#vxctorx

[pxnandqxll]

( Norrington starter for @vxctorx )

The scorching reach of the sun may have changed per island, but if there was one abiding commodity that never altered, it was the soirees. It didn't matter whether the admiral found himself within the tropical air of Port Royal or amidst the brisk lands of Scotland, they were always the same. An embellished event hosted by another stakeholder or royal general in an attempt to flaunt their excess to those within their social standing. Still, it wasn't all bad. Throughout the hundreds of functions he had attended, James did find his own quiet amusement. Never in the dancing, of course, but more so in the music and the occasional, foreign delicacy being served. However, all in all, he found such events to be rather pointless. Trifling, at times, especially when other matters rested upon his plate.

Still, all things considered, while taking his usual place as a decorated wallflower, even he had to admit that this particular soiree hosted by the Trevor Family was one for the books. Of course, he would appreciate not being bombarded with such repetitive, idle chatter regarding his sudden dismissal concerning his rank, and the even more sudden move, but it could be a lot worse. His hawkish gaze continued to scan the horizon's of the party from his wall when he noticed a golden figure amidst the crowd. The son of the Trevor's, he assumed. Oh, yes, he had met many a gentlemen like him even back in the West Indies. A stately aristrocrat bred for this lavished life.-- The admiral's gaze quickly drew back to the dancing guests when he noticed the gentleman return his wandering stare.

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

// this proves ABSOLUTELY nothing @vxctorx except that online charts are inaccurate and bullies!!! 😤//

[consultingsister-a5]

STARTER CALL -- @vxctorx

"Honey, I'm hooome."

It's not Cee's home; it's just fun to say. She drops her shopping bags down at the front door and kicks off her heels, beginning her post-shopping-day prattle. Who she saw, what she bought, who said what, who did what. Cee is still talking as she walks into Vic's office. "Oh and I got you the wonderful-- what? What's wrong?"

[spidersdance]

~ @vxctorx || Liked for a starter ~

"You and I are quite alike, you know." James muses, tongue lazily tutting against the roof of his mouth. Eyes turn slowly to look at Victor, admiring him for a moment. He really is a work of art. It's making the whole situation so much more f u n. It wouldn't be half as entertaining if Sherlock's long lost love had been ugly. Victor, however, he's sexy - He adds an element of drama to the game and Jim thrives on it.

"I fell in love with a man when I was in university too." A pause, the words falling out as easily as if he's talking about the weather. "Except that I killed him when he didn't return the affection." Eyes glint, mischievous. "Although, there's still time for you yet. You could lose the plot and finish Holmes off for me. It'd be quite the ending - something akin to a Shakespearean tragedy."

[fxckingmoran-a]

~ @vxctorx || Liked for a mob boss starter ~

Sebastian moves through the gala, eyes scanning the crowd. He'd only shown face in order to threaten the host - just a small miscommunication about money - and now that that's out of the way he's debating whether or not to stay. Might be good to keep an eye on proceedings. Plus, Sebastian's a lot of things, but he's never one to turn down a free drink. Hand gestures, dismissing his bodyguard into the crowd to mingle. Tongue runs along his teeth, lips curving into a half smirk as he spots a familiar face.

"We have to stop running into each other like this, I'm starting to think you're stalking me."

[shxlmes]

~ @vxctorx || "this night is just perfect!" [ for the mystery group verse! ] ~

"You and I have vastly different ideas of perfect, my friend." Sherlock's lips curve upwards, tone faintly teasing as he scans the room before eventually landing his gaze back on Victor. "However, I can say that you certainly know how to throw a soirée. It's very impressive." He's at odd with himself, unsure how to behave. It's his first weekend without a case in who knows how long and he feels a bit like an untethered balloon, floating around the room while sometimes enduring the turbulence of social conversation with strangers with whom he's not yet acquainted. "I particularly like the music." And the people watching but it's probably poor etiquette to say that.

[sioraiocht]

~ @vxctorx || || random generator starter || From Sev for Annabelle ~

"'Person of interest' is almost too flattering. Like, if the police were to pound on my door and go, 'A man has been murdered in your building and you are a person of interest,' I'd be like, 'Moi? Oh, do go on.'"

[ronmanmob]

@vxctorx <3'd for a thing

A small while after his last sojourn to London, a note made its way into Mr Trevor the younger's hands. It was postmarked out the East End borough of Whitechapel, having been posted on its sender's most recent crack-of-dawn walk to the markets held in that once blood-soaked corner of the city.

Victor - it read. Kind thanks for your postcode, and our time at the opera. You were a distraction though. Pretty thing. Since you're away a time, how are letters for you? I enclosed a stamp, in case. Post sent to The Sole Trader, Bethnal Green Road, E2 will find me. Ron

[fxckingmoran]

~ @vxctorx || "tell me you love me or something, don’t just stand there!" ~

"Jesus -" Sebastian exhales, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You know I fucking love you, Victor. I mean, you're literally everything to me, I'm just -" His expression twists with annoyance but it's more frustration at himself for being so incapable of opening himself up emotionally. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I want you here 24/7 but it's also too fucking dangerous and I want you to be a million miles away from the place so that you don't get hurt. I'm conflicted and it's not fair on you, I know that. It also doesn't help that I'm absolutely shit at sharing my feelings."

[thecockysniper]

“ so are we going to talk about it or are we going to pretend nothing’s wrong here? ” || @vxctorx

It’d be nice if they could ignore it, but that’s rather hard when he’s withdrawn to the other side of the sofa, tense and staring at the floor, leg bouncing up and down, and not having looked or spoken to Victor since he'd spotted his mum, outside of Waitrose, the one that was on the way back to his flat, because of course she was there again. They’d bumped into each other to often enough at this point that he knew she must’ve figured out he lived round here. Usually he could slip past her without her notice, but today he wasn't that lucky. Go figure it would be on a day when he had his boyfriend over. Once he saw she was there, he turned his head away quick, but she'd spotted him, yelling Oi, Sebastian, at which point he’d grabbed Victor’s arm pulling him along as he quickened their pace getting them away from her as quick as he could.

There’d be nothing he’d like more than to brush the question off, but he’s certain if he did Victor would just leave, and honestly, he isn’t sure he’d come back. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to put a damper on our day together.” Seeing her always leaves him feeling raw and exposed and bleeding. Old wounds that haven’t fully healed reopened. "I wasn’t expecting that we'd run into her.” They had never talked about his family, and his head turned so he could view Victor. "My mum only pops up when she needs something, mainly money." Mouth twisting into disgust. "Not that I'd ever give that fucking cunt any," he said bitterly, wincing when he realizes what he'd said. He's cussed in front of Vic before, but he's never spoken like that about anyone, nor has he ever heard him speak like that, and he's afraid of what he'll think of him seeing this pathetic version of him. His skin feels wrong, his stomach is twisting, and all he wants is to drink and fight and forget. "Listen, I ain't going to be much fun tonight, so if you want to go I'd understand."

[pxnandqxll]

(Planned Helen Starter for @vxctorx)

Victor Trevor. That was certainly a name she hadn't heard in ages. Just the mention of his name drawn from her father's lips at the mention of journeying to the Trevor's estate was enough to catapult her mind to the bygone days of yesteryear. Another life. One filled to the brim of balmy summer days, chasing crickets amidst a tangle of garden paths, wild locks billowing in every direction, and her first taste of feeling like a ghost. What a horrid boy, Helen remembered herself thinking, with his haughty nature and unswayable attitude. Many a time did she remember running up to him, her young face glowing with youthful enthusiasm at the hopes of finally being let into His games, his secret world, only to find herself on the other side of the wall.--Wishing. Wanting. Unnoticed. -- Still, Helen had heard that Vic had gone off to university. Perhaps, a life of academe had finally managed to mature and humble his once callous nature. Maybe he wouldn't be home all that much and busied a scholar's life of studies and debauchery. One could hope.

The manor was as she remembered it to be. Grand. Stately. A rather fitting representation of the Trevor bloodline. Its imposing walls yawning for her timid presence once more. What had changed, however, was Him. He was... Taller than she remembered. Were Victor's eyes always that shade of blue? In fact, dare she thought, Victor had grown to be rather handsome. Did he even remember her, she wondered.

[deductivepowers]

Starter for @vxctorx

The day is sunny and mild, and dotting the Cambridge grounds are groups of people who chatter and picnic and play games. Cutting through all of this, Sherlock pays none of it any mind. He is out of the sanctity of his laboratory as a peculiar restlessness had settled on him. Being unable to subdue the feeling, he is forced, for the moment, to move.

Smoking and lost in his own thoughts, he barely registers the sound of a barking dog in the near distance. Nor does he register the frantic cries of a man calling out "Scotty!" Even when the barking in clearly getting louder. Closer. He doesn't look up to notice the streak of white that is heading straight for him. So when a set of sharp teeth clamp down onto his ankle, piercing the skin, it comes as a complete shock. When he sees the English bull terrier that's affixed itself to his leg, the pain is just barely registering. And as if things couldn't be bad enough, the dog gives a good, sharp yank, and with a cry, Sherlock falls gracelessly to the earth. As he lies there, stunned, the dog continues growling and pulling at him, as if he has done some great offence against it.

The owner finally catches up, and he is ready to admonish them for failing at proper dog handling, "I say, do you not--" But the moment he catches sight of him he finds his tongue rendered useless, and he momentarily forgets about his ankle and the canine that is currently attached to it and whatever it was he was going to say, because standing before him, looking at him with supplication, is a golden Adonis.

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

( a drabble for The Darling @vxctorx cause I've been thinking about Their reunion )

Cherried lips sundered as a hushed and breathless gulp escaped his throat. Had his eyes deceived him? Had the specters of his past finally come to haunt his waking hours.--No. This was real. He was real. Richard Mayhew had dreamed of this moment for years. Conjured up renditions of what he would say if he and his love of golden-years-past were ever to cross paths again. Would he tell Vic of all of the hurt he had bore since that fateful day at the train station?

'How dare he. I'll ne'er forgive him.' Richard thought to himself, tears stinging in his reddened eyes. The first night alone in his flat... What was to be Their flat... pricked the most. How naive, the Scotsman thought to himself. How naive it was to think that he and Vic would spend their first night exhausted, but discreetly reveling in the twilight of their new life, their freedom, entwined against the other's figure upon a newly baptized mattress that was all Theirs and Theirs alone. Instead, Richard found himself sitting against a wall, downing booze, in a desperate attempt to drown not just his sorrows, but whatever trace of foolish hope he may have harboured for Them. Their life. Their unwound future. Richard took another clumsy swig of his bottle, before scrubbing away another loose tear with the side of his knuckle. 'I hate him. I hate Victor Trevor.' Naive. Dumb. Foolish, boy.

Or, would Richard tell him about the quiet moments in-between the eventual, watered down hurt and the mundane. The silent longing so great he sometimes felt he couldn't breathe.

'I'll ne'er forget him. I ne'er could...' The ache burrowed deep into the cavern of his chest. He could feel it in his bones. A year had passed since that fateful day, but the Scotsman found himself thinking of Him now and again. That contemplation led to remembering. Remembering led to missing. It was in the cozy silence of his daily routine that the yearning was most ardent. It was when Richard took an insomnia-induced stroll, just at the crack of dawn, while the world slept on, that he caught sight of the first flares of light. The sun's golden tendrils reminding him of the aureate ruffle of His boyish curls. How he liked to teasingly tousle them in an act of fondness. It was when he would find himself idly toying with the ring Vic had given him for his birthday, which he had never taken off. Not once. In fact, whenever he was alone, the Scotsman occasionally found the gentle touch of his lips linger against the band's curve. Did Vic still wear the other half? Did his lips too press discreet caresses upon its golden bend? Or had he forgotten? Was the ring nothing more than a trifle, buried with the rest of Their memories?-- It was in these moments that grief's ghost lingered. Not the grief of day's past. Richard looked at those with a bittersweet fondness. No. It was the grief of what could have been. What they could have made. Richard missed Him and all that he was. All that They were.

"It's you...." he rasped, his voice fragile glass. Taking a bold step forward, Richard tilted his chin up at the other, as if about to expel some well-versed speech. A speech of heart. Of the longing. Of the loneliness. Instead, his weary arms could bare the weight of such a deepened severance no longer. What bitter resolve the Scotsman may have been harbouring after all these years finally melted away, revealing both his trembling ache of yearning and boyish adoration for the golden gentleman before him. Without another word, Richard wrapped his arms round Vic's mature figure, holding him close. The tips of his fingers crumpled against the back of the gentleman's shirt as a quiet tear or two rolled down his cheek. Richard Mayhew had dreamed of this moment for five years.--'Vic, I'm sorry.' 'I've ne'er been happier to see ye'.' 'I missed ye'. So, much.' Not a word was uttered. In fact, he didn't have to say a word. All he could do was hold Vic close. A silent promise to never let him go. Not now. Not ever. He never could.

[consultingsister-a5]

continued from -- @vxctorx

"Oh I doubt that, gossip is universal. You can speak any language if you can speak rumours and scandal." Cee doesn't find herself in the kitchen at parties just for the food; the staff know everything. "Well, England missed you. I'm glad you're back."

[spidersdance]

~ @vxctorx || 💗  to lean against my muse ~

It's been a particularly long evening of studying, James glancing to his watch to look at the time. A little after midnight. His attention is caught by a sudden weight on his shoulder, Victor's head dropping to lean against him. It's a gentle show of affection that surprises Jim. It's not something he's used to. Closeness to other people usually just comes in the form of sex and one night stands. Gentle intimacy like their current moment almost feels taboo because he's so not used to it. Hand lifts, softly pushing curls back from Victor's face. "Shall we go to bed? I think the books can wait until the morning."

[fxckingmoran-a]

~ @vxctorx || ❰❰ SAVE ❱❱ sender saves receiver’s life [ for mob boss seb! ] ~

It happens in a flash, so quickly that it takes Sebastian's brain a moment to process what's happening. There's the red of the laser catching him right between the eyes, people yelling at him to get down. As it all registers he feels hands grabbing him, pulling him down to the ground. The arms wrap around his waist, holding him there as the bullet embeds in the wall only a split second later, causing plaster and dust to scatter down over them. Almost all at once adrenaline kicks in, Sebastian's heart pounding, head turning to look at Victor. "You saved me -" Eyes look back to the hole in the wall - A hole which very well could've been in his head if not for the man beside him.