#buckingham-ashtray

[buckingham-ashtray]

Can we sometimes just take a step back and remember that John never learned what happened on the roof of Bart‘s and why exactly did Sherlock jump and who he jumped for and the snipers and Sherlock‘s tears and the two years of impossible work and the Johnlessness and Serbia and the scars and Sherlock.

John never learned about any of these things. He thought Sherlock left him for a little bit of adventure after stepping off a roof right in front of his eyes, he thought Sherlock enjoyed his little joke of playing dead, he thought Sherlock never trusted him, he thought he has never been important to Sherlock after all.

Even though he has no right to land those blows and kicks on Sherlock, he still has the right to be angry and remain angry.

Remember, unlike us, John has never learned about these things.

[consultjohnwatson]

Hi John, What kind of tea did you have at the Buckingham Palace? Do you still have the ashtray Sherlock stole for you?

@artofdeductionbysholmes has a better memory than I do but I do remember there were no biscuits…

Ashtray? What ashtray?

[queerholmcs]

i'm not elaborating on these ones because i'll scream if i do.

[cricketnationrise]

5pm, Balmoral, King James, change by Taylor Swift please?

interestingly, this will be my first movie-verse piece. (this is why i love the ficlet fests i always get a huge range of prompts).

I focused more on the first stanza of the song, especially And it's a sad picture, the final blow hits you / Somebody else gets what you wanted again for this ficlet, because the rest of it feels more like Henry than his grandfather to me. I hope you like it, and thank you for all your enthusiastic comments in my inbox, they brighten my day! 💜🦗

want your own ficlet? followers can submit their own here using these guidelines through January 31, 2024.

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

5:00pm, balmoral

The world outside the windows of his private den is dark. 

Not the streetlight-reflected dark of nights at Buckingham, no. Balmoral has always been remote enough to see a bevy of stars on a clear summer night. Tonight though, the Scottish weather seems to be mockingly imitating James’ mood. A violent summer storm had risen up shortly after he’d arrived on the property this morning, dumping rain and harsh winds battering the stone fortress he’d retreated to. Tonight, the stars will be out of sight, and even the moon likely to be hidden away by dark clouds. The howling wind had finally died down a few hours ago, gentling to the occasional rustle of wet leaves.

His den is only lit by the dying fire.

James stares into it, unseeing, and lets his mind race. A log finally gives up its structural integrity, collapsing into embers at the bottom of the grate with a shower of sparks. He’s too lost in his thoughts to stoke the flames up in reaction. The grandfather clock in the corner chimes five in the evening and James finishes the last dregs of his drink with a heavy sigh. The empty bottles on his bar cart mock him just as much as the full ashtray at his side.

The staff will be laying the table for dinner right about now, but James is far past eating, his mind still stuck on yesterday’s events. The news reports play in his head in an unceasing loop; he wishes he had the energy to find another pack of cigarettes, to refill his drink—anything to drown out the echoes.

“The Prince of England’s Hearts embraced his own today…”

“...a revolution for this country…”

“No member of the Royal family has ever been publicly out, but Prince Henry…”

“...Royal glass closet shattered today when His Royal Highness, Prince Henry stepped onto Buckingham’s balcony, hand in hand with First Son, Alexander Claremont-Diaz…”

“...leak that prompted protests in support of Prince Henry all of last week…”

“...Prince Henry’s appearance with the First Son today sparked celebrations in the streets across the whole United Kingdom.”

The voices of the news anchors swirl and layer over each other in his head until he can’t separate individual words any longer. James hunches in his leather chair, elbows on his knees, and grips his forehead between his hands, hard, in a futile attempt to make it stop. The pressure allows the noise to recede to a murmur, like someone listening to the radio in the next room.

It’s enough to let him breathe again, to take stock of himself, but once he starts, he wishes he hadn’t. Because now, all he can think about is the look on Henry’s face when he and the American had come back inside yesterday afternoon, flush from both the sunlight and their joyous reception.

Henry didn’t even look at him full-on, but a glimpse of his profile had been enough to knock the breath from James’ lungs with an agonizing jealousy. He himself had never felt even a fraction of what he’d seen on his grandson’s face:

Pride.  A fundamentally uncaring air for anything other than the boy at his side.  And a blinding, aching, incandescent—

Happiness.

[ilovecupcakesandtea]

Chapter one Chapter seven My master list

Title: Chapter six

Word Count: 1454

Archive Warnings: Smut in future chapters. Slight angst. Alcohol misuse.

Rating: E

Pairing(s): Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham

Character(s): Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Benny, Uncle Wayne & The Party

Tags: Smut. Angst. Steddie. Buckingham. Steve Harrington. Eddie Munson. Robin Buckley. Chrissy Cunningham. Band AU. TW Alcohol use.

Summary (optional): Two different styles of music, two boys that really don't like each other. What could possibly go wrong?

Beta Reader: Thank you so much to my beautiful beta readers @slippy-slip @ladydarklord & @dontwasteyourchances

Art link and credit: Art is by the wonderfully talented @pink-luna-moth (as is the banner)

Fic link and credit: Ao3 Link

AN: First off thank you to Alex for the art and being just amazing to work alongside. Thank you to Slip for dragging me back from the edge so many times over this. I really am so excited to have this out here!!

I wrote this for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang event and had a lot of fun doing so!!

Divider links: reblog and music notes

“Right, great practise guys. Think we need to practise our timings for the second song but other than that we sounded great” Eddie voiced as he packed up his guitar and notebooks. “I’m off then, Chris, you need a lift?” he asked, turning to Chrissy. 

“I was thinking we could hang out a bit, I’ll order pizza and we can watch a movie,” Steve suggested before Eddie could leave.

“I’ll pass Harrington, see you all next time.” Eddie answered, continuing to leave. 

“That’s 3 weeks in a row now he’s just left. We always used to hang after. He’s missed writing sessions 3 times as well.” Robin pointed out, packing her own guitar away. 

“Yeah ever since that gig at Healer he’s been acting weird. Skipping out of practice as soon as he can, heading straight home after gigs, missing writing sessions and everything. He hasn’t replied to any of my messages or anything since that night either.” Steve huffed as he grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. 

“He’ll be ok, he’s just going through something right now, ok? He still turns up and plays and he’s here for practice, that's all that really matters.” Chrissy defended. 

She knew exactly what was wrong with Eddie, having done her own intervention 3 days after the gig when he’d called out from work and she hadn’t heard from him. Letting herself into his apartment, she’d found him passed out in bed. Empty bottle of whisky on the nightstand and half-smoked joint in the ashtray. She had made coffee and toast after waking him and they’d sat and had a chat which is when she had found out what happened between him and Steve at the club, including the bit afterwards. 

“Shall we go put a movie on and get a pizza ordered?” she suggested wanting to steer the conversation away from Eddie. 

“You never mentioned something was up with Eddie.” Robin started the conversation later that evening once they were both back at Chrissy’s house. 

“It’s not my place to say, can we leave this conversation? Let’s just get ready for bed and go and cuddle.” Chrissy said, trying to change the subject. 

“No, if it’s going to affect the band, we should know.” Robin pushed. 

“Your best friend should have thought about the band in the club,” Chrissy mumbled, grabbing a vest top and a pair of underwear and heading to the bathroom

“What was that?” Robin asked, following her girlfriend. Steve hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Nothing, this is why I wanted to leave it! Eddie will be ok. He just needs a little time away from Steve, that's all.” Chrissy huffed as she started to take her makeup off.

“Is this about what happened at the club?” Robin questioned, sitting on the closed toilet lid. 

“I’m not discussing this anymore. Please either drop it or allow me to get ready for bed on my own.” Chrissy sighed. 

“Whatever” Robin fumed, storming out of the bathroom and ultimately out of the flat.

Robin walked and walked, not really knowing where her legs were taking her until she got there. 

She knocked on the door before she could think twice and was greeted with the sight of Eddie, hair thrown up in a bun, topless and drinking a beer.

“Everything ok, Buckley?” he asked, clearly already drunk, letting her into the apartment. 

“No, it’s not.” Robin stated, “It hasn't been for weeks now, you keep missing writing, skipping out of practice as soon as possible, and going home as soon as gigs are done with. I’d hoped you had a partner we didn’t know about but you’ve been miserable for weeks now, not just everything else I mentioned, and if having a partner is making you this miserable maybe they aren't for you.”

“Nothing’s wrong, everything's ok.” Eddie frowned, downing his drink and heading to the kitchen for another. 

“Sure it is, you just ran out of practice as soon as you could to come home and get drunk because everything is fine.” she snorted, taking the beer she was handed. 

“Why do you care?” Eddie questioned the girl. 

“We’re all worried about you ok, you’ve been so different these last few weeks. What happened at Healer? Don’t say nothing, it was something.” She pressed. 

“Nothing happened at all. Just doing what I need to do, ok? I’ll be fine, just let me work through some shit. Please” 

“Is this about Steve taking that guy home that night? Do you have an issue with Steve getting laid?” She asked, confused.  

“No! I have an issue with him being on his knees for me less than an hour beforehand and then acting like it meant nothing. Not that I wanted it to mean something, just forget it, ok. Like I said, I’ll be fine.” Eddie sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest and making himself as small as possible. He really didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Oh, oh Eddie, I’m so sorry. This isn’t really for me to say but I don’t think the situation is as bad as you think. Let me talk to him.” Robin pleaded. 

The following morning Robin went back to Chrissy’s apartment. They had to talk. First of all, she needed to fix the issue she had caused last night and secondly, they needed a plan to get the two men together.

“Baby, I am so sorry for last night.” she said as soon as Chrissy opened the door “I should have listened to you and kept my mouth shut when you asked me to.” 

“Yes, you should have. But I love you too much to be mad at you, come in. I’ll make coffee.” Chrissy replied, walking back into her apartment and leaving the door open.

“So I ended up at Eddie’s last night when I left here. He was drunk already and he mentioned that something had happened that night at Healer.” Robin mentioned as she followed her girlfriend into the kitchen.

“Yeah he told me a few days after, don’t be mad I didn’t tell you. He wanted to forget it. It happened, not long after, he saw Steve making out with someone else, figured what had happened meant absolutely nothing to Steve, and walked off. He’s been in a funk ever since.” 

“Oh shit, so he likes Steve like that then?” Robin gasped.

“Yeah, he really does. He figured Steve didn’t like him like that but to see evidence of it so soon after thinking maybe something was there was crushing for him.” Chrissy shrugged.

“Ok, in Steve’s defence, they aren't together and he’s an idiot. Mostly the idiot thing. He likes Eddie so much it’s actually annoying, I’m just not sure he’s admitted it to himself fully yet.”

“We need to get them together.” 

“Yes we do, now can we drink coffee and make out, I mean make up?” Robin asked, pulling Chrissy into her before kissing her deeply. 

“Steven Brett Harrington, you are an idiot.” Robin declared as soon as Steve opened his door later that day.

“Good evening to you as well, what did I do this time?” He questioned. 

“You never told me about you and Eddie at the club for a start!” She accused, pointing a finger at him. “You know that’s why he’s been acting like he has been, right?” 

“Why? Because he’s upset that someone else wanted me when he didn’t?” He asked, annoyed at how he was being made to feel like the bad guy. “I put myself out there and after, he just walked away and didn’t look back. Why shouldn’t I find someone who wants me in that situation?” 

“You two are idiots I swear, you’re both going to give me and Chris migraines.” she sighed, pulling him into a hug.

After Robin’s conversation with him, both girls thought, and hoped, that he would talk to Eddie, either whilst at practice or go to Eddie’s without them knowing. This however did not seem to be the case. Eddie was still leaving practice as soon as he could and heading home from any gig as soon as he could. 

“Bunny, we’ve got to do something,” Robin sighed, throwing herself dramatically onto the couch after practice one day. “We’re getting more and more gigs in different states, we’re going to have to start staying over for some of them and there’s talks of contracts and things like that. They need to figure this shit out and quickly.” 

“Yeah, they do. We need to force them to talk, they won’t do it willingly.” Chrisy agreed. “I have a plan though” she declared, grabbing the other girl and pulling her into a cuddle so they could plot.

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 2) Chapter Two

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Two: Compromising Photographs

Summary: Sherlock and (Y/N) are given an interesting new case by Mycroft: the case of the Woman and her power play with the United Kingdom.

            (Y/N) and Sherlock sat side-by-side on a couch in Buckingham Palace. (Y/N) twirled a lollipop around their fingers, and Sherlock was still wrapped in only a sheet. The security guards had placed a stack of clothes down on the table in front of them, but he stubbornly refused to put them on.

            John was escorted in a few minutes later. Looking at them and the room in confusion, he sat on (Y/N)’s other side. “Sherlock…” he said slowly. “Are you wearing any pants?”

            “Nope,” said Sherlock promptly, not a hint of embarrassment.

            John looked incredulously at Sherlock and (Y/N), and as soon as their gazes met, the trio burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the scenario.

            “At Buckingham Palace, fine,” giggled John. “Oh, I’m seriously fighting the impulse to steal an ashtray.” He tried to stop chuckling, but he couldn’t. “What are we doing here, seriously, what?”

            “No idea. A case, I’d guess,” said (Y/N), shrugging with a small grin.

            “Here to see the queen?” suggested John. As he spoke, Mycroft walked into the room.

            “Evidently,” remarked (Y/N), sending the trio into another fit of laughter.

            “Just once, can you three behave like grown-ups?” said Mycroft exasperatedly.

            “We solve crimes, they’re a teenager, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn’t hold out too much hope,” said John cheerfully.

            “I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft,” said Sherlock in irritation.

            “What, the biker and the backfire?” Mycroft scoffed. “I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?”

            “Transparent,” said Sherlock, and (Y/N) nodded.

            “Time to move on, then,” said Mycroft, picking up Sherlock’s clothes and offering them to him. Sherlock remained uninterested. “We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on.”

            “What for?” asked Sherlock, shrugging.

            “Your client,” said Mycroft sharply.

            “And our client is?” said Sherlock, standing and holding his blanket around himself.

            “Illustrious in the extreme,” said a new voice. A smartly dressed man—undoubtedly a high-placed government official—walked in. “And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous.” He smiled in a politician-making-friends manner and shook Mycroft’s hand. “Mycroft!”

            “Harry.” Mycroft’s greeting was similarly polite but detached. “May I apologize for the state of my little brother and his assistants?”

            “Full time occupation, I imagine,” remarked Harry. He turned to (Y/N) and John. “You must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

            “Hello, yes,” said John, unsure how to act.

            “My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog,” he added.

            “Your employer?” asked John, startled.

            “Particularly the one about the aluminum crutch,” said Harry.

            “Thank you,” said John, looking at Sherlock smugly at the praise of his blog.

            Harry turned to (Y/N). “You must be (Y/N) (L/N), the teenage prodigy.”

            “Hi,” said (Y/N).

            “I’ve heard from Scotland Yard that your abilities are quite impressive for your age. I hope you put them to good use,” said Harry.

            “I don’t plan on joining the government,” said (Y/N), knowing Harry was trying the same tactic Mycroft once did. “But thanks.”

            Harry was not deterred and continued. “And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs.”

            “I take the precaution of a good coat and two short friends,” said Sherlock. He turned away and walked to Mycroft. “Mycroft, we don’t do anonymous clients. We’re used to mystery at one end of our cases. Both ends is too much. Good morning.” He tried to walk away, but Mycroft stepped on the end of his blanket. It nearly fell, but Sherlock grabbed it at the last moment.

            “This is a matter of national importance. Grow up,” said Mycroft.

            “Get off my sheet,” said Sherlock through gritted teeth.

            “Or what?” challenged Mycroft.

            “Or I’ll just walk away,” threatened Sherlock.

            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. Yeah, I don’t want to see that.

            “I’ll let you,” said Mycroft.

            “Boys, please, not here,” sighed John.

            “Who. Is. My. Client?” demanded Sherlock.

            “Take a look at where you’re standing a make a deduction,” said Mycroft. “You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for god’s sake…” He glared at Sherlock. “Put your clothes on!”

            Sherlock glared back at Mycroft, huffing angrily.

l

            A few minutes later, Sherlock sat fully clothed on the couch. Harry and Mycroft were across from his group.

            Mycroft picked up a teapot and poured tea. “I’ll be mother.”

            “And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell,” remarked Sherlock sarcastically.

            Mycroft glared sharply at Sherlock as Harry began to speak. “My employer has a problem.”

            “A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen,” said Mycroft.

            “Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to us?” asked Sherlock.

            “People do go to you for help, don’t they?” said Mycroft.

            “Not anyone with your type of power yet,” said (Y/N).

            “This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust,” said Mycroft.

            “You don’t trust your own Secret Service?” asked John.

            “Naturally not. They all spy on people for money,” replied Mycroft.

            “Fair,” said (Y/N).

            “I do think we have a timetable,” interjected Harry.

            “Yes, of course.” Mycroft opened a briefcase and brought out a photograph. He slid it over the table to (Y/N) and Sherlock. A woman in a white dress with brow hair in a bun showed on it. “What do you know about this woman?”

            “Nothing whatsoever,” said Sherlock.

        ��   “Nothing,” seconded (Y/N).

            “Then you should be paying more attention. She’s been at the center of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both parties separately,” explained Mycroft.

            That’s one way to make an impact as a bisexual, thought (Y/N). Honestly, they thought it was impressive more than anything.

            “You know I don’t concern myself with trivia,” said Sherlock. “Who is she?”

            “Irene Adler. Professionally known as the Woman,” said Mycroft.

            “Professionally?” questioned John in confusion.

            “There are many names for what she does. She prefers ‘dominatrix,’ ” explained Mycroft.

            “Dominatrix…” repeated Sherlock thoughtfully.

            “Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.” Mycroft smirked snidely.

            “Sex doesn’t alarm me,” retorted Sherlock.

            “How would you know?” sneered Mycroft.

            He just called Sherlock a virgin, thought (Y/N).

            Sherlock scowled, and Mycroft continued, “She provides, shall we say, ‘recreational scolding’ for those enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website.”

            Mycroft slid more photos across the table. Each one had Irene in a sexy pose and lingerie, tantalizing anyone who clicked on her website. It was clear why she did so well in her profession; she knew what she was doing.

            “So she has some compromising photos of someone important, doesn’t she?” asked (Y/N), glancing up at Mycroft and Harry.

            “You’re very quick, Mx. (L/N),” said Harry.

            “Not a difficult deduction,” said (Y/N), raising their eyebrow at the pictures before them. “What else would they be of?”

            “Photographs of whom?” asked Sherlock.

            “A person of significance to my employer,” said Harry, tight-lipped as ever. “We’d prefer not to say anymore at this time.”

            “You can’t tell you anything?” questioned (Y/N).

            “I can tell you it’s a young person. A young female person,” said Mycroft.

            “How many photographs?” asked Sherlock.

            “A considerable number, apparently,” replied Mycroft.

            “And Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?” continued Sherlock.

            “Yes they do,” confirmed Mycroft.

            “And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?”

            “An imaginative range, we are assured,” admitted Mycroft.

            “John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now,” said Sherlock. John started and realized he’d just been holding his cup.

            “Can you help us?” asked Harry, looking at Sherlock and (Y/N).

            “How?” questioned Sherlock.

            “Will you take the case?”

            “What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, ‘Know when you are beaten,’ ” said Sherlock, getting to his feet.

            “She doesn’t want anything,” interrupted Mycroft. “She got in touch, informed us that the photographs existed, and indicated that she had no intentions to use them to extort either money or favor.”

            (Y/N) cocked their head and glanced at Sherlock. “A power play, then.” Interesting. That means something else is going on here, more than just pictures.

            “A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it?” Sherlock smirked, finally interested. “Where is she?”

            “In London, currently,” said Harry. “She’s staying—”

            “Text me the details,” said Sherlock. “We’ll be in touch by the end of the day.”

            “Do you really think you’ll have news by then?” asked Harry, bewildered.

            “No, I think we’ll have the photographs,” said Sherlock confidently.

            “One can only hope you’re as good as you seem to think,” said Harry.

            Sherlock and (Y/N) glanced at each other before looking at Harry and deducing everything they could about him. They had to make a point now.

            “We’ll need some equipment, of course,” said Sherlock.

            “Anything you require,” said Mycroft. “I’ll have it sent to—”

            Sherlock interrupted. “Can I have a box of matches?” He looked directly at Harry.

            The man frowned. “I’m sorry?”

            “Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do,” said Sherlock.

            “I don’t smoke,” said Harry.

            “Your employer does,” said (Y/N), a slight serpentine smirk on their lips at Harry’s surprise.

            Harry pulled out a lighter and glared at Sherlock and (Y/N). “We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes.” He handed the lighter to Sherlock.

            “I’m not the commonwealth,” said Sherlock, taking it and turned away.

            “And that’s as modest as he gets,” sighed John. “Pleasure to meet you.”

            “Laters,” shouted Sherlock as they left, and (Y/N) raised a hand in a small wave.

            When they were tucked away in a cab, John turned to them. “Okay, the smoking. How did you know?

            “Well, you noticed what clued us in but didn’t make the connection,” said (Y/N).

            “I did?” John frowned and wracked his brain.

            “As ever, you see but do not observe,” said Sherlock, pulling an ashtray out of his coat. He tossed it in the air, letting it catch the light, and grinned.

            “You stole it,” said John, beginning to chuckle.

            “You suggested it,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Unbelievable,” said John, shaking his head with a grin.

l

            After Sherlock grabbed the missing piece for a priest disguise at 221B, the trio got back in the cab.

            “So, what’s the plan?” asked John.

            “We know her address,” said Sherlock.

            “What, just ring her doorbell?” questioned John.

            “Exactly.” Sherlock turned to the driver. “Just here, please.”

            “You didn’t even really change your clothes,” said John, confused as he exited the cab with Sherlock and (Y/N).

            “Then it’s time to add a splash of color,” said Sherlock, paying the driver and watching him leave.

            “Are we here?” asked John.

            “Two streets away, but this’ll do,” said Sherlock.

            “For what?” questioned John.

            Sherlock gestured to his face. “Punch me in the face.”

            (Y/N) deadpanned. “Really?”

            John blinked. “Punch you?”

            “Yes, punch me in the face, didn’t you hear me?” asked Sherlock impatiently.

            “I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ when you’re talking, but usually it’s subtext,” said John.

            “Oh, for God’s sake,” huffed Sherlock.

            He reared back and punched John, who fell back. (Y/N) moved to the side, sighing as they watched the pair square off. John was up in a moment and punched Sherlock back, right in the face as the detective wanted.

            Sherlock straightened. “Thank you, that was—that was—Oof!”

            John punched him in the stomach and put him into a headlock.

            Well, I can’t say he wasn’t asking for it, thought (Y/N).

            “You wanna remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier; I killed people,” said John.

            “You were a doctor!” spluttered Sherlock.

            “I had bad days!” said John.

            “Hey, guys, we have a job to do,” reminded (Y/N).

            John elbowed Sherlock in the side again for good measure before letting go. Sherlock coughed and straightened his clerical collar.

            “You ready now?” asked (Y/N).

            Sherlock nodded. “Let’s go.”

            It was time to take on Irene Adler.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

[consult-sherlockholmes]

We don't care who moved the jumper (btw, does John know his jumper has been misplaced?); we just want to know why you did it.

Well John may or may not have been searching his jumper for the last few months. But it is summer so technically he doesn't need it, it's not sweater weather at the moment, far too hot. Maybe I am a cleptomaniac and just like to steal stuff, who knows. I stole the ashtray from Buckingham Palace after all. Or I just borrowed it for an experiment on different fibers of clothing.

[therealsaintscully]

Where's the fan art of John and Sherlock sneakily returning the ashtray to Buckingham Palace with Mycroft watching over from afar?

[littleforksuperiority]

Unbelievable Chapter IV (Sherlock x Reader fanfic)

Links to Chapter I and Chapter V

2142 words

Chapter IV

As my alarm rang at seven o’clock, I realised something. I had gotten drunk on a worknight. My head was throbbing, and my eyes were blurry. Shit. Oh wow, I got vulgar. I needed to call in sick. Lie.

So, I called in sick. I was going to pretend to cough to make it believable, but when speaking to my boss, I actually puked. This is why I don’t drink.

I spend most of the morning just laying in bed. I wanted to eat something, but I didn’t want anything I had. Did you know, that when you drink alcohol, your brain releases a chemical called galanin, which increases your craving for fat? So of course, I wanted pizza. But I couldn’t seem to get out of bed.

A couple of hours later, I realised that it was 12 pm, and I was still in bed, wearing smushed makeup, craving pizza. So, I stood up, almost puked, took my makeup off, got properly dressed, and went out to buy pizza. Luckily there was a pizzeria not far from the flat, so I was quickly back home.

As I walked into my flat, Sherlock was sitting on my bed.

‘Sherlock?’

He looked up at me. And that was when I noticed that he was wearing a sheet.

‘What is it with you, and always being by my flat? And what the bloody hell are you wearing?’ My head was throbbing, and I could not for the life of me figure out what was going on.

‘You look well’ he grinned. Sarcasm? I went over to him and nudged him with my shoulder. Then I sat down and looked at his laptop. John’s daft face was covering the entire frame.

‘Hi Y/N!’ He said.

‘Hello, John. Mind telling me what is going on?’ I answered.

‘John is out on this case for me. We agreed that I wouldn’t leave this building for a case ranked less than seven. This is a six.’ Sherlock interrupted.

‘When did we agree on that?’

‘We agreed on it yesterday.’

‘Ye- I wasn’t even home yesterday. I was in Dublin’

Sherlock shrugged. ‘It’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening.’

‘Do you just carry on talking when I’m away?’

‘I don’t know, how often are you away?’

I chuckled. Someone walked up the stairs. Multiple people.

‘Now, go back. Show me the grass,’ Sherlock continued.

The people were now walking in 221b. Furniture was being moved. They were quite noisy.

‘Are you two expecting guests?’ I asked. The boys looked at each other.

‘Probably just a client,’ Sherlock explained.

‘Shouldn’t you go and greet them then?’

‘Nah. I’m busy.’

The people were now heading downstairs. And in three. Two. One. My front door opened, and in walked two men. They were both wearing expensive suits. Sherlock stared at them for a minute. Then one of the men closed the laptop.

‘Go up to his apartment and get him some proper clothes,’ the man said. The other man quickly walked out, and up the stairs to flat b. I looked at Sherlock. He didn’t seem to care that two men just barged in. The man quickly came back and placed a suit in front of Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t budge.

‘Please, Mr Holmes, where you’re going, you’ll want to be dressed.’

‘I know exactly where I’m going,’ he replied. I sure didn’t.

In the end, Sherlock did in fact not get dressed, and he walked out and into the black car, we were transported in, in his sheets. I wasn’t initially allowed to come along, but Sherlock insisted that he wouldn’t come unless I tagged along. In the ca,r I asked; ‘where are we going?’

‘Buckingham Palace.’ My eyes widened.

‘What.’

Sherlock smiled.

‘Are you serious!?’ This was insane. ‘Are you even wearing pants?’

‘Nope.’ … WAS THIS MAN NOT WEARING PANTS!? Ahem. Sherlock, please. Then I burst out laughing. This was surreal.

Soon enough we arrived at the palace and were seated on a sofa. I couldn’t get this stupid smile off my face. We were seriously at the palace. And Sherlock here was butt-ass naked, except for a bedsheet.

John quickly came as well and asked the same question as I had. ‘Are you wearing any pants?’

‘No.’

‘Ok.’

We all burst out into laughter again. Surreal.

‘I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray,’ Sherlock said. John shook his head, laughing.

‘Sherlock, seriously what are we doing here?’ I asked. ‘Here to see the Queen?’

‘Apparently, yes,’ Sherlock answered as a man came in. Mycroft.

‘Seriously? Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?’ Mycroft asked. ‘Oh. Hello Y/N. What a lovely surprise.’

‘How do you two know each other?’ John asked. I looked at Mycroft.

‘We… stumbled into each other recently.’ He answered.

‘I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft.’ Sherlock interrupted.

‘What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report, it’s a bit obvious, surely?’

‘Transparent.’ John looked at Sherlock confused.

‘Time to move on then. We are in Buckingham Palace the very heart of the British nation.’ He sighed, ‘Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on!’

‘What for?’ Sherlock shrugged.

‘Your client.’

‘And my client is?’

A new man walked in. He spoke; ‘entirely anonymous. Hello Mycroft’

‘Harry! Hello,’ Mycroft answered. ‘I must apologise for the state of my little brother.’

‘A full-time occupation, I presume?’ Harry said. I snickered. ‘And this must be John Watson?’

‘Yes, hello.’ They shook hands.

‘And…’ He looked at me.

‘Y/N L/N.’ I put my hand out, and he slowly shook it.

‘Lovely to meet you.’

‘Mycroft, I don’t do anonymous clients.’ Sherlock said, walking out. ‘I’m used to mystery in one end of my cases, both ends is simply too much work. Good morning.’ As he tried to walk away, Mycroft stepped on the sheet. Luckily Sherlock had quick reflexes, if not, he had been standing naked in the Royal Palace, but luckily only his upper body got exposed.

‘Mycroft!’ I exclaimed. This was insane.

‘This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!’

‘Get off my sheet!’

‘Or what?’

‘Or I’ll just walk away.’

‘Boys! Bloody hell, you guys are acting like children!’ I shouted. Sherlock turned around to look at me. Luckily Mycroft let go of the sheet.

‘Says the actual kid,’ he mumbled.

‘I am not a child Sherlock. Now go put on some clothes!’

He sighed, and with the help of Mycroft, he went into another room to put on the clothes that the men had brought with us.

John and I had talked while he was gone. Despite Sherlock’s usual behaviour, even John was surprised at this. As Sherlock came back in, I said, ‘see, that wasn’t that bad, was it?’ He gave me the look that only kids can give. You know that “I hate you, but I don’t really, but you’re dumb” look. He drew a sharp breath.

‘My employer has a problem,’ said harry.

‘A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen,’ Mycroft continued.

‘Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?’

‘People do come to you for help, don’t they, Sherlock?’ I asked.

‘Not, to date, anyone with a Navy.’

‘This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust,’ answered Mycroft.

‘You don’t trust your own Secret Service?’ John raised an eyebrow.

‘Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.’

John visibly bit back a smile. I may have chuckled…

‘I do think we have a timetable,’ Harry interrupted.

‘Yes, of course. Um ...’ Mycroft shook his head, and opened his briefcase, took out a big glossy photograph and gave it to Sherlock.

‘What do you know about this woman?’

I looked over Sherlock’s shoulder. The picture portrayed a beautiful woman with black hair and red lipstick.

‘Nothing whatsoever,’ he replied.

‘Then you should be paying more attention. She’s been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately.’

Wow.

‘You know I don’t concern myself with trivia. Who is she?’ Sherlock was unbothered.

‘Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.’

‘Professionally?’ I asked.

‘There are many names for what she does. She prefers “dominatrix”.’ Mycroft continued.

‘Dominatrix.’ I heard Sherlock mumble.

‘Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.’

‘Sex doesn’t alarm me.’

‘How would you know?’ Mycroft said, snidely. Sherlock raised his head and stared at his brother. ‘Although, you were found wearing nothing than a sheet in Y/N’s bed…’

What. I looked at Mycroft, dumbfounded. Excuse me? Sherlock looked down at the picture.

‘Mr. Holmes, I am sure that I do not know what you are implying.’ I answered.

‘Nothing sexual of any sort has happened between me and Y/N.’ Sherlock continued.

Mycroft sniggered. ‘Of course not. Nobody would want to have intercourse with my little brother.’

I frowned. Mycroft continued; ‘She provides – shall we say – recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it.’ He took more photographs from his briefcase and handed them to Sherlock. ‘These are all from her website.’

Sherlock took the photographs and leaved through them. They were all professional-looking publicity shots for her ‘services’, and they all showed Irene naked. Wow. She was… really pretty.

‘And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs.’

‘You’re very quick, Mr Holmes.’ Harry replied

‘Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?’

Mycroft and Harry looked at each other.

‘A person of significance to my employer. We’d prefer not to say any more at this time.

Sherlock put the pictures down at the table in front of us.

‘You can’t tell us anything?’ John asked.

‘We can tell you it’s a young person. A young female person.’

Sherlock smirked. Gotcha.

‘How many photographs?’ I asked.

‘Miss Y/N, you were not even meant to be here, you are not permitted to asking questions-‘

Sherlock raised his right eyebrow.

‘-a considerable number, apparently. Can you help us, Mr Holmes?’

‘How?’

‘Will you take the case?’

‘What case? Pay her, now and in full.’

‘As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, “Know when you are beaten.”’ I added.

Sherlock turned and reached for his coat which is draped on the back of the sofa, as I flattened my skirt, ready to leave.

‘She doesn’t want anything.’ Mycroft replied.

…

She doesn’t want anything? Sherlock turned back towards him. He continued, ‘she got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour.’

‘Oh, a power-play.’ I said. Sherlock smirked. ‘A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it?’

‘Sherlock ...’ John said. Sherlock turned around and reached for his coat again. ‘Where is she?

‘Uh, in London currently. She’s staying -’ Not waiting for him to finish, Sherlock picked up his coat, stood and started to walk away. ‘Text me the details. I’ll be in touch by the end of the day.’

The men and I stood up, and John and I walked over to Sherlock. As I stood up, an overwhelming headache came over me, and I stumbled. John supported me, and mouthed, ‘are you okay?’ I nodded.

‘Do you really think you’ll have news by then?’ Asked Harry.

Sherlock turned back to him, and answered, ‘no, I think I’ll have the photographs.’ I smiled at him.

‘One can only hope you’re as good as you seem to think.’ Harry said.

‘Oh, Mr Harry. He most definitely is.’

Sherlock turned around to look at Mycroft. ‘I’ll need some equipment, of course.’

Mycroft answered, ‘anything you require. I’ll have it sent to ...’

‘Can I have a box of matches?’ Sherlock interrupted, looking at Harry.

‘I’m sorry?’ Harry said.

‘Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do.’ Sherlock held out his hand, waiting for the lighter.

‘I don’t smoke.’

‘No, I know you don’t, but your employer does.’

What was he doing? What did he need matches for?

There was a long pause, where no one was speaking. I looked at john. He was as puzzled as I. Then Harry reached into his pockets and pulled out a lighter, which he handed to Sherlock.

‘We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr Holmes.’

‘I’m not the Commonwealth,’ Sherlock replied, taking the lighter and putting it into his trouser pocket. Then he walked out of the room.

‘And that’s as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you.’ John said to Harry, and we followed Sherlock out.

‘Laters!’ said Sherlock.

[hank-green-john-watson-emma]

Question to all British people: Is this, like, a go-to joke in your country? Is it everyone’s secret desire to own a Buckingham Palace ashtray? Why?

[buckingham-ashtray]

On Monday first class first thing thrown in my face was this philosophy assignment asking me to solve the murder mystery of the deaths of Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson.

Have to repeatedly scream “Who never lived and so can never die Who never lived and so can never die Who never lived and so can never die” in my head just to keep it together.

Do you understand the physical pain. DO YOU UNDERSTAND.

[consultjohnwatson]

John, where do you and Sherlock keep the ashtray that Sherlock stole from the Buckingham Palace? Does it have a special place in 221b?

How do you- …

Good question. Do you still have it @consult-sherlockholmes ?

[arrowbrekker]

true love is stealing an ashtray from buckingham palace just to make your best friend laugh.

[the-cumberbatchs-stupid-penwing]

For the prompts- here's my first sentence. "Sherlock had gotten another invitation back to the palace, for seemingly no reason." For the fandom, BBC Sherlock, thanks.

(...) Nor is it as if the reason behind his invitation interested him much. Mycroft had appeared on the flat that morning and to his relief Sherlock was wearing pants this time.

When Sherlock arrive, they made him enterer a small room where there was a rather intimidating looking woman sitting in a small chair.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes"

Sherlock stood, looking at her

"Oh please do take a seat, we are so grateful that you accepted our invitation"

"It is not as if I had any other choice" Sherlock whispered while accommodating himself on the chair

"You see, the reason why we have made the decision to call you today is because of the lost a valuable object "

" The loss of an object? Look ma'am, I'm not a police officer who would waste his time looking for lost things or similar trifles, thank you but I'm not interested ”he said, rising from his chair

“ No, wait, you don't understand, it is REALLY valuable ”

Sherlock was a little surprised when he noticed how the woman had emphasized the word ‘really’ and took a seat again

"What is it then?" asked Sherlock

"Im afraid, I am forbidden to tell you"

"Forbidden? And how can I find it if I don't even know what I'm looking for? ”

"It is for this reason why we decided to call you Mr Holmes, you’ll see, the object is something valuable and we are certain that someone took it from us"

"When was the last time you saw it?" Sherlock said with a bit of amusement

"After the visit from a... important person"

"is it that you are also prohibited from telling me who that person is?"

The women said yes with her head. There was so much mysticism surrounding this singular situation that it made Sherlock increasingly interested.

"But i do can describe you what the person we think took the object could be like, he was a Caucasian man, with fine features and light eyes, he was also tall”

"What was the occasion when you last saw the object?"

"It was at an ... inspection, if I am not mistaken it was the first day of January"

In an almost surprising way the more the woman spoke, the more and more Sherlock was drawn to the story, perhaps the reason behind his sudden interest was the lack of cases worthy of his attention for the past two months, in conclusion, Sherlock was bored to the marrow and would take any cases that came his way.

When the woman said to Sherlock everything she could, he decided that the “game” was afoot, From deduction to deduction, from track to track, from name to name Sherlock gathered more and more data to get to the bottom of the matter, "To be a thief, it is quite elusive" Sherlock thought to himself. He spoke to butlers, housekeepers, cooks, maids, and gardeners; When he felt he had had enough, Sherlock took all his collected leads and returned to his apartment, where he put the cards on the table.

A name linked with the other, a date was related to another, it was almost satisfactory how all the pieces fit perfectly, Sherlock did not want to admit it but, to be a simple case of theft it was something a little interspersed...

Until it was concluded. Oh damn the time when Sherlock got his thief's name, Sherlock's head was going to burst, he couldn't believe it.

"OH DAMN IT," he yelled

John freaked out with the yell so much that he almost dropped the tea “WHAT?! ... what?"

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND JOHN, HOW CAN SUCH A FALLACY BE POSSIBLE ?!"

"Fallacy- what the hell is going on Sherlock?" Said John while taking a seat

Sherlock quickly got up from his seat "They again called me this morning from the Buckingham Palace"

"Again?"

"Yes, again, apparently a robbery had taken place in the palace”

"a robbery?"

"Yes, John a robbery, are you going to be repeating everything I say ?! Anyway, they did not want to tell me what object was or who their suspect was, since I was bored to death I decided to take the ‘case’ So, I questioned many people and gathered enough clues to realize that absolutely everything points to one person ”

“ whom? ” asked intrigued John

Sherlock answered in the most dramatic way possible "Me."

John couldn't help but burst in laughter.

"What are you laughing at ?! I am accusing myself of a robbery that I do not remember having perpetrated "

" Jesus, how being someone so smart can you be so stupid? "

"stupid..?"

"Sherlock, they want the ashtray back, it's obvious."

"The ashtray-" Sherlock's eyes slithered through the room until he met the small glass ashtray located above the fireplace

"I don't know why they didn't ask for it in a more ... normal way but you have to give them credit now the way they asked you to return it was quite imaginative "John continued with a laugh

The next morning, a maid from the palace heard a knock on the front door, when she opened the door she noticed the prescience of a small glass ashtray which had a note attached

“Here is the object,Do not call me again.-SH ”

[rorybergstrom]

𝑫𝑰𝑫 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑩𝑶𝑫𝒀 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑨 𝑩𝑰𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑲𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑻𝑯 𝑳𝑶𝑹𝑫  ???

            hello, it’s nora again…. hitting u with another child. a south london-born softboi who deserves tenderness. has a burner phone and doesn’t use social media. does techno dj sets. plays the synth loudly through the night if u live in gorham his room always sounds like a space ship just landed. deals weed around campus on his rollerskates. hates that he can’t get new light up wheels because ana coto made rollerskating cool again. as is tradition, here’s the pinterest board. this intro is recycled?? so if theres mistakes, sue me??? and be sure to like and subscribe for more unboxing content x

application.

『 FIONN WHITEHEAD ❙ DEMI-MALE』 ⟿ looks like RORY BERGSTRÖM is here for HIS JUNIOR year as a MUSIC TECHNOLOGY student. HE is 23 years old & known to be ECCENTRIC, FANATICAL, NITPICKY & DOGMATIC. They’re living in GORHAM, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ ooc name. age. tz. pronouns. 

aesthetics.

bed hair from a permanent state of slumber, calloused fingertips from strumming bass into the early hours and djing into the blacklit night, self-help books thumbed once and thrown beneath your bed, battered copies of choose your own adventure books, spliffs passed half-arsed across rooftops while light pollution obscures low-hanging stars, marxist literature in stacks against your bedroom walls, a burner phone twice-shattered and a stash of replacement sim cards.

tw ocd, anxiety, drugs

half-swedish, half-british. the swedish is on his mother’s side. he’s bilingual but thinks in english. only really speaks swedish around his mother. only child, and kinda put a lot of pressure on himself to be the perfect kid when he was young, but his parents are honestly, quite decent? and just want him to have a nice life, they don’t care if he isn’t successful or rich or anything, they’re honestly rather solid. (wow imagine having nice parents, a first for all my characters, im literally this meme)

grew up in peckham, a suburb of london. growing up, his mum was a model / actress / waitress who later retrained as a speech therapist and his dad worked in her majesty’s service at buckingham palace. his dad wasn’t allowed to tell his family what his job entailed but rory suspects it’s probably very boring and just involves a lot of…. logistics n security.

was bullied a lot at school. [cole sprouse voice] he didn’t fit in and he didn’t want to fit in. unironically wore a trenchcoat to school every day of his life. spent most of his lunchtimes in the library because it was his safe space. as a result he knows…. loads of useless information because 30% of his school years were spent reading anthologies on space and the vikings etc. would be good on a game show. obsessively recorded every episode of university challenge as a child.

middle-class and lowkey quite wealthy but rarely talks about money, one of those well-off people who still wears really old shitty shoes and only spends money if they absolutely have to

virgin who can’t drive

into star wars, not into the big bang theory. feminist. can’t watch horror movies

favourite film is where the wild things are. also loves the florida project. thinks kids are the sweetest thing and can’t wait to be a dad to some. right now is dad to one cat, whose name changes on a daily basis (identity is constantly shifting, duuuuude), but they were originally named ‘wheezer’

rory has been musical for as long as they can remember. first picked up guitar because he thought it would make this girl esther who he was in love with like him, but he just ended up falling in love with music instead.

formulated several different bands as a kid but ultimately had to give it up cos he was quite controlling and got fixated on making a certain sound so it wasn’t really fun for the others. got into electronic music because it was something he could do basically on his own and keep tweaking until he got it perfect

always drumming their fingers or strumming invisible guitar strings. tends to avoid parties bc he has quite has specific tastes when it comes to music and doesn’t like listening to r&b for eight hours while people throw up into plastic cups.

a techno connoisseur. has been making electronic music since he was about twelve.

after his parents divorce, when he was fourteen, rory & his mother moved to run-down suburban neighbourhood, pittsfield, massachussets.

big into photography. he mostly uses a canon 35mm camera, but occasionally uses disposable ones when he wants that more rustic feel.

moving to the states, their photography became more focused on suburban neighborhoods and are often quite dark and cinematic (think gregory crewsden). here are some shots of pittsfield i really like which rory has on his wall [1] [2] [3]

falls in love 12 times a day. never had a girlfriend or boyfriend. gets sweaty when someone cute looks at him. flirting?? what?? would prefer to idealise them from a distance

gender??? hm. doesn’t really know where he fits yet, sometimes he feels like a guy and sometimes they dont feel like anything at all. isn’t really bothered, cos they think it’s a social construct anyway. uses he/they pronouns interchangeably, but feels like ‘he’ is more fitting. won’t necessarily pull anyone up on it cos he knows having an identity that’s constantly…. in flux.. can be annoying for others … and doesn’t want to be a burden even tho it isn’t at all?? rory internalises guilt

everything is socially constructed. mirrors let you move through time. the whole thing’s a metaphor. he thinks he’s got free will but really he’s trapped in a maze. in a system. all he can do is consume. people think it’s a happy game. it’s not a happy game — it’s a fucking nightmare world, and the worst thing is, it’s real and we live in it

has ocd. tries to let it affect his life as little as possible, but obviously it’s incredibly hard to control a compulsive disorder. was teased for it at school when other kids started to notice. he was obsessed with the number five, would wash his hands five times, count stairs i groups of five, he could only use the corridors in one direction and always had to keep his hands busy. it manifests itself in hyper-fixations (trains when he was a child – specifically steam engines – then later he became obsessed with space and the patterns of constellations, and now he’s obsessed with synthesizers) and repetitive behaviours like counting stairs. doesn’t really affect his social life at all, he can jst get a bit locked-on n hyper-focused sometimes.

has insomnia. barely ever sleeps. finds it hard to switch off from work / writing / gaming / whatever’s preoccupying him in that moment. he’s always awake at 5am and quite often sleeps in through classes but still gets really good grades because he’s very good at his course. rarely attends classes. prefers to work independently. doesn’t really trust his tutors are intelligent enough to be teaching him, and is particularly suspicious of the lockwood tutors. a music snob tbh

secretly a small-scale drug dealer, only does weed n some party pills. rollerskates around campus dealing cos they dnt have a car

likes: techno, the webpage cats on synthesizers in space, allen ginsberg, vintage gramophones,  floating points, lcd soundsystem, marijuana, soft dogs that let you pet them, late-night strolls talking about the universe, independent films, cigarettes, herbal tea, gallows humour, long showers, brown eyes, tchaikovsky, dr. seuss, constellations, photography, late night jazz, vintage game boys and girls who could rip his still-beating heart out of his chest and use it as an ashtray. dislikes:  weddings, funerals, formality, button-up shirts that people actually button-up, bananas, hot coffee, social media, people who watch and play sports, rap music – especially of the misogynistic variety, indie wankers in wire-framed glasses that play ed sheeran songs at open mic nights.

plot ! with ! me ! i’d say all the usual “exes fwb hookups spiel” but rory… is very tender and tame… i feel like a deer in the headlights of love……. so give me

study buddies,

people who are also into techno and are music snobs about it,

people who love all kinds of music,

people who are in bands that maybe rory’s recorded and produced stuff for,

people he actually jams with (he plays bass and synth),

unrequited crushes!!

someone they met at a knitting club in freshman year and have remained friends with despite no longer going to it

people rory knows from open mic nights and gigs

library girlfriends / boyfriends that he stares at longingly while paging through leatherbound volumes

gamers !!! social recluses !!! hermits !!

people he deals weed to on his rollerskates (why r all my characters obsessed with rollerskates)

skaters. rory is really shit at skateboarding. like really shit. help the smol

hm now that rory has !Evolved! ig we can do hook up plots if u want but he’s not tht good at divorcing sex from emotion?? like he  hooked up w teddy once n felt hopelessly inlove so..... if u want soft plots b prepared for crippling sadness.......

stay groovy XD XD

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Do you know any vampire AUs with either Stanny, Scisaac or Steo?

Yeah! - Anastasia

Hungry for you by Suphomie

(1/1 I 1,249 I Not Rated I Steo)

Vampire AU

Forbidden Love by Angelwithwingsoffire

(1/1 I 1,800 I Not Rated I Scisaac)

Stiles and Scott are vampires. Derek and Isaac are werewolves. Vampires and werewolves hate each other. Scott and Isaac, fell in love.

We don't Kill by Kindred

(2/2 I 3,835 I Mature I Scisaac)

Stiles and Isaac are vampires and they are looking for protection

The Defeat of the Will by Minyron

(1/1 I 3,903 I Explicit I Steo)

Stiles meets an unlikely ally, and Theo joins the Germans' last resistance against the Red Army.

As Berlin falls and an era comes to an end, what will stand amidst the ruins is uncertain.

Unable Are The Loved To Die, For Love Is Immortality by neglectedtuesday

(1/1 I 6,522 I General I Scisaac)

Stiles takes a long drag on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the open window. It’s raining. A few droplets manage to find their way inside, hitting the peeling white windowsill or dripping down the leaves of the assortment of plants that would usually be basking in the Californian sun. Stiles takes another drag, ignoring the glare that Lydia is giving him whilst she sprinkles essence of wormwood into the cauldron bubbling away on the stove.

“You’d think after 4000 years, you’d have stopped picking up bad habits,” Lydia says primly; dicing the spleen of a pig into neat, equal sized chunks. Stiles ignores her. He takes another drag before stubbing the cigarette out in the crystal ashtray they’d stolen from Buckingham Palace. Well they is a loose term. Stiles stole it, an extra payment from her Majesty. Stiles almost lost a finger to those pixies.

Night Changes by sappho3010

(9/? I 11,305 I Teen I Steo)

Stiles Stilinski was the token human. He was always the man with the plan. Turning into a vampire was not part of the plan. Falling in love with Theo Raeken was also definitely not part of the plan.