeting with him in about a minute or two." I checked my watch, opening a drawer and hiding the papers. "In short, I'll prevent them from knowing, you stop harking at Lockwood to fire Lucy, you give me books in and return I supply money for DEPRAC." I smirked. "I know I already was, but it seems like a fair exchange, eh?" 

Barnes chuckled lowly, nodding. "One thing about you that I've realised recently, Miss Hernandez, is that when it comes down to it, you are a tough customer." 

"Wasn't I always?" 

"Yes, but for some stupid reason I'm realising that now. You're a force to be reckoned with, Miss Hernandez. This unidentified ghost should be scared of you." He nodded before leaving through the lift, so I lifted my hand to my earpiece. 

"Send him up." I sat down on my chair, propping my legs up on the table. My arms were folded elegantly, staring right at the point where I knew Lockwood would emerge from. 

"Miss Hernandez?" Laila called. "It's Mr Lockwood." 

"Send him in." Lockwood trudged awkwardly out from behind the display wall beside the elevator, looking extra guilty, until he saw how I was sat. 

"Why does that look incredibly rehearsed?" He mused, looking up and down at my setup. I smirked, relishing the confusion in his eyes. 

"That's because it is." I stared at him blankly, "So, Mr Lockwood, how may I help you?" 

"Don't act like you don't know me well." He said, shaking his head. "I just... I..."

"You what?" I swung my legs off the table nimbly, getting up. 

"I... I don't really know how to say it-" 

"Just say it." I sneered, slowly strutting forward. Slowly, but dangerously. 

"Like I said, I don't know how-"

"It's easy enough." He took a step backwards, looking a little threatened. "Just say it." 

"I-" 

"You wanna know why you can't say it?!" I raised my voice a little, pure fury filling my veins and tingling my cells till my very core was burning with a violet flame, my anger expelling more of itself from my body. I was a ticking time bomb, and this seemed like the time I was ready to explode. "Because Anthony John Lockwood can't make any mistakes! He finds someone associated with him to blame when something goes wrong and he tears their life down bit by bit then builds up another brick wall reinforced with tungsten so they can't get through! And guess who you've done that to?! Me! So if you're going to apologise, apologise for everything you've done to me!" I finished my rant, breathing heavily and still fuming as if my heart was on fire.

All I got from him was silence. 

"Apologise." I ordered, stepping forward. "Apologise!" I stepped forward again, seeing his hand twitch towards his rapier. Good, he's scared. "APOLOGISE!" 

"I'M SORRY!" He yelled almost immediately after, snapping under the pressure of my screaming. Those were the only two words I wanted to hear from his mouth for two years. I wonder why it took so long. 

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"Arty, are you ok?" Lockwood asked, hoisting himself onto his knees on the cold marble floor of the church. I was lying on the ground, barely saved by Lockwood from an unexpected attack from a Type 3. “That was close.” 

“I’m alright.” I stood up, picking up my rapier and holding it tight. “Where d’you suppose it went?” 

“I don’t know, it just… vanished.” I turned to the side, spotting it flying towards us, so I shoved Lockwood out of the way and timely swung my blade, the metal passing right through it and making it scream in pain. “Nice one!” 

“No time for amenities! Get the chain and a flare.” He ran over to the bag, desperately rifling through it. “Hurry up!” 

“Sod off, I’m trying!” I was blasted back by a powerful surge of energy, hitting the wall and feeling dizzy from the impact, but I reached for the vial of Greek fire in my pocket. 

“LOCKWOOD!” I screamed, “NOW’S NOT THE TIME TO SLACK!” 

“It’s buried somewhere in here-“ I had no choice, being centimetres away from being ghost touched, so I opened and flung the vial of Greek fire at the Type 3, diving out of the way just in time. It screeched, trying to fight off the lethal substance, but then I pulled out something Lockwood didn’t expect me to use. 

“A satanic containment vessel? But that’s off book!” He protested.

“And a safe way to contain a Type 3. I got it from my dad’s old library.” The vessel was a small hexagonal box with the symbol of Satan on the top, and as it came face to face with the ghost in agony, the symbol glowed and within a second, the box turned black and the symbol red. I breathed heavily, shaken from almost experiencing death yet again. Taking out my knife, I unscrewed a painting and started breaking down a small hole in the church’s wall, hiding the box inside before bricking it up again and securing the painting again. 

“Arty, talk to me.” I walked over to the bag, took one second to search through it, and there it was. The flare and chains. I grabbed them and held them up, seeing red. 

“Arty-“ 

“Don’t you dare call me Arty, Lockwood. You put our lives in danger!” He flared up too, immediately rushing to his own aid. 

“Me?! If you’d given me some more time-“ 

“Time?! When a powerful Type 3 was trying to kill your partner? I would’ve been with you in a second but you, you just took your sweet time.” 

“Me? I did everything perfectly!” 

“YOU PUT OUR LIVES IN DANGER! AND YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO BLAME IT ON ME!” 

“I WOULDN’T FALSELY ACCUSE SOMEONE! WHAT KIND OF PERSON DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?!” 

“CLEARLY SOMEONE WHO ONLY THINKS ABOUT THEMSELVES!” He breathed in and out, trying to regain his composure.

“Take that back.” He quietly ordered, brown eyes furious.

“I won’t take back the truth, Lockwood. You’re an arrogant, selfish narcissist.” I spat. “And I’m surprised I didn’t notice that sooner.” 

“I’m nothing like you. Painted yourself a glorified hero, when in truth you’re nothing without your rich family and your weapons. Take those away and what are you?” He sneered, making me lose my patience. I dropped my weapons, swung a leg around his shoulder, leant forward and performed a swift takedown, then I got up and stamped on his rapier, breaking it cleanly in two. 

“A better person.” I replied, holding back tears by digging my nails into my palm. “Kipps was right. I never should’ve let you in.” I picked up my rapier and flares, kicking down the door and leaving a coughing Lockwood on the floor, prepared to take my revenge. 

By ending up as the most influential person on the planet.

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“I am sorry that I blamed the Type 3 on you. I am sorry that I made your life miserable every day for something that wasn’t even your fault. I am sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most. I am sorry for insulting something that meant a lot to you. But the thing I’m most sorry about…” He took a deep breath, “is that I let you leave that church without apologising myself. It takes me so long to realise my mistakes and this time it went too far. I broke you, and you built yourself up into someone I couldn’t recognise and that is all my fault.” He continued talking, but I couldn’t hear him due to a ringing building up in my head, pressing painfully on my thoughts. There was nothing outside the glass windows that acted as the exterior walls of my office, nothing inside. 

Then what was it? 

I spotted a shadowy figure standing on the rooftop opposite, and instantly the ringing became louder and more painful. My hands flew to my head, my chest rising and falling rapidly and my vision blurring. 

“Miss Hernandez?” Even Lockwood’s voice was muffled, the pressure building and collapsing like the weight of 1000 tons was held up by a toothpick, and as that weight fell on my head, so did I, but someone caught me. “I’m here, Miss Hernandez, what’s going on?” 

“Emergency button…” I whispered, barely finding the energy to speak, “desk… press it…” I felt my body rest on something soft, and thirty seconds later someone rushed in, and I blacked out as I lost all the strength that was put into keeping me awake. 

I gasped for air, my eyes flying open. I felt my forehead, neck and checked my hands, and then looked at myself up and down and found that I was covered in a shock blanket. 

“She’s awake.” Laila approached me, using a scanner to check my temperature. “How are you feeling, Miss Hernandez?” 

“Much better, thank you, Laila.” I breathed in reply, trying to recollect the events, for it was all so blurry. “What happened?" 

"Mr Lockwood said you were crying out in pain and then collapsed. However you were awake enough to tell him to press the emergency button, and it's good that he did. Do you have any idea what happened?" 

"I do." I answered. "I can't tell him, though." 

"He was worried sick for you. I think you should tell him. You never know, he could help you." She took her clipboard and went to talk to Lockwood, who ran straight for me right as I was getting up from the sofa. 

"Miss Hernandez!" He gasped. "Are you ok?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine, I think. Y'all can clear out, by the way." I waved my hand at the medics in the room plus Laila, who all filtered out.

"Something happened to you and I don't think we can pass it off as nothing. You were gasping for breath, as if someone had slit your throat and your hands went to your neck at some point." Lockwood rambled, looking calm but he was freaking out inwardly. It was radiating off of him. 

"I'd already discussed with Barnes to not tell you, but I think I should." I went in my drawers and took out the papers filled with sketches. "Before the attack on my family, my talent was touch. But after it... I had all three. I could see death glows, hear visitors, wraiths, everything and what I touched I could examine perfectly. Then it turned to psychic connections not only with the dead, but with the living. If I tune in properly, I can hear what others are thinking, and it was cool until..." 

"Until...?" 

"I met Annabel Ward." I panted, the rant taking away my breath. My fingers started clicking as I paced, my natural reflex when I got overly nervous. "She spoke to me, begged me to help her and so I told her that I would. And there's one last thing." I ran my hand through my hair, handing the papers to Lockwood. "This... is following me. Not just in real life. It appears in my dreams, my memories, and it always has a fixation on slitting my throat with-"

"Satan's dagger." Lockwood interrupted, thumb rubbing over the drawing of it on the paper. "Do you have a classification for this?" 

"Type 4s are theorised to have some vague and weak connection to the devil. This one transcends the category of Type 3 and is able to hold the most dangerous relic to ever exist. This isn't even a Type 4. This thing that's chasing me? It has a direct connection to Satan. It's a Type 5." 

"Oh, Jesus." Lockwood freaked out, running a hand through his hair as well. "How are we going to stop this?" 

"I don't know."

"Well, we'll figure out a way to fix this, Miss Hernandez, I promise." He smiled, something genuine and not spiteful. 

"Call me Artemis." I swiftly said in reply, bringing a grin to his face. 

"Artemis." He whispered, but I caught it.

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Are you kidding me?! 

I watched in outrage as Lucy and I's names were splashed as the superstars of the case. I never said no, but Lucy did. And Lockwood just double crossed her. 

Lucy switched off the TV, furious. "I told you to leave me out of it " 

"And I told you I'd handle it. What are you so worked up for? It's all true." Lockwood answered flippantly and nonchalantly, making my blood boil. We're on better terms, but he still sometimes annoys me.

"We haven't even solved the case yet." Lucy protested. 

"You just dangled Lucy and I out as bait. What if we're now on Hugo Blake's target list?" I snapped. 

"Well then, we'll look after you two, Arty. You two are our biggest assets." My head whipped round to face him so fast even George backed off, and he wasn't even the target. 

"Asset?! Is that all we are to you? A money making machine that you can just make some dough off of and leave us on the side of the road?" I scolded. "You must be laughing your head off inside right now because of how stupid I was to trust you yet again." My trust in him was as thin as ice, and even a tap that's just too hard could break it completely. And Lockwood was tapping too hard. "You're the same as you always were, only interested in your benefit." Lucy and I ran out of the room, slamming the door. I went upstairs while Lucy traipsed to the basement, and I collapsed on my bed, pulling out my phone and going to voicemail, playing the one on the top of the list. 

'Hey, Arty.' I heard my dad's voice through the speaker, and god was it relaxing. 'I came to your showcase today. You were absolutely brilliant. All I could think when I saw you was: That's my little shooting star. That's my girl. And I am so proud to be your father. Keep shining for me, Dad.'  

I played the next one, leaning my head against my banister and just listening to my dad's voice, remembering him and picturing him saying that face to face with me. 'Hey, my little shooting star. I was driving to work today and they played our song on the radio. When I get home, we're going to play it together, just like we always do. Love, Dad.'

'Hey, my shooting star. I'm so sorry for what happened today. I love you so much, you know that? I'd do anything for you. Heck, I'd even give my life for you. Just... forgive me, please? Love, Dad.'

'Hey, Arty. I got the call from your mother and I'm coming straight there, just hang in there for me.' I'd been hit by a car that day. The first person that I saw when I opened my eyes was my dad. He was the world to me, and now he's gone. I listened to multiple more, until I got to the last one he sent me, ten minutes before he was attacked. 

'Hey, my little shooting star.' I heard a pause, 'Well, not so little anymore. I want you to know that your mother and I love you very much, and you'll be such an amazing person when you become an adult and you choose what you want to do and I know you'll follow it with your heart's passion. I... I can't believe your mother and I will miss all of that. Something bad will happen today, sweetheart, and if we don't come out of it alive, then stay strong for us. The world needs a person like you. I love you, Artemis, and if you're listening to this, just know that even when we're gone, we're always with you.' 

He knew.

They knew.

My parents knew that they'd die that day... and they did nothing to prevent it. 

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨*•.¸¸.•*•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨*•.¸¸.•*•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸

"You'll be alright." I had been called by Barnes, and as an associate of Lockwood, he came with me. When we spotted Wade and Barnes approaching us, we both stood up. 

"You can rest, Lockwood, it's Miss Hernandez we need." 

"No, because there's nothing you can say to Miss Hernandez- Artemis... that you can't say to me." Lockwood refused defiantly.

"Wait here or you can wait in the cells." I went upstairs with them both, being led into a small room with a two-sided window made of ballistic glass. 

"You and your friends claim that Hugo Blake murdered Annabel Ward, yes?" Barnes asked, guiding me to the chair. 

"Correct." 

"Blake is on the other side of that door. Use your connection to Annabel to get the truth. Expose him as the murderer." I could suddenly see him, but I turned to Barnes. 

"That isn't how it works."

"Channel her. I know you have the power to do it."

"No, I actually can't!"

"Where's those extraordinary powers everyone's been talking about?" The talking and pressure was getting overwhelming, the thoughts of Hugo, Barnes and Wade mixing together into one until I couldn't distinguish them all separately. I looked briefly towards Hugo, but he flickered and for a split second I saw the Type 5, writing something with blood on the window. 

Y

O

U

'

R

E

N

E

X

T

YOU'RE NEXT.

I cried out, slamming the button and unaware that Barnes had been talking this entire time. I stood up, regaining my composure and straightening my suit. "I hope that was a suitable waste of our time. Did it satisfy you?"

"This isn't the moment for pleasantries. Hugo Blake has friends in high places and he has some very good lawyers. I can't hold him for long." I turned to leave, but not before having the final word. 

"Well, Barnes, so do I." I left the room in a hurry, trying to reach the exit as quickly as possible with Lockwood following and calling a taxi. We both got in, and I started to feel my fingers click again, the sound gradually calming me down. But gradually wasn't enough. I wanted to end this. 

"Stop the car." When the car screeched to a halt, I got out and started walking away to who knows where. My feet were just taking me places. 

"What are you doing?!" Lockwood yelled.

"Leaving!" I burst.

"Can we talk about this in the car?! It's far too dangerous out here!"

"There's nothing to talk about. After all, I'm just an asset to you." I spat.

"It's not like that-"

"Yes it is." We both stopped, and again I felt like I was in a cathartic moment, but it still wasn't enough.

"I said I'm sorry about that." 

"No you didn't!" I shrieked. "You clearly don't know anything about me anymore, but that doesn't matter. Whatever gets you on TV or the front page of the newspaper."

"Again, I said I'm sorry." 

"Again, no you haven't." 

"Well, I am. And I'm the one who tried to stop this before it got too dangerous."

"Which shows how little you know!" I retorted. "I can't do this, I really can't. I was just used by Barnes and I saw that Type 5 writing in blood, and I had a hunch that it was meant to be mine. You may be able to turn your emotions on and off like a tap but I am drowning, Lockwood, and I can't just swim out of it so right now I'm kind of thinking that everything would be better if I was gone." I ranted, tears falling down my face.

"I know how that feels." Lockwood reassured. "And we need you. I need you here, with us, because you're Artemis fricking Hernandez, you're like the biggest power figure of the century, if not, the biggest in history. We can't let you go, no matter who or what tries to take you away I will drag you back personally." 

"Barnes will shut you down." I warned. "Lucy's illegal." 

"That's why I was on TV. To show Barnes up and say to hell with the rules. If they can bend them, we can change them."

"But we're nobodies."

"We're not. It's Lockwood and Co and they're in links with the biggest ghost protection company in the world." He grinned sadly, "Just please stay." 

"Just never lie to me again. Swear it." I pleaded.

"I'll never lie to you again. I swear." He took out a flare lamp and lit it, waving it in the air. 

"What's that for? A kind of new Boy Scout agent's swearing thing you learnt?" 

"Nope, there's five shades and three lurkers closing in on us. To be fair, we are in the most haunted part of London."

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨*•.¸¸.•*•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨*•.¸¸.•*•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸

 We approached the front door to Lockwood's house, and when I tried opening the door, it was bolted. From the inside. 

"We have a problem." I called. "It's bolted from the inside. What if Blake came after all?" 

"Through here." Lockwood opened a window, so we climbed through and spotted someone in full black and a full coverage mask. "You find George and Lucy, I'll hold him off. Get back to me when you're done." He turned to the robber, "Can I offer you a cup of tea while you ransack my house? One lump or two?" As soon as he threw the flashlight I ran to the basement, finding Lucy and George having a muffled argument. 

"This isn't the time, guys. When I untie you, get to a safe place. Lockwood and I will deal with it." I used my pocketknife to cut their bonds, yanking out my rapier and running upstairs, parrying a well timed lunge and brutally slashing the robber's stomach, hand flying to the wound to prevent blood spillage, which forced them to jump out of the window and run. 

"D'you guys have any idea what they were after?" I asked Lucy while George and Lockwood came up with conspiracy theories. 

"Yeah." She replied. "The ring. And looks like they got it too." We went downstairs, but I fiddled with the chain around my neck as we did so. The box was empty, causing disdain to everyone. 

"This ruins everything." George sulked, but when Lockwood saw me, he got annoyed. 

"Why are you making that face?" Then the truth dawned on him. "That's your 'I know something you don't' face. You didn't..." I pulled the necklace out and showed them the ring inside, grinning like crazy. 

"You maniac!" 

"You brilliant maniac!"

TAGLIST:

@superpositvecloudshipper @courtneyraeblogs1221 @danis-stuff-is-here

#anthony lockwood x oc #anthony lockwood x reader #artemis hernandez #lucy carlyle #george karim #inspector barnes #flo bones #quill kipps #lockwood and co

[averysexyleon]

excerpt; in which young Karl meets Miranda II

Excerpt from this work, which is on hiatus currently

(A Karl Heisenberg Backstory)

Karl was more inquisitive, and as he slunk toward the stairs to eavesdrop, his father called to him.  

“Play music for our guest.”  Inwardly, Karl was sighing, or screaming.  He hated playing music for other people, but especially when his father was listening.  His family history of music appreciation had ended with him, but that did not stop anyone from demanding he play and do it for their benefit.  He wished he’d gone to bed as well, but reluctantly walked over to the upright pump organ and turned, sliding on the bench, to face Miranda again. 

She was staring at him strangely, like he were a specimen.  Karl tried to ignore it.  “Do you have any requests?”

In the moments that she had to think, August had already decided.  “Bach,” he barked.  

“Shock,” Karl uttered with a sigh, and grabbed one of the books he’d been practicing recently.  Did anyone other than Bach even exist?  To August it was a simple no.  

Luckily, Miranda seemed eager to continue speaking while Karl was playing.  

“Tell me about your boys.  What do they do, what do you intend for their future?  I’m afraid the school in the village is not….well, it’s fine for the basics, but….” 

“They will succeed with private schooling, at least until their mother’s recovery,” was the answer, that caused Karl to roll his eyes and almost miss the keys.  

“Have they shown any interest in helping restore the factory, or any of the land?  Do you think they will stay in this area?” 

“It is up to them,” August responded, which instantly made Karl sit straighter.  “My brother, he has offered to help with university.  He still teaches sometimes, but has many connections.”

“He is the physicist, correct?” 

“I am surprised you know many German physicists,” August said dryly.  

“Well your younger brother’s a bit of a star, isn’t he?  I was required to reach out to him about this property deed when I realized the executor of the will had passed away unexpectedly.  He stated he was too busy on his research to come here.” 

“Yes.”  It was a simple answer.  Miranda was undaunted, and continued.  

“Do you believe either of your sons will have that capacity?  To work in such a field one day.”  

“Karl is very bright,” always a backhanded insult.  Their father could never point out one’s brains without insulting the other one, and yet he continually did it.  And even though Karl was ‘bright’ Karl waited, a knowing grim smile on his face, which his father didn’t see—- “But he is lazy, restless.”  Karl mouthed the words with him.  “Always has been.  Very interested in science but works too fast to learn anything.  He breaks anything he attempts to understand.”  

Both adults laughed at the jab, and Karl thought very strongly about smashing all of the keys at once,  letting the air honk out of the organ and blast them out of their stupid laughter.  But instead he just clenched his jaw and kept playing, vowing to write a letter to his uncle and request that when he visit next, that no Bach be allowed.  

#karl heisenberg #resident evil village #karl heisenberg fanfic #mother miranda

[carewyncromwell]

"I don't really need this in my life... Why don't we forget about it? (Go and take your soul...) (Go and take your soul...)

Thing is -- (Thing is -- ) Time was -- (Time was --) Part of me used to love you: Part of me still does... This light here -- Some become strangers..."

~"Some Become Strangers" by Stevie Nicks

x~x~x~x

Carewyn's dress inspiration // the other main song I listened to while drawing this

x~x~x~x

So I thoroughly blame @dat-silvers-girl for this...but while talking with her about my recent Evan Bach post, I mentioned that since Evan and the remainder of his family is in Westminster, just south of London, and Carewyn ends up settling in London to work for the Ministry of Magic, there would be a very good chance that the two could cross paths, even unknowingly.

When Evan was taking the Tube to work one day as usual, though, he did cross paths with Carewyn -- and on his end, at least, it was very knowingly. What first caught his attention was the teenage boy in his train car talking to someone on his other side.

"Ms. Cromwell? You okay?"

It was the name "Cromwell" that caught Evan's attention. He'd heard it more than once before, of course -- it was a relatively common surname -- but it still made him start every time, since it was Lane's maiden name. And according to that frankly kind of meddlesome witch Donna, Evan knew that his children had gone back to using that surname too, rather than his. When he looked up this time, though, he was confronted with the sight of the teenage boy standing on the train talking to a well-dressed young woman with ginger-red hair, sitting down a short ways away and holding her forehead in her hand.

"Mm...yes," she said lowly, after a moment. She forced a small ruby red smile as she looked up at him. "I just haven't...been in such tight proximity with so many people, in a while. It's...louder, than I remember it."

Evan blanched when he took note of the woman's eyes -- a bit sunken-in, but almond-shaped, and bright blue. However shadowed, they were Lane's.

Evan very quickly turned away, his heart racing. God, why -- why here, why her? Why his daughter? Why here, on his daily commute, right now...?

Was Lane here too? Jacob? God, the thought of seeing either of them almost made Evan feel more nauseous. Seeing Lane after so many years was a prospect that daunted Evan, but seeing his son was almost more terrifying. Jacob had always had a temper, and he'd so strangely latched onto his sister even as a baby that Evan thought it'd be likely he'd have to physically defend himself, if Jacob caught sight of him...that is, if Lane wasn't there to diffuse things. Lane had always been the one to try to calm things down...

Despite himself, Evan scanned the train car, searching for his ex-wife. When he didn't see her or Jacob, he felt the faintest flicker of disappointment, and then a wave of overwhelming relief. Not only did he hate the thought of his estranged family causing a scene...but he didn't think how much more strain his heart could've taken, seeing Lane again after so long...

"Do you not take the Tube much?" asked the teenage boy from behind Evan.

"Well, no. As you know, there are many other ways to get around. But well, considering where we're going, I figured those methods wouldn't be as ideal."

"You can Apparate with other people too, right?" said the boy mischievously. "That sounds fun."

"Mind what you say in public, Erik," said Carewyn, before adding something a bit quieter under her breath. Evan just barely picked out the word "Muggle."

Evan's lips came together tightly. So this boy was like Carewyn and Jacob, then? He was part of that...freak world of theirs too? To think that such a promising young boy would be molded in their image rather than live a normal life, same as Jacob was...

A thought occurred to Evan that made him straighten up sharply. Was this boy -- ?!

When Evan looked at the boy called Erik, though, he found he didn't resemble Carewyn much at all. Plus he looked to be 13 or 14, at least...Carewyn couldn't be his mother: she would've had to have been a mere child herself when he was born, if she had been. And Erik had called her "Ms. Cromwell" -- he couldn't be related to her by blood. If he was her son, he'd have called her "Mother," and if he was her sibling through another marriage (this thought made Evan's stomach squirm), he would've just called her by her name. And yet the way Carewyn spoke to him...it wasn't just platonic, there was something almost maternal there...

Was this boy her stepson, perhaps? Evan wondered. Had Winnie married an older man -- someone already married? She was a young adult now, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she'd be married...she was probably the same age Evan was, when he married Lane. But to marry someone who had a son this old already... Evan couldn't help but frown disapprovingly, imagining his daughter marrying a man a good twenty years her senior.

"Anyway...thanks for this, Ms. Cromwell," said Erik. "Coming with me to the cinema and all."

"Well, I could hardly just drop you off and leave you there," Carewyn said with a wry smile.

"I told you you could."

"You can tell me whatever you want: it doesn't mean I'll agree with it. And besides...this clearly means a lot to you. I want to be there with you for it."

The way Carewyn spoke to Erik startled Evan yet again. It certainly didn't sound like how he expected a mother to speak to her son -- Lane certainly had never sounded so casual with Jacob, and she was always much more coddling of him than Evan himself was. It was almost sibling-esque, the way they interacted -- and yet Carewyn's sentiment still came across as so...maternal, for lack of a better word. So fond and proud...

Evan turned around, just in time to see Erik's snarky expression seemed to visibly soften.

"...Thanks, Ms. Cromwell."

The boy with the curly blond hair then seemed to sober slightly.

"...Ms. Cromwell...I wanted to say I'm sorry. For what I said the other day."

Carewyn blinked, startled.

"To that biddy in Diagon Alley," Erik prompted. "You know, the one who called you my mum."

Carewyn seemed to immediately understand, and her face grew much more gentle. "Erik..."

"I shouldn't have made such a big deal about it," Erik muttered, his eyes awkwardly drifting over to his and Carewyn's reflections in the window. "I mean, yeah, she was stupid to think it, when you're not even that much older than me and we don't look a thing alike -- but well, you do kind of act like my -- like a mum sometimes -- and you were with me while I was getting my school supplies, so it was only logical for her to think it. And well...I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful...you know, for everything..."

"Erik," Carewyn cut him off very firmly. She brought a hand up and took hold of his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "That is the last thing I would think."

She paused. Despite himself, Evan couldn't help but listen that bit more intently, even while trying to not draw attention to himself.

"...After what happened to your mother...I understand you being upset about what that woman said," Carewyn said softly. "Of course I don't think it was right for you to have sworn at her...but I know your anger came out of trauma and pain, not anything vindictive or cruel. And the last thing I'd ever want to do is replace your mother...or your father. I know I never could, even if I wanted to."

Her eyes fell on her own hand on Erik's shoulder rather than staying locked on his.

"...I don't want to be your mother, Erik. I'm very happy just being your guardian, for however long you need me. That's all I sought from the court, and that's all I want to be."

"Guardian." Then Carewyn had adopted this boy, as his legal guardian? Evan tried to envision raising Jacob on his own in his mid-twenties without Lane, and the mental image was intimidating. Being raised by his great-uncle more than his own parents, Evan would've been utterly clueless in being a single parent -- even Lane he always assumed did a better job of it than he ever would have...

Erik's face had lost nearly all of its edge by this point -- if anything, his expression betrayed something much warmer.

"You really are smashing, Ms. Cromwell," he said. "I hope you know that."

His smile then grew a bit more devilish again.

"...So...since you're not mad about what I said...does this mean you'll give me some more of those special lessons you promised me?"

Carewyn gave a loud huff. "Those 'special lessons' are supposed to be to help you defend yourself -- they're not a reward to be taken away when I'm unhappy with you. But I could very well withhold some of the rather nice Christmas presents I've set aside, if you don't learn to clean up your language."

Erik gave a loud, cackling laugh that prompted Carewyn to smile a bit more wryly herself as she got up.

"Well, come on, then -- here's our stop."

Her sparkly starred heels clapped against the floor as she crossed to the closest door. Evan watched his daughter go, wrapping her arm around her ward as the two climbed off the train and into the crowd of the underground station. Then, silently shifting his gaze out the opposite window, Evan watched the wall fly past him as the train picked up steam and sped off toward the next stop.

Because Carewyn had been focused so tightly on Erik and his mind, so as to quiet the thoughts of all the other people on the train she could've picked up, she'd had no idea that she'd been sitting mere feet away from her father. Even if she had chosen to look anywhere besides Erik, it's likely she still wouldn't have noticed him -- for she had no memory of the man's face and would therefore have likely only seen him as a stranger. Which, sadly enough, he practically was, even while they still lived together...

Carewyn was a stranger to him. Evan knew it, and he'd known it, even when she was small. He'd never "gotten" her, largely because part of him had been afraid to -- failing so badly to connect with Jacob had been so painful that the thought of messing up again, and worse, with Carewyn had made him withdraw from her, hesitant to let her in. But there had been moments, here and there, where he'd deeply regretted not knowing her. Times when she -- strangely enough -- almost seemed more like him than Jacob had been. More respectful of the rules -- more interested in pleasing others. And yet Evan knew he truly hadn't known Carewyn. How could he, when it was so blatantly obvious to Lane that she had magic, same as Jacob? And now it was all the more obvious that Carewyn was nothing like Evan. The way she talked to her adopted son -- her "ward"...it was nothing like how Evan had ever talked to Jacob, let alone her. She sounded gentle, affectionate, playful...

She sounded...happy. Raising Erik in her strange World, on her own...Carewyn was happy.

"Are you okay, mister?"

Evan looked up, startled, to see a little girl with cornrows and a sunhat sitting across from him with her mother, who had looked up from her purse with muted concern. It was only when Evan looked up at the two that he saw himself reflected in the window behind him -- and the tear that had leaked out the side of his right eye down his face.

He quickly swept it off his face with one hand.

"Ahem -- yes, I'm...fine."

Feeling embarrassed, Evan turned his focus back out the window, away from the girl and her mother.

Carewyn was happy. It was a thought that was a wave of grief that drowned Evan's soul, and yet...that wave felt strangely comforting, all the same. He stayed floating in that feeling for the rest of his commute, until he finally reached his destination, at which point he walked to work.

Once he reached his office, Evan closed the door and put on an Elvis record as he got to work. It was something he often did, to help pass the time when the day was slow and his depression made it hard for him to soldier through -- and, unbeknownst to Evan, was also what Carewyn herself did, whenever she had trouble focusing on what she was doing.

"Today I stumbled from my bed With thunder crashing in my head, My pillow still wet from last night's tears... And as I think of giving up, A voice inside my coffee cup Kept crying out, ringing in my ears...

'Don't cry, Daddy... Daddy, please, don't cry... Daddy, you've still got me and little Tommy, And together we'll find a brand new mommy... Daddy, Daddy, please laugh again -- Daddy, ride us on your back again -- Oh, Daddy...please, don't cry...'"

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my art #carewyn cromwell #erik apollo #evan bach #lane cromwell #jacob cromwell #my writing #yes elvis is evan's favorite musician #it's kind of the one 'rebellion' he's ever allowed himself given how straight-laced and ridiculously conservative he is #it's also where carewyn got her own love of rock music though she doesn't remember it #she used to 'dance' to evan's elvis records #but hey let's be honest hound dog is a friggin' bop can you blame her #jacob was never as much into elvis his tastes are decidedly more bubblegum #his favorite band is ABBA and he also loves barbra streisand olivia newton-john and the osmonds #lane's more of a judy collins type <3 #and she's also friggin' in LOVE with traditional choir music #oh yeah the movie carewyn and erik are going to see? #star wars episode i: the phantom menace #released in the summer of 1999 one year after the end of the Second Wizarding War #(Erik ends up really not liking it but hey he's the ultimate star wars fan so of course he was excited about seeing it)

[pickinglilahs]

NB!Harry Ch 9

AO3 link, Chapter 1 Ch 8; Ch 10 So, if you read Ch 8 before this one came out, I did have to change the beginning a bit. My dumbass was trying to make them go to class on a Saturday cause I don't know how to count. Also: 🥵 🫣 🔥 18+ MDNI

Haze came back to themself in Draco's arms.

Bach was playing on their Walkman.

Their glasses were gone.

And they were sitting in Draco's lap.

He was sitting on a chair this time, Haze's legs hanging down, not quite reaching the floor. They had their face buried in Draco's chest, one of his hands rubbing their back, the other in their hair.

Safe.

That was the first thing that came through the foggy aftermath of the storm.

Haze felt safe here.

Wrapped up in Draco's arms, surrounded by the smell of vanilla and mint, his soft jumper under their fingers, heartbeat loud in their ear, chest rising and falling against theirs...

Nothing could touch them here.

While they had thought it before, something about it just now struck a chord in them. Like a tuning fork, their whole body began to vibrate.

Stiffening, Draco pulled back to look down at them and was startled to see the tears rushing down their face. "Haze?"

Despite the tears, their eyes were clear, and—even without their glasses, this close—they could see the beautiful eyes looking back at them.

"What's the matter? What happened?" He pulled the hand from Haze's hair to brush the tears from their cheek. He had no idea what had happened, but something had obviously changed.

Haze just shook their head, lunging forward and holding on tight. They buried their face into his neck. Their arms were under Draco's robes; hands fisted in the back of his shirt. They even hooked their feet around the chair's back legs, anchoring the two of them together.

Draco looked to Hermione, lost for what to do. She was staring at the two of them, brow furrowed, and head cocked. When she caught Draco's eye, she shrugged.

She gathered her things and moved to leave.

"Wait!" Draco's quiet voice was a touch frantic, "You're leaving?"

Hermione smiled at them and slung her bag over her shoulder. "You'll be alright. I think you two need to talk." She patted his shoulder as she walked past, leaving without a backward glance.

"What? Hermione!" He tried to call her back, but it was too late. He sighed and buried his face in Haze's curls, the headphones bumping his nose. They were still trembling.

Talk about what? Did she have to be so cryptic? And why did she just leave? Dinner wasn't for another half hour!

Very confused, Draco sat silently, content just to hold Haze. This close, he could faintly hear the music playing. Draco closed his eyes. He didn't recognize the piece, but it was most likely a muggle composer. He was never given those to practice.

Earlier, after she started Haze's music and they were settled in Draco's lap, Hermione had shown him which button started and stopped the music, and explained that the button he had pushed was the 'eject.' Apparently, Haze had a collection of 'cassettes' that all played different music when put into the Walkman.

The one that had been playing the last time was Mozart. Les Petits Reins to be precise. Of all Mozart's pieces, that particular ballet was one of his favorites. As he was reminiscing the hours he had spent playing as a child, Haze slowly stopped shaking.

Eventually, they nuzzled into his neck once more, making Draco laugh. He kissed Haze's head, nuzzling back.

Slowly, Haze released their death grip on Draco's shirt and, eventually, pulled away far enough to look up at him once more. Draco's hands laced behind them, resting on the small of their back.

Haze wiped at their eyes and sniffed. "S-S-So-Sorry."

Draco leaned forward and kissed their forehead. "Nothing to be sorry for."

"I-I-I d-d-didn't-didn't m-mean to-to-to-to cr- mean to cry. I just- I was- I was- I was-I was-"

When Haze started getting frustrated, Draco brought a hand around to rest on their cheek. "Hey, deep breath, okay?"

Draco mimed a deep breath and Haze echoed, albeit shakily. After a few more, they seemed to slump, the tension leaving all at once.

"It's okay that you cried; you are allowed. You've been through so much. I don't know how you've even made it this far without being admitted to Mungo's."

Haze gave a wet chuckle and looked up. Then they shook their head. "N-No. I-I wasn't c-crying 'cause-'cause of that. I-I-I was- I was crying 'cause y-you-you-you-"

They had to pause to take another deep breath and Draco braced himself. He what?

"You m-make me f-feel s-s-safe."

Oh.

Wow.

After everything?

Now Draco wanted to cry.

He settled for placing another soft kiss to Haze's forehead. What was he supposed to say to that? What could he say to that?

When he pulled back, Haze blinked up at him. They had just been so incredibly open and vulnerable with him and he...

The truth.

"I want to keep you safe. I don't want anyone else to hurt you ever again. I want to keep you right here." He tightened his grip on them, hand slipping from their cheek back into their hair. "Forever."

Haze leaned up into the kiss, heart melting. It was firm and passionate, and Haze felt like the only thing keeping them from floating away was Draco's arms around them; his lips on theirs, his soft hair between their fingers, his hand traveling over the exposed skin above their socks, his-

Oh.

Oh!

Gasping, Haze pulled back. "W-Wait. You still- I-I mean- Even though I-I'm-"

Draco pulled them in for another kiss. Soft this time, reassuring. He pulled back after only a second. Resting his forehead on theirs, he murmured, "I told you, it doesn't matter to me. I was confused, you know? But, it doesn't change who you are; who you've always been."

Before Haze could cry again, they pulled Draco's lips back to theirs. He held them so tight, not like he was afraid they would fall apart, but like he was afraid they would be taken away. Like Haze would be the one to change their mind.

Haze felt wanted. Not for who they were or what they could do. Not because of some scar or a stupid prophecy.

Draco wanted them.

They had only been kissing for a moment when they jolted apart once more. Madam Pince had found them. As she screeched at the two of them for PDA, they quickly untangled themselves, grabbed their things, and bolted.

Two corridors later, they paused. Chests heaving, fingers entwined, they leaned back against the wall, side by side. As both of their heartbeats slowed, Haze leaned their head onto Draco's shoulder, a giggle suddenly escaping.

Draco laughed too, and then the two were collapsing to the floor, wracked with laughter. Sitting in a heap, leaning on each other, tears streaming down their faces, stomachs aching, they laughed harder than either could remember.

And it felt good.

The occasional student passed, giving them odd looks, but neither minded. They were in their own little world. A few times, the laughter would calm a bit, only for them to look at each other and start right back up again.

Eventually, the laughter died down enough for them to agree on making their way to dinner. Haze stood first, offering a hand to Draco.

As before, Draco ignored the hand in favor of fixing Haze's skirt for them. Before Haze could pull their hand back to cover their face, Draco took it, standing and kissing their cheek.

"Come on, we should get to dinner before Hermione sends a patronus after us." Draco pulled Haze along, reveling in how easy it was to fluster them.

~~~

After dinner, Draco and Haze joined the rest of the eighth years around the common room fire. Draco took the last free armchair and Haze sat on the arm; legs draped across Draco's lap.

They had both discarded their robes, draping them across the back of the chair. It was almost October, so the castle was already dropping well into 'chilly' at night. But Haze had the fire at their back and Draco's hand on their sock-covered knee.

True, Draco's hand stayed on the fabric, not daring to stray higher, especially in front of everyone. But that didn't mean the absent-minded back and forth of his thumb over the top of Haze's knee didn't spread just as much warmth through them as the fire.

As it was Monday night, there was no alcohol, but Pansy had roped Hermione into showing everyone how to play Twister.

Part of the ex-Slytherins' parole was attending a Muggle Appreciation class. It was basically a modified Muggle studies class but focused more on the useful things Muggles had done and less on how their world operates without magic.

Apparently, their last class was about games, so Pansy had spent the whole weekend acquiring different ones for all of them to play. Haze was deemed the Designated Spinner, as they were uncomfortable playing in a skirt.

Draco pulled Haze completely down into his lap, claiming he was cold and couldn't possibly get up. He also claimed that someone had to keep Haze honest. Everyone rolled their eyes, but no one argued.

Hermione wiggled her eyebrows at Haze, and they threatened to throw the spinner at her.

After twenty minutes and several awkward rounds, Pansy declared that this was a game best played drunk. Everyone agreed and the game was put away.

It was only then that Haze realized that, when Draco had pulled them down into his lap, his hand had shifted to their thigh. The absent-minded movement of his thumb was now brushing over the bare skin right below their skirt's hemline where it had ridden up slightly.

Draco didn't even seem to notice; he was talking with Padma about Charms. He definitely didn't notice that Haze's eyes were closed, all of their attention on the new kind of heat radiating from the touch.

They squirmed and Draco looked down at them, one eyebrow raised.

"Okay?"

Haze bit their lip, Draco's eyes following the motion. His hand suddenly squeezed their thigh, a teasing smile joining their raised eyebrow. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Haze stood abruptly, hands smoothing their skirt before Draco had the chance. They turned and hauled him from the chair, grabbing their things and barely giving Draco enough time to grab his before pulling him from the room.

A few people called a goodnight.

Pansy yelled, "Use protection!"

Laughter followed.

Haze dragged Draco into their room, shutting the door firmly behind them. Draco wasted no time in pinning them to the door.

Mouths connecting and hands traveling, they came together like magnets. Draco picked them up, and Haze wrapped their legs around him as he let the door take some of their weight.

A whimpering moan slipped from Haze as Draco's hands squeezed their thighs, his fingertips playing with the bottom hem of their pants.

Draco shifted, and Haze felt him, his length hard against their core. A deep, rumbling groan left him at the feeling, and Haze moaned in response.

Draco rolled his hips; Haze shifted so the friction hit them just right. They both gasped and Draco trailed kisses down Haze's jaw to their ear. He licked the lobe before nibbling gently and Haze's head thunked back against the door.

Draco pulled another moan from them as he rolled his hips again.

And again.

And again.

Finding a rhythm, he trailed kisses down Haze's neck to the junction of their shoulder.

He bit down.

"Draco!" The gasp that escaped was half sob as their fingers tightened in his hair. One hand moved around his shoulders for better leverage as Haze joined his movements, grinding down against him. Their nails dug into his shoulder as the angle changed and lightning went through them.

Draco moaned into their neck; licking and kissing at the bruise that was sure to form. He trailed back up to their ear.

"Merlin, you have no idea what this skirt does to me." His hands tightened, squeezing so hard Haze was sure to have bruises.

They moaned at the thought.

Haze wanted Draco to mark them.

To claim them.

"Fuck, Haze." His voice dropped off, forehead dropping to their shoulder.

"Mm-mm Dra-co, ple-ease." Their whimpering moans were broken up by Draco's thrusts, the sound putting him suddenly on the edge.

He groaned to himself, "Fuck," before placing a kiss to the bruise whispering, "'Please what' mon ange?"

Haze half sobbed once more before they managed, "Ple-ease! I'm-m so cl-ose. Ple-ease."

Teetering on the edge, Draco put his lips to Haze's ear. "You want to cum?"

They nodded frantically, whimpering.

Draco leaned further into them, one hand coming up to rest cradle their cheek. "Are you going to be good? Wait until I tell you?"

Haze sobbed, nodding again. Draco pulled his face back to look at them, admiring the bliss and desperation on their face. They leaned their head back against the door again, exposing their throat. Draco's hand trailed down, resting gently over it, testing.

Haze moaned, leaning into the touch.

Draco cursed and his fingers twitched tighter, though, not enough to cut off their air. It was a possessive hold, claiming; just enough to control and tilt Haze's head to the side. He thrust a few more times, relishing in how pliant they were under his hands. Then Draco brought his lips back to their ear.

"Then come for me, Ange."

Haze cried out, hands clawing as their body shook.

Draco dropped his head back to their shoulder, biting down once more as he finally let himself fall over the edge. His fingernails dug into the soft skin of their thigh as Haze raked theirs over his scalp and shoulders.

The pain from Draco's bite and the hand around their throat had them choking on a gasp, pleasure spiraling higher. Their body seized as Draco's hips stuttered and he moaned into their skin.

They stayed there for an endless moment, riding on waves of pleasure together. They panted, hearts beating in sync as they slowly came down.

Draco eventually set Haze down on their shaky legs, but he didn't let go. He wrapped both arms around them, holding tight. Standing there, Haze was once again overwhelmed by the feeling of safety. They relaxed into Draco, letting his presence wash over them.

A single tear rolled down Haze's cheek, and they let it. This was what they'd been missing. This was what they'd waited their whole life for.

To feel safe.

Protected.

Loved.

And maybe they weren't in love. Maybe this wouldn't last. Maybe their pasts would come back to haunt them, and fate would tear the two of them apart.

But it didn't matter. It didn't matter because, in that moment, Haze finally felt whole.

And fate be damned if they didn't memorize every second.

#drarry #drarry fluff #drarry smut #drarry love #harry x draco #draco x harry #trans!harry potter #trans harry potter #nb!harry potter #nb harry potter #top draco malfoy #bottom harry potter #Harry in a skirt

[arcxnumvitae]

Part 2

It was a few years later that the servants from the manor began to come and fetch him. He'd seen them from afar, but the boy always took care to avoid them whenever he did. He wasn't even supposed to be outside, after all, and he wasn't sure what would happen if he got caught by one. Some of the servants looked like him with their pointed ears and looks, while some had his mother's rounded ears. Maybe those were "humans" too? Whenever he asked her about it, she always seemed confused.

'What do you mean, fy calon bach?" She'd blow a raspberry on his cheek, sending him into a fit of giggles. 'We're all human!' He'd tried to point out the difference in his ears, or the feathers on his hands, but she'd only stared blankly at him with a small smile on her lips.

The servant that came to get him had ears like his and the only thing they said was that he was to come with them. His mother wasn't there, he couldn't ask her what was going on. But he was going to the manor where she worked, so maybe it would be okay? With shaking hands, the boy made his way to follow the servant from their small, plain cabin towards the magnificent house that he'd never once set foot inside.

And oh how he stared once he was inside! The furniture in their cabin was, as he was beginning to realize, simple and unremarkable when compared to the lush floors beneath his bare feet and the sheer amount of things all around him. A small hand reached of its own accord towards one, a sparkling glass sitting atop a table of wood so polished he could nearly see his own reflection in it. However, before he made contact, a sharp admonishment from the servant made him yank his hand back.

Mhoirbheinn stared wide-eyed as they walked through what felt like an endless amount of hallways and passed by an endless amount of rooms. Just beyond one doorway, Mhoirbheinn caught sight of a boy, fair-haired, who seemed a bit older than him. He'd never seen anyone near his age before. Mhoirbheinn offered a shy smile. The boy stared for a moment with a shocked look on his face, and then he scowled and turned his head. Mhoirbheinn's smile fell, but before he could dwell on it too longer, he was swept away and a few more hallways finally saw him settled in a room, seated at a table. His legs swung idly in the air as he was told to wait for a..."teacher" to arrive?

-----

"Lessons" were what he'd been called into the manor for, and lessons meant learning how to make markings on a parchment in front of him, and how to read those markings too. He didn't understand why it was so important he learn this, he'd gone this many years without knowing how to just fine, but it was better than sitting in the cabin and waiting for his mother to return home, so he didn't complain.

Every day a servant would come to fetch him, sometimes with ears like his, sometimes with ears like his mothers, and every day he would be returned back to his cabin. He didn't run across that other boy again, but with a house as big as it was, that wasn't a surprise.

Every day after returning home from his "lessons", he'd sit and wait for his mother to return from work. He also never ran across her while in the manor, but that also wasn't surprising. He'd tell her about what he learned that day and she'd listen and laugh at how fanciful his imagination was.

'Learning to read and write at a school are only for the kids of the English nobility!'

He'd long since gotten used to the odd way they talked around each other.

#{Mhoirbheinn Drabble

[weclassybouquetfun]

The End is the Beginning is the End. We put the Golden Globes back in the doghouse and look forward to the last batch of awards shows to close out the film awards season. The SAG awards nominations were announced today, the BAFTAs will be announced on Jan. 19th and the Oscars on Jan. 24th so there will be more fashion to look forward to. I hope those red carpet looks will be more impressive than the Golden Globes.

Donald Glover in Saint Laurent *Best dressed man of the night. No competition. Suave, sexy, love the moustache. The entire look is gold.

Diego Calva in Gucci *Second favourite male look of the night. I adore it! It has a retro vibe which is fitting as he's the star of BABYLON. Love the cut and colour. He looks amazing.

Laverne Cox in John Galliano *I was saying during last year's award season how former awards staples Marchesa (Georgina Chapman, former wife of Harvey Weinstein) and John Galliano will never seemingly be embraced again, and while it is not a new design as Galliano is still in Designer Jail, Cox reached back in the vault for this vintage Galliano gown and it's the best she's ever looked. She looks sensational.

Lily James in Versace *One thing Lily James is going to do besides have an affair with her costar, is look great on the red carpet.

Angela Bassett in Pamella Roland. *Love this quasi nod to Old Hollywood look. Very glam.

Barry Keoghan in Louis Vuitton *I'm torn about the neckerchief/bow tie gone wrong, so it must mean in my heart of hearts that I like it. The look gives me Guy-Running-From-the-Garda-Runs-Into-Costume-Shop-And-Puts-On-Bullfighter-Costume.

Rihanna in Schiaparelli Couture.

*Bad Girl Ri-Ri didn't walk the red carpet and could, seemingly, be seen exiting the event early after congratulating her competition, MM Keeravani whose "Naatu, Naatu" won.

MORE FASHION

Billy Porter in Christian Siriano

Ayo Edebiri in Rosie Assoulin *Now she knows those gloves are a mistake. It's like when Andre Leon Talley (RIP) dressed Jennifer Hudson the year she won her Oscar and gave her a great dress with pockets (yes) but put her in a bolero (no).

Letitia Wright in Prada

Ana de Armas in Louis Vuitton

Newly married Anya Taylor Joy in Dior

Jenna Ortega in Gucci *That's too much dress. In consideration of her height everything should have been shorter - hem, sleeves. It would have been even better to modify it to a sleeveless dress. Her hair colour looks great with the dress, though.

Jeremy Pope

Jessica Chastain in Oscar de la Renta *This dress is like the film THE GOOD NURSE. Good, but basic.

Eddie Redmayne in Valentino *He's looking as if he just caught his reflection and wondered WTF his stylist was on to put that on him. The flower should be burned and it would have been nice if he had on black shoes to not look so monochromatic and the pants are too long. The only brown clothes he needs to be in is Thom Browne.

Niecy Nash in Dolce & Gabbana *People should just embrace capes and go. This puffy floor length wrap nonsense is for the birds. The plum-colour dress is gorgeous and the wrap just distracts.

Margot Robbie in Chanel *Please get this woman a better stylist. Someone adventurous; someone to take her out her comfort zone. Nice dress, but underwhelming.

Sheryl Lee Ralph in Aliette. *My favourite female look of the night. Colourful, hair fits the look.

Britt Lower in Bach Mai

Bailey Bass (AVATAR: THE WAY OF WATER and the fantastic INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (AMC+) in Dior *It's a great dress for sure - though I wish it was either an empire waist or it was a two-piece with the top being a corset, but barring that, I wish she would have gone with how her hair is in IWTV. If she wore her naturally curly hair it would look so great framing her face.

Viola Davis in Jason Wu

Michelle Yeoh in Armani Prive *Exquisite.

Salma Hayek in Gucci *Of all the Gucci designs at her disposal she went with this??? I have seen her in some insanely incredible Gucci designs over the years so the fact that she wore something so relatively matronly offends me.

Michelle Williams in Gucci *Oh jayzus. What a disaster. It's THE SON of dresses.

Pregnant Claire Danes in Giambattista Valli *I'm guessing she left the house forgetting that she was wrapped up in her quilt.

Andrew Garfield in Zegna *Love the colour. I'm disappointed because I mistook the overly long psudeo-tie for a sash and thought there was some creative flair to the look. No such luck.

Tyler James Williams in Amiri *He gets 10 points for not being boring. Do I love that he looks like he just come out of the rain (and considering it's been storming here for two days, maybe he did), but I love the wide legs trousers and jacket.

Emma D'Arcy in Acne Studios

Michaela Jae Rodriguez in Balmain

#fashion #red carpet fashion #red carpet style #awards season #celebrities #long post #barry keoghan #donald glover #diego calva #laverne cox #angela bassett #michelle yeoh #emma darcy #tyler james williams #jeremy pope #golden globes #golden globes 2023 #eddie redmayne #salma hayek #anya taylor joy #rihanna

[your-nanas-house]

Hello! Huge fan of your work! I saw that you do ship pairing and I was wondering if you could do me! :) If you can't that's totally fine and I hope you have an amazing day!!

Oki idk how to really do this so Imma just put stuff i saw other people do.

Pronouns: She/ They (I don't really care what I'm called as long as it's not mean)

I'm a little bit on the shorter side (5'0) and I have brown hair cut to about chin length. It's pretty wavy and frizzy but I don't really mind :) I usually dress in bright colours like oranges and yellows and I am a sucker for pins. Also I love silly socks idk if that's important but they're my favorite :D

interests include collecting comic books (I've loved them since i was little! I collect DC, Marvel, Dark horse, Image, you name it! I started a few years back and have amassed quite the collection) I am also very into theatre/ music! I play piano and do a lot of shows as well as sing/ play keys in a band! I also love DND! I dm for my friends a bunch and it's a blast! I asked my friends to describe me and they said that I am like a neverending energetic toddler who they can tell has ADD. So...yeah XD okay I think that's it thank you for your time! Sorry if I did this wrong!

Hmmmm..first of all thank you very much! Second, I think that you are...

Jerome's doll!

This ginger would love the colors you normally dress in and would find your choice of socks amusing, he would probably ask to see your pins.

He would be interested in your comic book collection, come to see you play with your band and ask you to play for him or maybe teach him how to play but would lose patience quickly. Jerome is AN ENERGETIC TODDLER like you! So you would find yourself doing many fun and childish things.

I feel like Jerome could have ADHD so..you could be like...bonded? I'm not so sure because I don't know if ADD is the same as ADHD. I hope I didn't write bullshit.

While playing the piano

Pairing: Jerome Valeska X Reader

Warnings: fluff, playing piano

Words: 153

Summary: Y/n playing piano.

Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

..................................................................................

Y/n's hands moved elegantly and quickly on the piano keys as she enjoyed the sunshine coming in through the windows that warmed her skin, the house was silent and the notes coming out filled the room she was in; Jerome had not gone out but had remained there quieter than usual listening to her play, admiring her movements as he remained lying on the couch with his face turned toward her. 

He had tried days before to play but had not been able to and had given up declaring that it was boring but still wonderful to listen to, he had even asked her to play songs that were more fun and different from Bach or Vivaldi or Mozart and she agreed by promising to play the songs Jerome wanted to hear like 'Baby Shark' and other children's songs that made him start bouncing like a baby to the melody while dancing.

Taglist:

@gabile18

@mrsfullbuster500

@trainer--taylor

@elizamalfoyy

@eovjjj

@animefan3223

@jeremiah-va1eska

@gothamchic16

@rabbiteggz

@dieg0brandos-wife

@rottenecstasy

@lazyexcuse

@teh-vampire-bunny

#jerome valeska #gotham #gotham x reader #gotham tv #jerome valeska x you #jerome valeska x reader #jerome x reader