#feel free to add more but i am fresh out

[sfehvn]

intruder

Part 2 | Part 3

Description: A year has since came and went following Astarion's ascension ritual. He is no longer himself, but then... Where is he? Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 1,717 Characters: ascended!Astarion x Tav

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Tears threatened to spill as you gazed upon the man before you. One that you so loved, so craved; one that you have proven loyalty to time and again. Nervous fingers fiddled with the luxurious silk that adorned your body. The material was something you had always eluded before. When your heart was still pumping and breathing was a necessity. You didn’t have much use for those actions anymore, yet you still felt the deep red gown to be constricting.

“My, red really is your color, isn’t it darling?” Astarion’s words encouraged your eyes to wilt towards the floor in submission.

“Yes, love.” They didn’t sound like your own anymore, regardless you still spoke. A gnawing ache permanently etched into your chest as you had come to realize. How long have you been doing this dance with him now? Time was simply a construct of another time for you. One reserved for your long-gone, rosy-cheeked self. Your heart weighed heavier than you could comprehend these days.

Your master’s pale fingers effortlessly land under your chin leading your eyes to his own. His brow furrowed with indignation, you assume at least. “What’s got you down?” He questions, eyes never faltering. You wanted to laugh, though you didn’t; of course. What a ridiculous question it was. You could have prepared a book on the things that are wrong.

The ridiculously lavish gowns you are confined to, for starters. So different from the armor that had once adorned your body when you had first met the fearful spawn. The complete lack of your feelings. The fact that you weren’t allowed to freely-think any longer. Astarion would argue that letting you pick the color of the sheets in the bed-chamber was sufficient enough. You missed the daylight. When light flooded from the doors of the manor, you fantasized of running out. Of making a bed out of the fresh flowers blooming in Baldur’s Gate and basking in the warmth of the rays above. Parts of you longed for it no matter the banishment those same rays would cast on you.

“I’m fine.” You utter instead, a weak smile splaying saddeningly across your face. The lack of attention from Astarion in the past months had taken its toll. Mind convinced he no longer wanted you for love as you had desired. The reason you had given your life to remain in the shadows for its eternity.

“Do not lie to me, darling.” He spoke firmly, a gentle thumb brushing your surely paled cheek. Instinctively your eyes shut and you lean into the touch yearningly. “What is wrong?” It came more as a demand but you were too distracted to comprehend his words. It had been so long since he had shown you the attention he showers you with now. Too long. A soft sigh escapes your lips as his free hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, cold fingertips caressing your cold neck, lingering over the raised flesh of scar tissue.

“I miss the sun.” You spoke hesitantly, your eyes fluttering to meet him once more. He nodded in encouragement, a silent word spoken for you to continue. “I miss being able to come and go as I please.” Your words became more confident. “And I hate this dress.” This elicited an amused chuckle from Astarion.

“What else, pet?” 

“I miss you Astarion. Most days I can’t tell if you’re bored with me or not. I am reduced to shadows while you galavant over Baldur’s Gate. I-”

His eyes hardened, an indication to you that you had spoken too freely. “Galavant.” He sneered in distaste, releasing his hold on your chin and dropping his hand from your shoulder. “You think what I’ve been doing is galavanting? I work, without thanks, might I add. I did this for you. To ensure you can have a comfortable existence. To ensure you would never have to put yourself in harm's way again. So that we could spend eternity together. As we are fated.” The distaste in his words seared you.

This was a mistake you had decided. “Right, I’m sorry.” Quiet and meek, you pondered if he knew exactly how frightened you had become of his ruling hand. He had never hit you, no. He did not need to. You felt like another pawn in his game, and here you had let your guard falter just for him to bare his teeth again. Sleep, eat, fuck. That was the comfortable existence you were to live. If this was fate, she had a cruel and unkind hand played to you.

“The dress is nice on you.” Astarion added flatly. “The least you could do is be grateful and wear it without complaint. That is your duty. You look the part, you act the part. That includes not sulking around the manor and ruining my good day.” He sneered, his previously sweet demeanor gone. “I expect you to help me greet our guests. They will be here soon. You will not embarrass me with your sour mood and you will be a dutiful hostess tonight.” Without another word he leaves the bed chamber.

Stinging tears pooled in your eyes. You often wondered if your Astarion was still in there. The one who speaks charmingly to you when he does, the one who touches you sweetly to allow you the briefest moment of comfort and relief in his presence. Or has he just become an expert at fiddling with your strings, at manipulating you to get exactly what you’re thinking out of you. You suppose that is more likely. Astarion had often said the old him died the day of the ritual, something you had chalked up to a figure of speech until recently. 

The old Astarion really did die that day, and you were stuck with a monster who moved about in his beautiful skin. You know that now.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“You were a good girl tonight.” Astarion delights as the two of you prepare to rest. His body bare, while yours is adorned in the finest nightgown the gold in his pockets can buy. You say nothing as you blindly pull each pin out of your hair. Running your fingers through the strands you discover another pin. Your maid had done an intricate updo in preparation for her master’s guests earlier in the evening, and you had only wished there was a way for you to admire her handiwork. Suddenly a pair of strong hands are on your shoulders. “I believe a reward is in order.”

You stiffened. “Something I receive every night can hardly be viewed as a reward.” You mull as you begin brushing through your hair. The grip on your shoulders tighten in contempt and just as quickly, they loosen.

“Tav?” Fear stricken words grace your ears, and you can’t help but turn quickly, his hands dropping to his sides. Astarion was never fearful. Not anymore. Your eyes are wide with confusion, desperation as your eyes shift over Astarion’s face. “Gods, what has he done to you?” Your stomach sinks. For a split second, you think of just how sickly you may look.

“A-Astarion?” You sputter, wide eyed. His eyes held an admiration you hadn’t seen since the ritual had taken place, since the Astarion you loved dearly had fallen prey to his own quest for power.

His knees buckled beneath his weight, head bowing into your lap. “What have I done?” His body shakes as sobs erupt from him, back rising and falling with each heartbreaking sound emanating. Naturally your hands reach for him, hands splayed over the deep scars on his back. Your own tears stream silently down your cheeks, unable to comprehend whatever is going on.

“Astarion… Is it you?” Carefully spoken, afraid of being deceived once more. What if this was some sort of sick test? What if you're banished to your bed chamber for two months again? You can’t do that again… You won't.

His head lifts slowly, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “It’s me, my darling. It’s me.” It is spoken brokenly, voice cracking in defeat. “I’m not sure how long I have. I, gods, I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Please don’t leave me again Astarion.” The thought of being punished pushed to the back of your mind. This is him. You both grabbed at each other with sorrowful hands. “What do you mean you don’t know how long you have?” Louder than you expected, desperation oozing from every word. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I’ve no choice.” Astarion’s voice is weak. “I’ve been trying to break through since the ritual, love. He…” He trails for a moment, “He’s too strong.” He shakes his head, disgust evident on his tongue. “I’m so sorry, my love.” He begins, stating his apologies over and over again, as if he was stuck in a melancholic daze.

  “Where will you go- where are you?” The tears sting at your eyes again, moving down your face and you don’t bother brushing them away, feverishly lavishing in every second you have left with him. “Are you in pain?” You ask shakily.

“I’m here. I’m not in control.” He shakes his head, eyes distant. “It’s dark. The only pain I feel is being away from you.” Infinitely succumbing to darkness, the very thing Astarion had wanted to avoid. His body has become a vessel for something evil. “I can’t-” The words were painful as he seemed to struggle internally.

There is a brief flash of pain upon his face before that same face of contempt reappears. His eyes are dark and he swiftly stands to his feet. He would not kneel to you. Perhaps it was because he had been bested by the soul that lurks deep in his depths, the embarrassment too great, he simply leaves the bed chamber.

You’re left disoriented. You were momentarily glad that the other Astarion wouldn’t punish you for the indiscretion of indulging the spawn that had fought his way out of the darkness for a juncture, perhaps it would come at a later time.

Your mind was plagued, but at the forefront was your love. Suspended in time, in darkness, alone.

[aaakikoo]

Low effort scenarios with my favorite fictional man. Bakugou.

an -> low effort is what I do best lmao, I hope you enjoy this. I have alresdy done these with more effort put in them 😭 I’ll list some below.

here and here.

another an -> requests currently open, or if you want to send ideas, thirsts or suggestions feel free to do that too. Comments and rblogs r appreciated!

paring -> k.Bakugou x f!reader

warnings -> language, idk tell me if there is any other.

———

1. NOT SHARING HIS RAMEN WITH YOU

“Babe please just one bite” you said as the blond was slurping on his noodles. “Fuck off, get your own.”

“You made the last pack! I am not heading to the store for a packet of noodles!” You said in defense but he didn’t seem to care as he continued chewing.

“Babe please!” You held him by the shoulders as you whined further. “I said no.” He said taking another bite.

“Fine.” You huffed and sat your ass back down on the couch. after Bakugou had finished slurping and munching on his noodles he came and sat with you on the couch.

At first you didn’t pay him any mind until he made a mistake and placed his arm around your waist.

You quickly slapped his arm away. “I’m mad at you.” You said leaving the living room and heading to your shared bedroom.

On your way you heard him scoff but you didn’t care.

A few minutes later he came in to apologize but it wasn’t successful.

“Why do I have to apologize after eating something I ate, and paid for? Do I have to share everything with you.” He asked in annoyance.

“Well you could’ve gave me one singular bite!” You said in defense and he scoffed and left the room annoyed at your behavior.

About half an hour later he came in, this time you didn’t bother to look at him. He didn’t say anything either, he came in and picked you off of the bed.

“W-what? Hey, what are you doing??” You asked surprised, no answer. “Put me down!” Still no answer.

He walked downstairs and headed to the kitchen placing you on one of the island chairs.

“What are-“ you words were swallowed up as you saw what was in front of you.

“Stop being mad at me now okay?”

He had bought you more noodles, made them for you, cut you fresh vegetables to have with, seasoned it, and put chopsticks on the side for you to eat.

You didn’t replay, only offering him a little hidden smile as you began munching.

The man still sat across from you on the island. “Thank you. Best boyfriend ever.”

“Huge mood swing.”

2. BUYING FOR YOU

It was a Sunday afternoon and you were both chilling on the couch.

Tomorrow was your day off so you were in a good mood, scrolling on whatever expensive brands site, checking out their latest drops and most hottest items.

Also Bakugou told you he will be taking you out after his shift, by 7pm. So you were trying to see if you could make a steal for the date.

Currently, Bakugou’s eyes were glued on the tv and your eyes were glued on your phone.

The guy in the show Bakugou is watching had made a pretty funny joke and Bakugou looked down at you to see if you had catched that.

Instead he finds you eyeing a dark red pair of high pump heels. He saw you like it and add it to your list and he thought that was it.

He continued watching the series like nothing happened and you closed your phone and now focusing on the tv.

The next day you woke up to an empty bed like always when it is your day off, currently 9am and you headed down to make yourself breakfast.

After you had eaten you clean up a bit and chatted with your friends for a little. Until the doorbell rang and there was a mailman, delivering you a package and asking for your autograph.

You had told him that you didn’t purchase anything but he kept on insisting that this was the right address.

You took a look on the address and it was correct then you saw that it was bought with your boyfriends name. So you gave the mailman your autograph.

After you closed and locked your door you took the box into the living room. Wondering what your boyfriend could’ve possibly purchased. He always asks for your opinion before he purchases anything.

Curiosity got the best out of you and you opened the brown box, the box revealing another box inside. A more expensive looking one. Matt black box with golden letters from the expensive brand you were looking at earlier.

You opened the black box, now this time the box revealed a white stretchy bag, you opened the box and your jaw dropped at the sight.

The dark red pumps you were looking at yesterday. Before you could properly make up your thoughts your boyfriend messaged you.

[ wear em today ]

Is all he sent to you, you wondered how he knew that you had gotten them, then you remembered he gets a notification when a package is delivered.

Your heart was filled with warmth.

By 17:30 you started getting ready, quick shower, blowing your hair, picking your outfit. A long black silky dress and gold jewelry everywhere from your ears, wrists to your neck and fingers. Elegant makeup and your hair out up in a golden butterfly claw clip. Along with of course the new heels.

By 18:50 you received a text. Which meant to head outside. And so you did.

When you stepped outside you were met with your boyfriend dressed in black suit pants and a white dress shirt with a dark red tie to match his eyes and your new bought heels.

He greeted you with a hug and a kiss on your temple. “Thank you.” You said and pecked his lips.

“Nothing but the best for you.”

[bowlofsoob]

SOOBIN AS YOUR MUTUAL THAT YOU HATE IRL — part two

part one

soobin x gender neutral reader

you and soobin have been mutuals on twitter for almost a year as you both run bebe rexha fan accounts. he uses a fake name and you guys get along well, you talk to him more than your irl friends atp. on the other hand you and soobin don’t get along irl after constantly competing for the number one spot on the academic leaderboard. since then he always gives you a rbf and says he finds you too obnoxious. but that all changes when you finally decide to meet your favorite oomf in person.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐་༘

The street was dark apart from the flickering lamps on the side of the walkway as you made your way towards Steve – or well Soobin’s – house. It still felt odd.

Your palms felt clammy and you were clad in your pajamas, in too much of a rush to change. Which was a decision you were regretting since the flimsy fabric did nothing to protect you against the wind.

Before you knew it you spotted the complex Soobin supposedly lived in, and as you walked closer you could see his tall figure waiting for you in the dark. It would’ve been rather creepy if not for the fact he was drowning in a large hoodie and sweats with a beanie tugged on his hair. His arms were crossed across his chest as he rocked back and forth due to the cold.

You swallowed your nerves and made your way towards him, not quite knowing what to do with your hands other than give him an awkward wave as he spotted you.

“Hey,” he breathed out, gesturing for you to follow him inside.

The warmth of his apartment was far more welcoming than the freezing night. He shut the door behind you both and tugged off his beanie as he gestured for you to sit down.

“Hi,” you greeted back as you sank down on his couch. The entire place felt very lived in.

Soobin’s face scrunched up into an abashed smile.

“I missed you,” you added, “I’m glad you reached out.”

“I am too,” he hummed, reaching out to take his hand into yours. His palms felt warm against your own freezing ones.

“What was your last text about?” you question as his thumb rubs circles on your palm.

“I don’t know what your talking about?” he smiles, “What did I say?”

“You know damn well what you said,” you huff.

“Okay, well I meant it,” he answers, “I convinced myself to try and forget you since you were an online friend. But having you right in front of me changed things.”

“Changed things how?” you say, warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“Well, for one I can actually see you,” Soobin notes, “And do things like this,” he adds, his voice going quiet as he reaches over to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “And, instead of fantasizing about kissing you, I could actually do it.”

“You fantasized about it?” you ask in disbelief, still flustered at the touch of his hand so close to your face “You didn’t even know what I looked like!”

“You were kinda just a blob in my mind,” he shrugs, a smile tilting his lips at your offended face.

“A pretty blob though, right?”

“Of course.”

“So, you really don’t hate me?” you muse, playing with his fingers, “It’s so weird seeing you be so gentle.”

“Would you rather me go back to being rude?” he replies, “But I really don’t. I feel a little ashamed at how I used to treat you.”

“It’s okay, I did the same,” you assure, patting his hand, “Let’s start fresh.”

“Okay,” he agrees, clasping your hand in between his, “Let’s go out.”

“Straight to the point?”

“I don’t think we should waste any more time,” he replies, “I need to make it up to you.”

“Kiss me and consider yourself forgiven,” you manage to croak out, your throat closing up at your false confidence. Honestly, you were qute irritated with yourself on how you treated Soobin for the past few months. You desperately wanted to move on and start fresh.

Soobin let out a surprised laugh and you wanted to ingrain the sound into your mind. He brought up his free palm to his mouth and let out a small giggle into it.

“Okay,” he manages to say, taking a deep breath.

“Any day now.”

“Shut up, I need a moment–,” he started, but was interrupted as you reached over and yanked on his hoodie to slot his lips against yours. He stumbled and you both fell backwards onto the couch as he caught himself above you, both knees outside your hips as you snaked your hands around his waist.

He stared at your for a mere moment in disbelief before leaning down to capture your lips with his. His lips felt pillowy against your own and his warm body right on top of yours made it feel just as good.

You had to remind yourself not to laugh into the kiss with how happy it made you feel.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐་༘

future texts and tweets

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐་༘

[pathetic-sapphic]

Thank you for doing my request! Your write wonderfully. And of course it’s ok that you do it for the male characters! U don’t need permission from me this is your account and your writing, you do what you want :) and also if you’re gonna do it can you add Grayson to the list? Tysmm 🤍

Arcane men with a S/O who has anxiety

VIKTOR likes to use the slow and gentle approach when helping you during harder times. He understands what it's like to have doubts and feel as if all eyes are on you, just waiting for you to make the wrong move or fail. He will ground you by gently taking hold of your hand and kissing the back of it, whispering how everything is going to be alright and that he is right next to you. If he sees you panicking and your breathing getting heavier, he will lead you outside to get some fresh air. Viktor will sit next to you on a bench, winding his arm around you and drawing soft circles along the length of your spine until you've calmed down. Overall, he is a very gentle and patient lover who will be there for you no matter what, always reassuring you and helping you regain your peace. Viktor is forever your safe space.

''There we go, darling. It's okay, just breathe. No no, do not apologize, there is no place I'd rather be than right here next to you. Trust me. You know I'd never lie to you. Remember how many times have you stood by my side whenever I felt panicked or lacked faith in myself? Exactly, so now I'm going to do the same thing for you. I love you and I want to help you, I want to be your safe space. Now, just take my hand and tell me what's bothering you. I'll always be here to listen, sweetheart.''

Let's be honest for a bit, JAYCE is a himbo through and through, meaning that it might take a while for him to pick up on your anxious tendencies. He might even mistake your nervous fidgeting for excitement which definitely doesn't help your situation. You're going to have to tell him outright what you're struggling with, but once you do, he is your biggest supporter. Jayce is good with words and he is hopelessly in love with you so he is quick to beat down any feeling of self-doubt you might feel. He is basically your rock, always standing by your side and letting you lean on him whenever you need it. Jayce is like a loyal puppy, always following you and making sure you have whatever your heart might wish, he basically treats you like royalty. He is at your beck and call, ready to help you out or just hold you whenever you feel bad or your anxiety gets the best of you.

''What's wrong, babe? Come here, sit on my lap, and tell me what happened. Oh, baby, I wish you told me earlier you struggled with all this, I would have been able to help you sooner then. Tell you what, whenever you feel like that again, feel free to seek me out and I'll help you feel better in no time! Don't be ridiculous, you're much more important than my job, I wouldn't be where I am if it wasn't for all of your support during all these years. Now, let me do the same for you and be your support, alright? Good, I love you so much, babe.''

By being a leader at such a young age and carrying such a heavy burden, EKKO is well aware of how hard it can be to try and mask any doubts or insecurities you may have. He could always rely on you whenever things got too hard and now he wants to be there for you too. Once you reveal all the things that have been plaguing you for a while, he pulls you into a long, tight hug. His heart hurts just by thinking about all the things you had to go through on your own. How many nights have you spent crying yourself to sleep while he unknowingly slumbered away next to you? He decided that it ultimately doesn't matter because it'll never happen again. He knows you'd feel bad or as if you're bothering him by confiding in him about your worries but he reassures you that you could never be a burden to him. What would truly bother him is his beloved suffering in silence while he is unaware of all the hardships they're going through.

''Oh, firefly, why didn't you tell me you've been struggling so much? I could have been there for you and helped you! It doesn't matter, it's not your fault, just don't do it anymore, okay? You are never a burden to me, don't you dare think that. You deal with just as much trouble as I do and even if you didn't, that still doesn't mean you can't rely on me when you need it. I'm here for you, babe, and I want you to look for me and tell me whenever you're not feeling well. I'll always make time for you.''

VANDER is often very busy so you might think you can hide your troubles from him since most of the time he is either off running the Last Drop or taking care of his kids. However, he is a very observant and intelligent man, not to mention a very caring one so he quickly picks up on your sour mood. He will invite you to a storage room behind the bar, asking Benzo to take over for a bit. Vander will sit next to you on a squeaky old couch and take your hands into his, laying them upon his lap. Carefully, he will ask you what's got you so upset lately and once the floodgates open, he wastes no time in pulling you into his embrace. He will kiss the top of your head and rub his big hands along your back, cursing himself for letting it get this bad. Vander calms you down and comforts you, making you promise him that you'll make sure to communicate your feelings to him in the future. He hates seeing you cry and is ready to do whatever it takes to make a smile reappear on your pretty face.

''Come here, darlin'. It's okay, I've got you now, you can cry as much as you like. I'm sorry I didn't notice how bad you've been feeling sooner. It must've been so hard for you, my love. Shh, don't apologize, it's not your fault that you're feeling this way. We all feel like that sometimes and I'll always be here for you whenever it happens, alright? I love you so much, my darlin', now let me see that beautiful smile. There it is, it's like the sun is shinning right at me. You are my sunshine and I won't let anyone dim your light or take away your warmth, got that?''

SILCO can be surprisingly kind behind closed doors. It's no secret that he has a soft spot for you and will treat you as a priority, along with his daughter of course. He quickly picks up on your fidgety and nervous form but trusts you to confide in him when you're ready. When that doesn't happen and he notices your state getting worse with the days passing by, he invites you to his office. He will make you sit in his lap and explain your troubles to him while he tentatively listens and clings to your every word. Once you're finished, Silco will gently cup your face and lift it so your eyes meet his. He will tell you how proud he is of you and how grateful he is for your trust. Next, he will reassure you that your troubles are never an issue to him and that you always have a safe space in his office. Whatever you may need, whatever your heart may wish, he is ready to grant it as long as it means it will return that beautiful smile to your lovely face. He dedicates the rest of the evening to making sure you're feeling relaxed and well-rested, banishing any negative thoughts out of your pretty little head. He may be a criminal mastermind, but to you, he is your kind and gentle boyfriend, always ready to serve you and dedicate his time and effort towards assuring your comfort and happiness.

''Come here, darling. Yes, sit right here and look at me. Please? There you are. Now, are you ready to tell me what has been bothering you so much lately? Lying is futile, my dear, do you think I haven't noticed how fidgety and distant you've been for the past few days? I just thought I'd give you time to approach me and confide in me. Seeing as that hasn't happened yet, I am now giving you an opportunity to explain what has been going on inside that pretty little head. I see, I wished you'd told me all that sooner, it would have saved you the trouble and suffering, beloved. No matter, I'm here now and I am aware of your situation, thank you for trusting me with this, I know it can be hard to talk about such things. Now, how about we take a bath and have dinner together, hm? It'll help you relax and take your mind to a hopefully more pleasant place. Perfect, wait for me in the bathroom, I'll be with you in a minute, my dear.''

a/n: i will add grayson in a separate post for arcane milfs :)

[generalsdiary]

flowers... for me?

gn!reader x Dan Heng

warnings: none

word count: under 1k

a/n: i read somewhere that men only receive flowers at their funeral- while this ain’t that sad nor referenced to that, it made me think of how dan heng would react to getting flowers ^^, not beta read we miss firefly in this house

description: you gift flowers to him, sweet tooth-rotting fluff

„flowers“ you extend your hands, handing over the beautiful bouquet to him. „yes. I can see. they look fresh, healthy. T- hm... tulips, I believe? I'll have to check in the data bank.“ he graciously turns around tapping on a small screen in the archive. „yes I think those are tulips. I am not as acquainted as you are with Earth's specimen, so apologies for taking a moment.“

you smile, he must be oblivious. with hands still outstretched you softly call out his name, „Dan Heng. they're for you.“ there's a pause. he slowly turns back around to face you. „flowers? for... me?“ you nod. „there's a custom to gift one's significant other with gifts and or flowers.“ smiling brightly at the stoic man with a neutral expression which to you translates that he is flustered. „I see. well then, I grow more accustomed to such traditions of this planet you cherish each day.“ his fingers caress against yours as he takes the bouquet in his hands. „…thank you“

„you should put them in a vase and add some sugar in the water so they last long, and perhaps cut the stem diagonally, they will take water in better that way.“ adorably you give him directions on how to take care of it. „please, I know how to take care of plants and similar species.“ he sighs softly and closes his eyes for a moment. “any particular reason behind this kind of flowers? aren’t roses the most popular Earth’s flower?” “they are. I chose tulips, red tulips because of their meaning. but, also, you could try searching for the meaning or what they symbolize- I don’t have to tell you~” you smirk, taking a small step back, teasing the poor man. he sighs, reaching out with his free hand to delicately take your hand in his, “tell me. it is obvious you wish so”, his lips press soft kisses over your knuckles and fingers while you answer. “among other things, they mean eternal, forever-lasting love.” his lips freeze for a moment, hovering over your hand, the faintest blush covers his cheeks. he blinks a few times, and after gaining his composure he gazes at the flowers, “I didn’t take you for the romantic type”, moving his gaze at you. “it’s hard to not be a romantic with someone as gentle and patient as you.” you just seem to be out for his heart today, he glances away. between feeling flustered and happy he is reminded of how in love with you he is.

your hand cups his cheek, thumb caressing his cheekbone, nudging him ever so slightly with soft moves to look back at you. “you might want to press one flower between the pages of a book, to preserve it.” he nods, “yes, that is a pleasant idea. in that cause, one flower shall be preserved.” he picks out a tulip, pulling it out of the bouquet, and brings it to your lips, “may I request…?” he quietly, almost like he is shy in this bold action, asks. your lips move against the soft petals, careful to not create a crease on the fragile flower. to your surprise, Dan Heng also moves, his lips meeting the petals on the opposite side of the same flower, his cyan eyes making unmoving eye contact with you, making your heart skip a beat.

the intimate moment passes, yet it leaves a warm atmosphere behind it. Dan Heng sets the single tulip aside, eyes lingering on it and his fingers move along the stem. in his mind, he is appreciating the flower, and in your eyes, those fingers are moving a bit seductively, you almost want to call him out on flirting in such a coy nature. your mind begins to imagine how those fingers would feel on your cheek, caressing in the same gentle way, and your eyes close at the comforting image.

you feel a hand on your cheek, caressing gently, “are you alright?” Dan Heng wonders, you appeared to have wandered off in your head. you open your eyes and meet his. the sight and the feeling of his touch fill you with a sense of joy, peace, and contentment. “I love you.” the words come out easily, you say them like it is the most natural thing in the world. he smiles, looking down at the flowers in his other hand, and looks back up at you. “I love you too.”

his gaze is filled with love and loyalty to you only, so when he talks the words seem to blow past the both of you as your focus is on each other, “I’ll have to ask Pom-Pom about a vase then.” “they will be more than happy to help out, I’m certain” you know how Pom-Pom is excited to be needed and they will probably be overjoyed to have such a sweet request. you depart your lips to say how he had you jealous over a flower but the words die down in your throat as you two don’t break eye contact, you smile. it is a personal, romantic moment, belonging only to you two. he blinks, smiling as well, surprisingly he also states something similar to your thoughts- which is quite unlike him, “you had me jealous over a flower. kissing it so… gingerly.” Dan Heng chuckles dryly. “will you kiss me as tenderly as it?” he makes a simple hushed plea.

“always” you move closer, your nose brushing past his, making your lips meet. and you could swear they feel softer than the tulip’s petals and taste sweeter than the flower’s nectar.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hiii my favourite Aemond writer!!Can we get some femdom for Aemond with praise kink and him begging to cum inside? 👀👀

Hi my favourite anon! You got it!

Just a quick note to add I have seven other requests in my asks currently and my turnaround time is around 2-4 weeks - if I haven't responded to your request yet, it means I am working on it.

Warnings: Smut. Word count: ~950

"So it is settled." Aemond decides, as he sits at the head of the long table in the Red Keep's council chambers. "Criston and I will gather an army and we will march against Daemon at Harrenhal."

Murmurs of agreement echo around him. 

When Aegon had become grievously injured during the battle at Rook's Rest, Aemond had taken over as Prince Regent in his stead, taking up the mantle of Protector of the Realm. As such, he had also asummed responsibility of making battle plans to defend his brother's claim to the throne against his half sister and uncle.

He has gathered the Small Council here today to discuss their next strategy of attack and all are now in mutual understanding of what needs to happen next.

"Criston, I trust you are able to make the necessary arrangements? We depart in three days. If there is nothing more to discuss then you are all free to go."

Criston nods in assent, standing and filing out of the room with the others, leaving Aemond sitting alone.

It is but a few moments later that she appears in the doorway and he visibly relaxes at the sight of her, his posture immediately becoming less rigid as she sweeps into the room. Her skirts flow elegantly behind her as she approaches him, never breaking eye contact.

His eye flutters closed, leaning into the warmth of her palm as she reaches out a hand to caress his cheek.

"You did so well today." She purrs. "Such a good boy."

He shivers at her praise, staring up at her, his pupil blown wide with lust. His hands reach needily for her, grasping at her hips.

"Have you had enough of playing fearless leader for today?" She simpers. "Need me to make it all better?"

Aemond swallows thickly, nodding his head. "Please." He whispers, pushing his chair back and allowing space for her to straddle his lap.

She sits astride him, her head bowing slightly under the weight of the iron and ruby crown as Aemond lifts it carefully from his own head to place upon hers.

"My Queen." He breathes, lips parted as he stares up at her with pure, unadultered adoration.

Her fingers trail playfully over the lacings of his breeches, smirking when she feels him straining against them. "My, my." She teases. "Who is this for?"

"You, only you." He grits out, struggling to control his breathing as her hand ghosts over his hardened length through his trousers. "Please..."

"Please, what?" She cocks her head. "Use your words."

"Please touch me." Aemond whimpers, bucking against her hand.

"I am touching you, silly boy." 

"I need more." He practically whines.

She shows mercy, freeing his erection and languidly running her hand up and down its thick length. "Like this?"

He screws his eye shut, the tendons in his neck straining under the effort to keep his composure. "Let me inside you. Please, my Queen."

She releases her hold of him, rucking her skirts up above her hips, revealing her bare cunt to him, already glistening with slick. "In here?"

He inhales sharply, a fresh wave of arousal causing his cock to ache painfully as he realises she's not wearing any small clothes. He reaches out to touch her, but his actions are halted as she grabs his wrist.

"Ah, ah, ah!" She chides. "You mustn't touch without permission."

He flexes his fingers before dropping his hand back to the arm of the chair. "Forgive me, my Queen. Please, please let me inside."

She giggles, it is a dulcet, playful sound. "Well, I suppose since you asked so nicely..."

She grasps his member once more, positioning it at her entrance and sinking down slowly.

Aemond's jaw goes slack as he feels her tight, wet heat envelope him. His nails dig crescent moons into the wooden arms of the chair.

As soon as he is fully sheathed inside of her, his fingertips reach up towards the top of her bodice, right eye flickering to hers. "May I? Please?"

"Take what you need." She says softly, her hand stroking through his silken strands of silver hair.

He tugs down the garment, freeing her breasts and immediately taking the taut peak of one greedily into his mouth.

She begins to rock her hips against his, feeling him groan around her as he slides in and out of her. Lewd wet sounds echo off of the vaulted ceiling, mingled with breathy gasps and moans as she bounces in his lap, fingers still tangled within his hair.

He releases her breast with a wet popping sound, quickly focusing his attention on the other. He can tell from the white hot sparks that lick at his stones and lower back that he will not last. His prick is already starting to pulsate.

"I need release." He whispers hotly against her skin.

"Already?" She asks, never faltering from the pace she has set atop his lap.

"Mmm. Please. Let me spill inside of you." His voice sounds strangled with desperation.

"And what makes you think I would allow you to do that?"

"I've been so good today, such a good boy for you. Please, please..." He babbles.

She chuckles, continuining to roll her hips against his. "Alright then. I suppose you have been. You may spend inside of me."

Aemond's entire body tenses before shuddering as he releases rope after rope of his pearly spend inside of her with a loud grunt.

She carries on stroking his hair, fucking him through his peak until he goes limp against her.

"Thank you, my Queen." He murmurs.

"Such a good boy." She replies, holding him against her chest.

[whorediaries-09]

dancing with our hands tied;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, injuries, blood, potential part two. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- it's not the best but yeah.

the slut club

i'd kiss you as the lights went out

the death eaters had been berserk ever since sirius had been declared a free man. the daily prophet who had sung cruel, heinous ballads about his criminal record was singing beautiful lullabies about him, praising him, and his 'heroic acts'. he'd burned every single one of the newspapers, being profusely aggressive at the 'two-faced bastards'.

it was even more harsh upon you since you'd been the interrogator, the one who had helped him be free during his trial.

clutching the pain caused by your broken ribs and a broken limb, you tried to clear your head, trying to numb the pain. you tried to clear the numb sleepiness that was caused due to the pain, clearing the fog as you apparated to your house. you fell on the floor, the cold wood biting into your skin. it was a cruel flow of blood and dizziness, but you still managed to send a message to the order, even if you were unsure it would reach the order.

slowly feeing your breaths pass through your nasal cavity, you felt your eyelids close, laying numb upon your own blood as you gave into the darkness succumbed around you.

*****

it was a excruciating grasp upon your arm that woke you up. it was followed by a jab on your abdomen and chest, a result of your own panic. you lay under your sheets, your blood soaked clothes replaced by new, fresh ones. you could feel the bandage upon your numb skin.

you looked around the unfamiliar room, with dark gloomy walls. they weren't a contrast to the pair of gray stormy eyes yours met. his fingers lay intertwined with yours, as he looked down upon you with an utmost worry that hurt your poor heart.

's-sirius? where am i?' his voice was barely a whisper you caught onto when he replied,

'the order's headquarters,'

'w-why?'

'dumbledore got your message. he said it wouldn't be safe to put you in your own house. you're a prime nemesis of the death eaters,'

'so i've to be alone? here?'

the air seemed to be thick with exhaustion and indecision. your question seemed to be an imposition.

'no, i'll be here.' he answered, though at a loss of words himself. 'if you want me to be?'

even though the pain deafened your thinking capabilities, you weren't sure how you got here. you weren't sure how long you'd been passed out. you weren't sure how long the pain would've weighed down upon you, leaving an excruciating amount of questions you left unvoiced.

so under the dimlight, you observed his face. it was gray, but you knew he wouldn't admit he was sick. he knew the death eaters were after you because he was free because of you. he knew it made the death eaters drive into the edge of insanity, to torture you before they could end you. it felt as if he were bruised like violets, the throbbing blue of his nerves underneath his porcelain skin.

he squeezed your fingers, not brave enough to meet your eyes. perhaps it was survivor's guilt that punished him from inside, you squeezed his fingers back, trying to reassure him, that he didn't need to fall into a trap of guilt, he wasn't at fault.

'have you slept?' you asked, even though you knew the answer.

'a few naps here and there,' he answered. 'listen i-i'm sorry, you're in this situation because of me. if you hadn't gone out to defend me and interrogated me then you wouldn't be here-'

you clapped your palm over his mouth. it was as if watching wisteria grow right over your bare feet, as if you hadn't moved in years.

'i fight for justice sirius, not you. can you please sleep?'

'i-i can't leave you alone,' he answered, muffled through your palm.

you patted the space beside you. he looked at you, his eyes reflecting an unanswered question.

'you look warm,'

*****

it was as if a red rose grew out of an icy cold ground. the time didn't seem to stop, as the insurmountable pain was long forgotten. the scent of pancakes hung in the air, the hot tea placed before you as you nibbled on your toast. you were busy staring at sirius' back muscles under his linen shirt, as the light reflected through the sheer fabric.

through the days sirius had taken care of you, you had developed a connection with him, a deep provoking one. it was far from being friends, when in a drunk haze he'd cried to you, opening about himself, his past and his insecurities. he'd pressed his forehead against yours, stroking your cheek, expressing his desire to kiss you, at least once. he told you how he'd been so scared when he'd found you barely breathing in your apartment. you remember stroking his hair, thinking he'd spit out those words out of guilt.

'here's your pancake,' he said, serving it hot on a plate, topped with butter and honey. you took a sip of your tea before thanking him. he sat beside you, cutting into his pancake, which he'd topped with whipped cream and honey.

'that's a weird combo,' you commented. he shrugged his shoulders, biting into his food.

'sirius,'

'hm?'

'thank you.' he stared at you flabbergasted.

'what for?'

'for taking care of me. i-i'd probably be dead by now if it weren't for you-'

he slapped his palm over your mouth. he stared into your eyes, an intense hotness pooling into his stomach as he neared your face. he scanned your eyes, an abyss of unreadable emotions he wanted to decipher, the curve of your nose and your tangled hair tied in a bun. even in a morning haste, he thought you looked beautiful. you brought out so much in him, it made him afraid. of what exactly he didn't know. he felt like something when you made him laugh, when you listened to him, when you were around. you were the only one who didn't look at him with eyes of pity, someone who'd escaped the hands of unjustified law.

'don't ever fucking say that. i did all this because i love you,' he grazed his temple with yours. it was a momentary bliss he supposed. in his head, you'd move away, go back to your house after you'd processed his words.

instead, you stroked your hand over his cheek. he felt your breathing palpitate, your heartbeat matching his when you neared his lips.

'i know,'

his breathing intensified. he gazed at your lips, his fingers stroking your cheek. he tucked stray hairs behind your ear, his lips almost brushing yours.

'we shouldn't,'

'i know,'

'fuck it,'

fireworks. it was as if red white and blue painted the sky, when he submitted into his desire, getting lost in your lips. his stomach erupted into a thousand butterflies as you melted under his touch. because god forbid you were made just for him. you were his drug, and what wouldn't he do to overdose.

[no-less-than-a-god]

The Lamb watches Narinder, freshly dressed in the familiar red of follower robes, standing among the grass encircling the cult’s many crypts. It was one of the few areas heavy with foot traffic that hadn’t been reduced to dirt or replaced by a walkway, and the grass there is always a healthy, soft green, the nutrients to grow taken from the bodies laid to rest nearby.

And there, Narinder stands, looking down at the grass beneath his feet. The Lamb approaches, hand on the bell around their neck to silence it, and upon closer inspection they see the fur around the exposed parts of his body twitching. His back is to them, and they can see his tail jerking randomly as it sways back and forth languidly.

Not mad, then, but something else.

The Lamb joins Narinder at his side before they drop the hand on their bell and choose to speak. “Are you troubled?” they ask, and take in Narinder’s unveiled face as his neck snaps his head to meet their gaze.

He looks…confused. Mildly uncomfortable. His ears are halfway to being pinned against his head, and his nose is furrowed. Upon meeting the Lamb’s gaze, however, the features on his face smooth out slightly, and his ears come forward.

“It’s foreign,” is what Narinder quietly answers, “the feeling of grass beneath my feet. I had forgotten what it felt like.”

The Lamb doesn’t reply to his words, taking the admission with a heavy weight in their heart. They wonder, chest aching, how much of the world had their god forgotten?

“It’s soft,” Narinder comments, “I have not yet grown accustomed to this feeling, but I think it’s one I may enjoy.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” the Lamb finally speaks, a sigh following their words. They turn their gaze from Narinder to the earth beneath them. “The grass here is always fresh, for the bodies I bury nearby keeps them healthy.”

“It’s like the first time I held you in my claws.” The Lamb’s gaze snaps back to Narinder, eyes widening slightly, as Narinder continues speaking, his three red eyes locked onto the Lamb, who stands only inches shorter than him now. “I was unused to holding such a small creature, so warm and soft. It was first strange, but progressed into something I found myself seeking when you were there.”

“I see.” The Lamb subtly bowed their head. “I apologize for not being able to let you experience that again, now.”

Both of their sizes had changed when the crown halved itself; Narinder had shrunk substantially into a height more mortal in appearance, and the Lamb had grown taller, horns lengthening and splitting at the base to grow a second pair of points. Narinder still stood taller, but nowhere near enough to hold the Lamb like he was used to.

“You apologize for naught, Lamb,” Narinder replies, eyes narrowing. He’s long stopped twitching from the grass, and he stands proud, confident, despite only having half of what he used to deem his own. “I have much preference for being free of that realm and at this size.” His mouth remains open, to say something more, but then he hesitates, and eventually shuts his jaw to look away.

The Lamb smiles, understanding. “I see.”

“Go seek your flock, Vessel,” Narinder replies, his whole body turning away from them. “I’m sure they have need of you.”

“They most likely will.” The Lamb begins to step away, but turns back to Narinder after a few steps to add, “I will return for you in a few hours time, if you remain here.”

Narinder says nothing, but the flick of his tail tells the Lamb that he had heard. They turn again, and walk back to the more populated areas of the settlement, where a rabbit immediately approaches them.

And true to their word, the Lamb returns as the sun starts to set, where they find Narinder on his back in the grass with his arms spread wide, the top half of his robe untied and pooling around his waist. His eyes are closed, and his chest is rising and falling slowly, his half of the crown clasped lazily in one of his hands. He looks asleep, but the Lamb knows better.

They approach, letting their bell signal their arrival. As they stop in front of Narinder’s head, shadowing the sun from his face, his eyes crack open to find the Lamb’s gaze already on him.

“I was left undisturbed after you left,” he says tranquilly. “Did you, perhaps, alert your followers not to pass this area for some unspecified reason?”

“I did not,” the Lamb lies. “This part of the cult grounds are simply not as traversed as the rest.”

Narinder gives them a knowing look, eyes gleefully narrowing, but he says nothing.

aka the first time Narinder touches grass after being freed from his chains (he likes it)

[choicesmonthlychallenge]

Choices March Challenge 2024

I asked and you answered. It seems like flowers and spring are prompts you are interested in for the March Challenge!

I hope you enjoy the prompts I chose. There is a mix of flowers, spring related words, March holidays, dialogue prompts, and visual floral prompts. I also posted some floral dividers that you're welcome to use.

Have Fun + Happy Creating!

Prompts + Guidelines below the cut!

Flowers (these are some possibilities, but all flowers are accepted)

Bleeding Heart Flower

Carnation

Chrysanthemum

Coneflower

Corpse Flower

Daffodil

Daisy

Gladiolus

Hydrangea

Iris

Jade Vine

Lavender

Lilac

Lily

Marigold

Moonflower

Nightshade

Orchid

Pansy

Peony

Poppy

Rose

Snapdragon

Sunflower

Tulip

Wildflowers

Spring

Awakening

Baby animals

Butterflies

Clear skies

Daylight saving

Fresh air

Growth

New Life

Outdoor activities + sports

Picnics

Rain boots

Rainy days

Renewal

Spring cleaning

Sunny weather

Warm temperatures

Longer days

Umbrella

March Holidays (these are some possibilities, but all March Holidays are accepted)

March 01: National Peanut Butter Lover's Day

March 08: International Women's Day

March 09: National Barbie Day + Get over it Day

March 11: National Napping Day

March 15: The Ides of March

March 16: National Panda Day

March 17: St. Patrick's Day

March 18: Awkward Moments Day

March19: First day of spring

March 23: National Puppy Day

March 30: National Take a Walk in the Park Day + Doctors' Day

March 31: Easter

Dialogue Prompts

"The flowers in the park seem to have a secret language, don't they?"

"Why does every spring bring back memories of that garden?"

"I can't believe you kept that secret from me all these years."

"Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"I never thought I'd see you again."

"Do you believe in second chances?"

"I thought we were in this together."

"You're not the person I thought you were."

"Sometimes silence speaks louder than words."

"Is it too late to start over?"

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"We're running out of time."

"Why are you really here?"

"Your laughter is my favorite melody."

"If our love story were a book, every page would be filled with the softest words and the sweetest kisses. What chapter are we on now?"

“Will you please shut up”

 “Of all the things i love about you, this is my favorite.”

Visual Prompts:

If one of these inspire a creative work from you feel free to use it. You can list the prompt topic + # (ie: Rainbow 3)

Guidelines + Rules

Submitted works will be featured on a weekly masterlist

Every form of creative work can be submitted: fanfiction, drabbles, moodboards, edits, drawings, poems, songs, sketches, and more—all are welcomed.

Work from any book and story from the Choices (and Pixelberry) universe are welcome (new and old alike)!

You can participate as many times as you want during the month

Clearly list the prompt your used

You can combine submissions for this event and others

Please add a cut to avoid long posts and exposing other fans to triggering/disturbing content.

If your work is NS*W please label it as such and use appropriate warnings. Adult content should be hidden under the page break.

You can get creative with the prompts. It can be a variation of the word and/or concept. It doesn’t have to be exact or literal. If the word inspires a train of thought that led you to something different, put that in the notes and send it in! Have fun with it! Make them work for you! The ultimate goal is just to find joy in creating!

Please tag @choicesmonthlychallenge​​ and if you’d like to add me you can do so as well~ @lovealexhunt​​​ (feel free to DM me your work too since Tumblr tags are fickle)

Please do not submit work that has been created with AI. Works that contain AI will not be reblogged. If reblogged inadvertently and I find out they have AI, they will be deleted.

Late entries will be accepted through April 5

[viridis-mundo]

City with no name, person with no history

A thousand years ago, Pix voluntarily went into the desert and never returned. A thousand years later, it still has consequences. A short look at friendships that span lives.

"You’ve been spending a lot of time here lately," Pix smiles, there is no claim, no hint of suspicion. The smile is soft, he is simply observing the fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, the ancient city that Pix is working so hard on has no name. Fwhip has been spending a lot here lately.

It is the middle of summer, and the sun stands high and shines for a long time, making its way even underground to the goblins. Gobland is cooler than the surface, but everyone still works a little slower and a little lazier than usual. Fwhip decided to stop construction during the heat wave. However, when your hands are not busy with materials, it turns out, that he has too much free time.

"Are you against it?" almost escapes Fwhip, but something inside him is suddenly afraid - what if he really is against it? What if suddenly Pix will say that he is tired of the company and overall the goblin is getting under his feet? What if he suddenly leaves? Which is honestly hilarious. Pix may disappear for a day or two or even a week, but everyone knows that this man has simply buried himself again in some ancient hole and sighs in admiration over half-broken vases.

"Someone should make you warm up, old man, otherwise you’ll wither away like your precious artifacts," Fwhip grins, kindly, of course, and Pix laughs too, a little muffled, as if from afar. Fwhip is again overwhelmed by the feeling that Pix is going to disappear right now. Pix has always been... Fwhip doesn't want to use the word "weird" because it implies that everyone else was normal (which they weren't), but there was always something ELSE about Pix's presence. He will tell you a fact and then add something ELSE that he shouldn't know, he will ask you a question, but there is something ELSE in the question, but you don't know for sure what it is, you will say the answer and he will hear something ELSE, incomprehensible to you. And then he will smile again and for some reason, you will feel sad.

"As if I don’t have enough warming up without you, little children," he is only like maybe eight years older than Fwhip, but Pix again looks into the distance, at the restored castle, and in his eyes is the regret of an immortal. Fwhip resists the urge to grab Pix by the sandy (it's blue-gray) shirt, like a really small child afraid of losing a parent at the festival. "I do need some fresh air from time to time," Fwhip adds more quietly, still hoping to keep his voice light-hearted, but, judging by Pix’s look, failing catastrophically. Pix looks at him closely, but not as intensely as, for example, Scott, with his magic eye, or Gem, with the carefree attitude of a princess, but with hawk's sight. Pix’s gaze is soothing, like a heavy blanket after a nervous day, like a mug of warm milk before bed, like the quiet dance of stars in the night sky. And just as centuries ago, people looked at the sky and looked for constellations, so Pix is always looking for something in someone else’s soul. With the precision of an archaeologist, he unearths long-forgotten (or buried) emotions, and Fwhip has always taken this as a challenge.

I have nothing to hide! Here I am!

But today, under Pix's magnifying glass, something too forgotten turned out to be, something that Fwhip was not ready to face. This something had a taste of redstone, gunpowder, and for some reason sand. The sand got into his teeth, into his nose, into his eyes, and that’s probably why Fwhip found that his eyes were watering. He nuzzles his nose into Pix’s shirt (it’s blue-gray), and he smells of copper - he was working on the copper aging machine underground. And this smell also calms, but for some reason, the tears keep flowing and flowing.

"I’m not going anywhere," Pix says quietly, hugging Fwhip back. And there is no consolation in the voice, only a promise, as if he was going somewhere, but changed his mind. And Fwhip believes, he nods his head, as if agreeing with the decision, and holds Pix even tighter.

A thousand years ago, these same hands could not find a sand shirt to hug and cry into. A thousand years ago, Fwhip stood alone in the middle of a desert that stretched for thousands of miles around him and wept alone. A thousand years ago, Pix voluntarily disappeared into the desert. A thousand years ago his friend did not return.

"I'm here," Pix says again as Fwhip calms down under the setting sun. The night embraced friends.

[themoonking]

breaking / preventing bad booktok habits

no one asked my opinion, but i've been thinking about this a lot so i'm going to give it anyway.

consumerism on booktube is a tale as old as time, and it's just as bad if not worse on booktok (due to the norm on tikok being to post something new at least once a day), and that leads a lot of book influencers (both on youtube and tiktok, and even instagram to an extent) into some really bad spending and consumption habits

this is my very long opinion piece on some tips and changes to make if you've already developed these bad habits or feel like you're about to.

tldr: stop buying in to hype and by more mindful about what you buy, and REMEMBER THAT LIBRARIES EXIST.

go to the library

quite simple. allows you to read as many books as you want without spending money or cluttering your home. and if you argue back that your local library is small / doesn't have a large selection, that's all the more reason to support it!! it won't grow or improve if it doesn't have people behind it.

getting rid of books

don't feel like you have to get rid of books even if you enjoyed them. i myself have larger book collection than most people i know. but you do have to make peace with the idea of getting rid of books from time to time. stop treating it like the worst thing that ever happened to you.

next time your bookshelf is full, don't immediately jump to buying a new shelf. instead, go through your entire collection and see what you really want to keep. do the marie kondo thing and take everything off the shelf so you can go through each book one by one. go over it multiple times over a couple of days, so you can come at it with fresh eyes.

when you look at each individual book, really think about it. ask yourself: did i even like this book? if i did, will i ever reread it? was it important to me or was it just a book i enjoyed and will never think about again? if i can't remember my feelings on a book, am i willing to reread it to find out?

if you have books that you were neutral on, that you liked but not in any notable way, or that you straight up didn't enjoy, it might be time to move on from them. donate to your local library: if you didn't enjoy them, there might be someone out there who might, and if you did enjoy them, they're right there if you ever have the urge to read them again.

don't think about book purges as tearing apart your perfect collection, but instead think about it as making room for something new that you enjoy and appreciate a lot more.

if you've gone over your collection multiple times and you still have no room, then feel free to buy a new shelf and expand your collection. obviously, as you read more books you'll find more that meant a lot to you that you want to keep. again, it's not about mimimalism, it's about mindfulness.

unread books

some book influencers (and their fans) have a MASSIVE problem with unread books. as in, they have 100+ on their shelves and they keep buying more to add to the pile. if you have books in your collection that have remained unread for years... it might be time to get rid of some of them. sorry.

do the same thing with the unread books as you did with the read books: go over them one by one and really think about why you're keeping them.

how long have you had it? if you've had a book for 5+ years, and you haven't felt the urge to read it yet, do you really think you're ever going to? read the description: does it seem like something that actually interests you, or did you buy it on a whim? perhaps it interested you when you bought it, but time has passed and tastes change; does it interest you now?

if you haven't touched or even thought about a book in multiple years but you can't bring yourself to get rid of it because "well maybe someday i'll need it!!" consider how dangerously close to hoarder mentality you're getting.

if you're really convinced that you'll enjoy a certain book, set it aside. make the books you set aside your priority for the next 6 months / the next year and don't buy anymore in that timeframe. if by the end of that time you haven't read the books you set aside, it's time to accept that you are simply never going to read them, and its better that they get some use rather than collect dust.

once again: donate any you get rid of to the library. if you're worried that you're going to suddenly want to read them (even though you haven't for years) and won't have them anymore, remember that if you give them to library they will be right there for you to borrow whenever you like. except that, in the time between you donating them and reading them, they won't have simply been sitting on your shelf gathering dust. instead, other people will have gotten the chance to read them and perhaps enjoyed them more than you ever would.

buying books

quite simply, just be more mindful about the books you buy.

when a new book becomes trendy on booktok or booktube, don't buy it right away. a lot of book influencers' unread books tend to be ones that they bought because they were really popular online, but that they lost interest in when the trend died out. if you're worried about missing out, remember that the book will still be available when the trend dies, and if you're only interested in something so you can partake in the trend... you're not really interesting in the book. you're interested in the clout.

when a book trend catches your eye, takes some time to think about it instead. first of all, does the book actually seem like something you're interested in? yes, everyone on booktok is talking about this new historical romance, but do you even like historical romance? this new epic fantasy is filling your youtube recommendations, but do you even like epic fantasy? look at reviews. look at reviews from people you know have similar tastes to you. did they like it? were the things they liked about it things that you enjoy?

if after thinking it through you're still engaged, go ahead and buy it! once again, its not about mimimalism. it's not about having less books. it's about mindfulness.

if you're subscribed to a book subscription box (or, god forbid, multiple book subscription boxes) maybe take stock and see if you actually want to remain subscribed. in the past 12 months, how many books from them have you read, and how many have you actually enjoyed? in my opinion, unless you've read an enjoyed the majority of books you've recieved in the past year, it might be time to unsubscribe. also always know that if a particular month's selection really interests you, you can simply buy the non-subscription version of the book without paying for all the ones that don't interest you.

like many book lovers, i enjoy wandering aimlessly around the bookstore even if i don't get anything, but if impulse buying books is an issue for you don't go to bookstores for fun. stay away from book-specific online stores. if you're spending issue is really bad, it might be time to block book-related social media tags (aka abandon booktok).

if you have an issue with your unread books getting out of control, set aside a physical space for your physical to-be-read and always ensure that your unread books can fit inside that space. if it starts to overflow, thats your sign that you need to ban yourself from buying books and focus on the books you already have (and then actually stick to that!!).

i personally have a three-tiered utility cart that i use (they're really common, you can find them a lot of places, but mine is specifically from ikea). it has a little wooden table lid that goes on the top tier that prevents me from storing anything in that layer. my unread books go in the bottom two tiers. if they get to the point that, to store them all, i have to remove the lid and start putting them on the top tier, i know that i need to slow down in my book buying and stay away from the book store. if, after that, it gets to the point where the entire top tier is full, then i know that it's time for a full book-buying ban until they're all read.

other methods i've seen people use: keep a separate, much smaller bookshelf in another part of the house. keep them in stacks but use a ruler to measure how tall the stacks get, and go on a ban if they get above a certain height. limit unread books to how many can comfortably fit on the bedside table. etc.

in general, it's best to NOT store unread books on the shelf with your other books. if they're on your shelf next to all your read books, you may not really be able to comprehend how many unread books you have, which can lead to the number getting out of hand.

and if you're buying books less for the pleasure of reading them and more for the pleasure of buying them (aka you genuinely not as a joke say "buying books and reading books are two different hobbies")... babygirl you have a shopping addiction </3

special editions

a lot of book influencers have a lot of special editions of books, but rarely have they read all of them. a lot of people really like collecting special editions, which is why my advice to unsubscribe from book boxes might, perhaps, be difficult.

however, many people who own a lot of these special editions don't really care about what's inside the book. rather, they care about the clout that comes with having a lot of special editions. even if they aren't an influencer, if you consume a lot of book content, you might get a feeling of superiority knowing that you have this type of collection that your favorite creators have.

essentially, when you go through your special editions, treat them the same as your other books from earlier but also ask yourself:

(1) is there anything actually special about this special edition? some special editions have exclusive bonus content such as cut chapters, interviews with the author, special art on the inside, et cetera; is this one of those or is it just the trade version with a recolored cover?

(2) if i have multiple different special editions of the same book, is there anything to actually distinguish them? do they have different exclusive bonus conent? different exclusive covers made by different talented artists? or are they essentially the same, except this cover is a slightly different shade of red, and this one has gold foiling in a slightly different spot?

(3) assuming i've read it, did this book actually mean something to me? do i care enough about this book to want a special copy of it? if i thought it was just okay, or even disliked it, wouldn't it be better off in the hands of someone who has it down as one of their favorite books of all time?

if you're going over your book box subscriptions and you say that you wouldn't be interesting in reading a certain book if you don't get your hands on the special edition, remeber that your experience of reading will be exactly the same if you have the exclusive special edition hardback or the standard trade paperback. it's like the tiktok trend; if you're only interested in this book if you have a special edition, you're not really interested in the book. you're interested in the clout.

essentially, the base thing you have to consider is: do you want this rare, expensive copy because the book actually means something to you, or because you want the online social status that comes from having a rare, expensive copy?

conclusion

once again, the main point is: be more mindful about the books you buy.

actually think about if you're interested in reading something instead of buying books you'll never read on a whim. think about whether your buying something for yourself or for clout.

and remember that libraries exist!! donate books to your library, donate funds to your library, borrow books from your library, etc. if you like audiobooks or ebooks, download whatever app your library uses. if your library doesn't have a book that you'd like to read, put in a request and they might purchase. participate in your library's events and activities. get involved in your library. show your local library the love it deserves!!!

bye. if you have another tip about breaking or preventing bad book habits, feel free to reblog w/ your tip.

[mrsmothmom]

I recently had to deal with some horrible people invading my stream with them saying some not so nice things to me and about others.

I’m still fresh and new to streaming and don’t have mods. How am I supposed to combat this?

buckle up

if you're a streamer reading this, and you have a tip that i haven't mentioned here, please feel free to reblog and add on~

how to deal with assholes

part 1: you are the dad of this rodeo

never forget the most important part of streaming. you are in control. you turn the stream on, you turn it off. you have all the power.

with that out of the way, let's talk about chat moderation.

part 2: a viewer is never more valuable then your time

when new streamers encounter people who are kinda mean, they sometimes feel like they have to put up with it because no one else is watching. this is incorrect.

you do not have to put up with anything - this is your stream and this is your community (even if that community is just you for now). tell mean people to be cool or move on. that is always your right.

part 3: ban them

if someone comes into your stream and makes you and your community uncomfortable, ban them. ask questions, think deeply, feel feelings about it later.

when you ban them, their messages for the last while will go away. they can appeal later and cry about it on their own time. if you ban by mistake, simply unban them and apologize. nice people who enjoy your stream will understand. rude people who don't care about you will be a problem about it. you don't want people in category 2 in your stream anyway.

part 4: what you react to is what you get

the bigger your reaction to something, the more of it you will receive. twitch is all about reactions (just ask xQc).

therefore if people are being mean, they are doing it to see you react. they want evidence that the bullying is working. therefore...

do not let them see you sad

do not let them see you mad

do not let them see you cry

do not argue

do not negotiate

the best reaction you can have to a group of rowdy bullies is the stone-faced enforcement of your power.

part 5: what to do, step by step

in the event that your stream is overtaken by a whole group of assholes (maybe just some bullies, maybe a hate raid), i encourage you to take the following steps:

stop, take a deep breath. all problems are solvable, and all disasters recoverable. do not let panic take over

go on break and mute your mic. don't give them the satisfaction of seeing you upset (the more overwhelming the attack, the more abrupt your break should be - don't bother explaining why you're leaving. if you have time to say anything at all, say that you'll be back in a moment and nothing else)

put chat in emote only mode

put chat is sub only mode

if you can, run some ads (if they're gonna be assholes, you might as well get paid)

if there are an actionable number of people causing the problem (read less than 30 or so), ban them by hand now. you can do more advanced clean up later if you need to. if it's too many to ban, you've gotta end the stream.

once the folks have been cleared out, get back on stream, apologize to your real viewers for the interruption, restore chat and continue on your way. don't bother giving air time to assholes. when it's over, it's over.

if you are too upset to continue stream, don't.

if you use a stream bot, stream deck, or alternative (touch portal, deckboard, etc), you can set many of these actions to a button that you can press to automatically go into SOS mode. i strongly recommend this.

part 6: aftermath

your community will move on as soon as you do. take a moment to calm down, decompress, and remember that those people don't know you and their opinion means nothing. don't let the community dwell on it - that is what they want, for you to be sad for as long as possible.

if you've got a whole ton of bots clogging up your followers, use commander roots tools to clear them out:

part 7: prevention

prevent known bots and assholes from crawling into your stream by using commander roots tools (to pre-ban folks) and sery_bot:

part 8: other security measures

never stream live from a public (as is people you don't bring in can appear) discord channel. if you are live, make sure you have total control over what appears on stream

never click links without checking them off-live first. what your friend thinks is harmless fun might be ban-able by twitch TOS

avoid streaming your entire desktop

people are not entitled to everything they want right when they want it (NO MATTER HOW MUCH MONEY THEY GIVE YOU). people who care about you will wait until your ready and willing do say / do / answer / preform etc. etc.

set community rules and hold everyone and yourself to them.

put disclaimers on links to gift / donate / tip you saying that everything is considered a gift and is non refundable or exchangeable.

part 9 (FINAL): respect yourself

it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks is ok. all that matters is that you feel safe and comfortable. remember:

hit them with the biggest hammer you have, and never look back.

i hope this is helpful. godspeed.

[l4long-winded]

iv. the distraction of rising temperature

summary: now that you and sherlock are at a friendlier standing, it's time to explore more of your friendship. or whatever it is (cavill!sherlock x afab!reader)

reflection: i am terribly sorry that this took so long. i just wanted everything to be how i envisioned it and of course, i ended up overdoing it. i have that nasty habit of rereading and editing until i have a singular part. then, i do it all again with the next and the next until it becomes far too much. i intended this series to be shorter, but alas, some things are not meant to be. please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated and encouraged!

warnings: seamstress!reader, conflicted!sherlock, reader has a nickname, flirting, fluff, close proximity, mystery brewing, cursing, longwinded descriptions, overthinking, sherlock is in deep denial, suggestive language, alcohol consumption, enola makes an appearance, off screen character death, somewhat slowburn, enemies to lovers, sherlock observes reader, a fitting with far too many boundaries crossed, sexual tension, victorian era, eventual smut (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 10,023

previously: mr. wright and jane austen

( this work has been cross posted on ao3 )

This is the second time you face the golden 221B in front of you and it’s definitely different than the first time, less animosity, about the same nerves, much more intrigue. After you received your book from Sherlock, he seemingly began to appear frequently around the building and around your shop. Only a couple of days passed by and you could recall seeing his recognizable frame through the window strolling by, through his voyages to and from his flat in which he would say nothing but give a slight nod of his head in acknowledgment. He certainly must know you found the book, but it’s clear he won’t approach unless you do so first out of respect for your boundaries. While his note conveyed his desire to restart fresh, it didn’t mean he would go out of his way to assume what you decided to do. Something about that sustained reverence is what pulled you to his door this afternoon, this being the sole amount of free time you’ve had in these troubling times. You’re steady as you breathe in and out for some extra confidence and to quite possibly shake some traveling nerves (it barely helps).

Once you dictate yourself as ready, you rap onto the door and take a single step backwards when you remember how much space Sherlock takes up on his lonesome. The last time, when he insulted you and disregarded your noise complaint, you felt rather small not just by his words, but by your stature compared to his. He loomed over you and narrowed his eyes in a way that caused you to lose hold of your convictions for just a moment, but the moment was enough for him to gain the upper hand, a shark smelling blood in the water. You’re convinced he’s not going to purposely agitate you this time around, but you also don’t want to accidentally toss him another opportunity. You’re hopeful he’ll be true to his word, not stupid enough to drop your guard. You still barely know anything about each other and strangers took advantage of people all the time.

The door comes open with a haste you’re not prepared for and you can’t help but take a half step back from it in reaction. Your hands capture themselves in front of your abdomen in efforts to balance yourself, as if the pull of the door would suction you inside and awkwardly leave you standing in Sherlock’s flat without invitation. It’s hardly a dramatized action since you feel the air surrounding whip around the rebellious strands of hair framing your face. Except, as you ground yourself and shuffle your feet, the person standing in front of you is very obviously not Sherlock, but a young woman with familiar features. Her eyes widen upon recognition of you, her head turning back to look into Sherlock’s flat for what appears to be answers.

“It’s a woman,” she calls back and it gives you the indication that you probably interrupted the two from some sort of discussion. It would explain her haste and why Sherlock’s marching over in what you surmise is in a mix of impatience and irritation. “Were you expecting a seamstress?” The girl asks as Sherlock gets closer and you can see him pause as he gains a better look at you, your eyes locking onto his despite the young woman sitting in between the two of you. From your peripheral vision, you could see her engaging in careful glances switching back and forth between you and Sherlock, an attempt present to decipher what the correlation to one another is since Sherlock’s offered silence. His gait’s suffered a stop enough for the girl to draw on her inspection and you’re not prepared for her scrutiny while seemingly under his.

“Give us a moment,” he finally utters, his eyebrows pinching together in the process of giving the young woman a simple, yet loaded, look. You may not know what’s going on here, but you’re aware of this look having been on the receiving end of one and having conjured it on your own. She seems to quickly catch on and she backs away with her hands up from the door and floats into the flat without further questions. Sherlock seems grateful for her lack of continued communication as he steps through the frame and shuts the door behind him.

“Excuse my sister… Enola’s fully prepared to insert herself into anyone’s business at any time if she becomes interested in any form.” Ah, his sister. That’s what looked so familiar about her. Well, you probably should have guessed it from how she quickly came to the conclusion that you were a seamstress. You suppose that such observational skills run in the family. That dynamic must be insufferable to be around, but you came from your own version of chaos in a family. There’s hardly room for judgment.

“She’s curious, huh? Sounds like she’s trying to mimic someone we both know.” You’re teasing, of course, teasing with an inkling of truth to your choice of words. To your amusement, you watch in real time as Sherlock exhales and musters a small smile.

“Trust me, she doesn’t want to be like me,” he replies and you ponder what he could possibly mean for a second since Enola’s enthusiasm proved to you in a shortened time frame of just how much she matches Sherlock. Your hesitation to ask about it warrants him to continue speaking. “You’re not at work at this hour?”

Somehow, he’s accounted for your schedule and you’re taken aback for an interlude. He doesn’t budge or comprehend how this information is not common knowledge so you have a feeling he’s not trying to be all knowing or superior. It’s perhaps something that just happens to him whether he’s in control of it or not. “No, I didn’t have too much to do today so I decided to take a break. I actually wanted to speak with you about something, but it seems as if I’ve arrived at a bad time.” You don’t want to interrupt him and his sister and could always return later, but Sherlock waves it off and crosses his arms.

“It’s not a bad time at all. Please,” he presses his arms forward into the air, “continue. I trust you received my informal letter?”

“That I did… Thank you for the book. I love it. I have my own copy back home, but I failed to bring it with me during the move. It’s already helped immensely.” You can’t stop yourself from beaming thinking about it. It’s been something to turn to when your brain’s overloaded or your hands are itching for relief from remaining in the same position for so long.

“I’m glad to hear it. Jane Austen’s work doesn’t get nearly enough attention. I assume it’s because people are too behind to understand.” He shrugs his shoulders because it really is an unfortunate circumstance. While she has some traction, much more than when she was alive, you and Sherlock both know why that traction isn’t grander or why she didn’t become acclaimed until later on. It’s a stark elephant in the hall, but you choose not to address it and shake your head to change the subject.

“Well, as much as I appreciate the gesture, I do hate how you’ve ruined the mystery of your name. I was going with Shoulders Holmes before you had to add your input.” Your hands come up to your hips in a mock scolding. It achieves the desired effect as Sherlock releases his arms from the hold against his chest and he stares at you with levity in his eyes. Him and his damn bluer-than-blue eyes.

“At least you had something to go off. I’ve referred to you as Lily for a while now.” The confession causes your hand to come up and grasp your charm out of habit and you want to release it the second you do, but you endure where you are as you try and study his face. It’s not the most terrible nickname since you enjoyed flowers, but it’s come out of left field.

“Not bad,” you exhale, “but my name is Y/N. Or… if you wish to call me Lily, I wouldn’t be opposed.” You grasp the charm tighter, though you’re not sure why you feel inclined to do so. You shouldn’t care so much what he would think of your name as even if he doesn’t, it’s not something you could change. His validation ought to mean nothing to you, and yet as you stare up at him, you feel relief flood your system as he repeats it to you. Warmth nuzzles across your back and shoulders and you could swear the same comes up to hug the apples of your cheeks, all because Sherlock saying your name is a new experience and sensation you didn’t know you could be so fond of. It eloquently rolls off his tongue and his tone is one of approval.

“So, we’re officially acquaintances, then? No longer mortal enemies who glare at each other from across the stairs?” You can’t help but laugh at the dramatics of the situation. But looking back, glaring at each other or refusing to acknowledge one another did seem to be the pattern you both fell into. You feel sheepish about how you acted, but from his body language, he also seems to be ashamed of his antics. His question was genuine as much as he intended it to sound as if he was joking.

“Correct, officially acquaintances. And I, your new acquaintance, have a proposal for you.” You watch as confusion flits over Sherlock’s face. The lines he does have are there from thinking, you can tell. “I want to help you with your investigation.”

This is not what Sherlock expects. His eyebrows raise in incredulity as he regards you. The movement in his shoulders tells you how he’s restraining himself, but you can’t tell if it’s from celebrating or expressing to you of his surprise. He persists in his stillness, quiet befalling the both of you as you look into the depths of his eyes and he traces them at different points of your facial structure and then different points of your body. Normally, a man gazing this intently at you would cause you to protect yourself and hide away, but you can almost see the cogs shifting inside of Sherlock’s head. He does what most don’t and that’s think before he speaks, analyze before jumping to conclusions that may be wrong. Considering how he’s done that before and it ended with you two disliking each other, you don’t say anything to properly give him his time of contemplation.

“I sense a condition of some sort incoming,” he decides on after a beat and you fidget with your hands because he’s right, you do have a condition. You didn’t come up here for just a friendly chat as you had days to mull over what you wanted to say to him and how you two could move forward from starting off on the wrong foot.

“Right,” you begin, and you know he hears that too often, “I want to help you with your investigation, but only if you come down to my shop and allow me to fit you for something. You don’t have to buy anything, I’m not trying to be bought,” you reassure him, “but I also could use some more business. What I’m implying here is that we could help each other out.”

Sherlock is still again. He doesn’t display to you much besides that recurring restraint. You don’t know how he could possibly read you and you could barely do the same to him, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. You stand taller to appear more confident in this and you wait for him to say something with bated breath. There are a number of ways he can respond and you lean more towards rejection than anything else. You wouldn’t be angry if he refused this altogether, there’s nothing obligating either of you to each other just because you’re now standing on common ground. He wants to say something, you can see it playing at his lips, but it’s difficult to dwell on because suddenly the both of you lightly startle hearing Enola’s voice through the door, “I have places to be, Sherlock!”

The impromptu rushing has you falter. You’re sure he’ll wave you away now, but he doesn’t create any rampant motions. He simply looks at you one last time before he speaks, “I’ll think about it.” That’s all you could ask of him since the task isn’t the most conventional of sorts. It came to fruition because of how you didn’t recognize his gift as a full reason to forgive him for his past behavior. There’s also something particularly sleazy about the idea of Sherlock presenting you with a gift of your liking solely to encourage your succor in his work, a light test behind asking him of this. By how he didn’t immediately leap at the opportunity, you’re guessing his heart was in the right place and cease those questions burdening you, the ones asking of his intentions and morals.

You depart thereafter with a polite dip of your head, one he mirrors before he watches you retreat to the stairs. It’s when you’re out of his sight that he enters his flat once more, his sister sitting comfortably in the chair at his desk. He needs to talk with her about areas being off limits because this is becoming ridiculous at this point.

“It’s about time,” Enola chimes, which in turn leads to Sherlock rolling his eyes. He resumes what he did before you knocked on his door and that’s tending to the map in front of him where Enola marked off new spots for him to travel to. They helped each other from time to time and she would soon be off embarking on another adventure he would wind up worrying over with the dangers of the world in his head. He’s examining the map with a comical magnifying glass, too busy immersing himself back into the work because he doesn’t want his mind to stray to you. Lately, it’s been doing that more than he could handle and such a detriment in focus must be tended to accordingly. While you hold the fabric he’s chased for ages now in your possession, he’s treading lightly since any interaction with you might further cloud his head. This is a phenomenon he’s not used to.

“You could use a new tie,” Enola says, breaking him free of his current task. He attempts to imagine she’s not sitting there to continue, at most shooting her an annoyed glare. Still, he can’t completely ignore her. There’s a reason she said what she said, why she chose those certain words, why she’s lying because she knows he has an impressive tie collection.

“I could’ve sworn I’ve talked with you about eavesdropping.” He doesn’t notice her stand until she reaches for the magnifying glass from him. He stands at his full height and looks down at her, again in agitation as he watches her continue on with his task. It’s like she knows he’s trying to corral his thoughts towards this subject to not stray away against his best wishes.

“I’m just making an observation. If you’re going to a fitting, why not?” Sherlock refrains from scoffing. He didn’t decide to attend yet and here Enola goes acting as if he has a plan set in stone to visit you at your shop. It confirms her eavesdropping, but he doesn’t want to give away any more information than that. Enola cannot know of how much you’re in his head, how he accidentally fell into a repetition of observing you from afar, how he wrote you a note and sent you his copy of Persuasion by Jane Austen. He knows his sister and she will just get the wrong idea. He knows what this may look like to her and that could be farther from the truth.

“... She’s pretty.”

It’s the last thing Sherlock anticipates for Enola to say. While she regularly institutes new ways to catch him off guard, this is not one he could have accounted for easily. His ego alerts him he could have prevented this had he just given more thought to what is lurking through her young mind, but alas, it’s too late for him. She’s said her piece and he now has no choice but to scrutinize it deeper than it needs to be. He doesn’t want to explore anything to do with that factor or anything relating, but Enola’s robbed him of his decorum and magnifying glass, left him a foreboding entity standing at his own desk with nothing to do but think back to how you stood before him just moments ago. You and your imperfect hair pinned to your head save for the defiant strands that love to dangle over your eyes, you and your fluttering lashes that you’re unaware almost whisp to your cheekbones from the length and fan, you and that cheeky smile adorning your lips when you say something teasing or sarcastic.

Enola’s observation is not unprecedented or incorrect. As much as he wants to declare to Enola that you’re indeed unpleasant to look at, he can’t bring himself to do so. You’re attractive, he’s known this already. He didn’t need Enola’s opinion on it. Especially not since such an opinion has led his head to recall the curves within your facial structure, the slope of your neck, how the lily of the valley rests right above your accentuated chest, how the corset cruelly punctuates your hips almost as if they’re beckoning in a pair of hands to rest upon them. These are the thoughts he wishes to avoid. They’re distractions to him and his work, they make his palms feel clammy, his fingers twitch on his desk as he imagines the pair of hands referred to on your hips as his own. This hasn’t happened to him before. He doesn’t know how to approach it or push the less than gentlemanly images beginning to flood his mind.

Thankfully, Enola passes him back his magnifying glass. “Earth to Sherlock,” she says and he’s centering himself back to this reality. He merely gives her a look before he returns to the map. He won’t dare say a thing. Enola’s too much like him and she would know something’s bothering him inside whether his comments were negative, agreeable, or neutral. It’s not worth fanning the flames of her active imagination.

You’re at the front desk busying yourself with checking off commissions and reworking invoices on parchment paper. Mrs. Thomas is there again at a nearby chair resting her feet before she goes home. She’s attended this shop often and you would regard her as a friend by how much you see her if it weren’t for how she’s a paying customer and how her closeness with your father wrote any of her actions off as mourning and pity in your eyes. You don’t want to necessarily see it this way, but it’s difficult not to with how she always seems to smile at you with sympathy lurking in her pupils. As much as you appreciate it, you’re tired of people looking at you with emotion rather than respect since you’re running this shop on your own. Even before, your father may have done a lot, but it’s you who’s created clothing under your former roof with your mother and sister. You don’t think that credit will ever be rightfully handed to you with how everyone cautiously addresses you.

The sad part is that each time it happens, you are hit with the painful reminder of how your father is gone. You’re already constantly thinking of that on your own and it follows you to your work since his last name is plastered on the building and sewed into the tags of the clothing you design. It’s bitter icing on top of the cake for your (his) remaining customers to come in here and talk to you about it or subconsciously bring the fact forth with how they maneuver their facial expressions towards you. Running on fumes is not easy at all and it’s harder with complex emotions involved.

The bell to your front door rings alerting you of a customer walking in. Their steps are heavy on your floorboards and there’s about three taken until you lift your head to view who’s entered your establishment. It’s those broad shoulders you’re sure you could recognize from kilometers away, his face a bit weary as he takes in the area of the shop for the first time inside instead of searching through the window. He walks to you slowly and instead of allowing this awkward gait to greet you at your desk, you round the obstruction and meet him halfway on the path. He pauses in front of you and you’re unable to suppress the grin forming on your features in surprise and disbelief that he came so soon. You thought he would take longer to think about what you offered, perhaps a few days, not mere hours.

“Pardon me,” he begins, “you wouldn’t happen to know where I could possibly be fitted for a tie around here, would you? My sister instructed me how I was in dire need of one.” Much like your own grin is growing by the second, as is his with his emboldened statement feigning cluelessness. You tap your chin in pretend thought as you look up at him, one arm tucking beneath your elbow across your chest.

“Ah, you have a wise sister. You’ve come to the right place. We have a large assortment of ties. Is there anything specific you’re searching for?”

“Whichever you deem best,” he responds almost instantly, his face leaning towards yours in the process for just you alone to hear. It’s a curious endeavor since there’s only you and him and Mrs. Thomas sitting in a chair. It’s then that Mrs. Thomas reminds you both of her presence, “I thought you wanted to commission more than that,” she booms out. She can be loud for an older woman.

You glance back and forth between Mrs. Thomas and Sherlock, then. You didn’t know that they knew each other and by the look on Sherlock’s face that crosses for a split second, he seems alarmed. It quickly passes through and then he’s impassive all over again.

“Yes, you’re right. I wanted to commission a, um…” his eyes scan momentarily, a sign that he’s trying to think fast that you know Mrs. Thomas won’t notice, but you do, “a vest” he decides. “A vest and a suit jacket.”

Not taking the hint that this is more than he’s bargained for, Mrs. Thomas laughs. “Might as well be fitted for the entire suit! Don’t you think so, Ms. Wright?”

Mrs. Thomas holds an unusual expression you haven’t seen before, a genuine and beaming smile that reaches her eyes and erases the sympathy from them that you consistently detect. You’re not sure what she’s doing, but instead of dwelling on her, you pivot to bring your full attention to Sherlock. It’s transparent to you that he’s hiding something, though you feel as if it’s more for Mrs. Thomas then it is for you. Still, you might as well have some fun with his visit. It’s not like you had a line of customers to dawdle on.

“Why, Mrs. Thomas, you are correct,” you can just see how Sherlock narrows his eyes at you in a warning, but despite this, you continue and hook one arm into his, now side by side, “Let’s do an entire fitting and then we can discuss that commission of yours, Mr. Shoulders.”

Sherlock fakes a smile at you, it’s tight lipped and you know this is not what he wanted, but he goes along and waves his goodbye to Mrs. Thomas who is finally standing from her chair to leave. She lingers watching you two disappear into a backroom.

“I did not agree to this,” Sherlock mutters, almost petulantly. It sounds foreign coming from such a deep voice.

“But here I am agreeing… Come on, it’ll be over before you know it. Remove the items on your torso besides the undershirt, please.” You half expect him not to listen, to put his foot down and ask for the tie again, but to your surprise, Sherlock blows a breath out through his nose and then he starts by ridding off his jacket sleeve by sleeve. You feel rather smug by his obedience, but you don’t wish to stop him through this, so you leave him to strip as you said as you go to retrieve your measuring tape and return with fresh paper for your pen and inkwell. When you return, you’re met with Sherlock undoing the current tie sitting at his neck. It slips free and the shirt is as poofy as a falling parachute through the sky.

“Erm… that shirt’s rather… large on you,” you don’t know if that’s the correct word. It seems as if it fits and yet it doesn’t, extra fabric bunching at his arms and waist. You tilt your head examining it and Sherlock takes a glance down to assess what you may mean.

“I’m aware,” he mutters. “I have trouble finding correct sizing and I don’t necessarily make the time to have actual appointments with tailors. Some things fit enough, nothing like a glove.” He shrugs his shoulders and it’s obvious to you he’s reserved himself to this way of dressing. For the most part, he didn’t do a bad job. He dressed elegantly and his other items seemed to fit him accordingly, but the bunched up fabric was for sure going to hinder you in taking his measurements. Because of this, you know what you have to do, and your fingers nervously wind the tape around your hands as you stare at him almost abashedly.

Noticing this, Sherlock looks at you quizzically. “What?”

“Sherlock, do you mind… removing your shirt? It’ll be easier to take your measurements that way, but if you don’t wish to, you aren’t obligated.” You’re already pushing him further out of his comfort zone and how he probably thought this would all go. You can see his hands flex at his sides, quiet as he stares forward and visibly ponders what he should do in this situation. You wouldn’t blame him if he rejected it entirely and put his tie and vest back on, strung his jacket along his arms and walked out of this invasive nature. It shouldn’t be this awkward, it never is with other male clients, but there’s a palpable energy between you that neither of you understand. Each step towards each other in any setting feels like a step too far, but always in the right direction.

He says nothing. You wish you could see past the flesh and skull in his head to truly capture what he may be thinking, but eventually, he whispers, “Very well, then,” and he starts at the cuffs. He unbuttons them gradually, and he glances at you once before he starts to tackle the buttons at his torso. One by one, they come undone, pectoral muscles displayed, a patch of hair on his chest that you had not expected to be there from how clean shaven he keeps his face. From every masculine element about him, it’s something you should’ve probably guessed. That and the swell of muscles in his arms that you didn’t regularly encounter on men around, such that bulge as he slips the white garment off of him completely. He turns away to discard the item with his other clothes, and then he’s left vulnerable standing in front of your full body mirror. He doesn’t look at himself. He keeps his eyes on you, waiting for another direction perhaps.

“Thank you. Let’s start with your arms.” You must carry this out as confidently as humanly possible even with the stature of Sherlock taking you a bit aback. Like a professional, you have him shift his arms out to measure his wingspan, the width of his back rather prominent to you at this moment since he is by no means a small man. You’re timorous as you measure around his biceps, as you catch the scent of his musk and tobacco standing this close by. You alternate between stretching your tape out at his limbs and then moving downward to write off the numbers each time. It’s an intimate affair as much as neither of you would like to admit it, and all that can be heard is the sound of each of your breathing. Not wanting this to be cumbersome, you try and find your voice literally kneeling before him while asking him to adjust his legs. Fortunately (and unfortunately) for you, his trousers are concealing him and it’s less inconvenient on you than when you tended to his torso.

“So, you spoke with Mrs. Thomas about a commission, hm?” You mark off the measurement with your thumbnail and then jot it down.

“Technically,” he admits. It bewilders you further. You stand so you can wrap the tape about his waist, one hand behind his back feeding it through. His warm skin touches your fingers. You’re face to face with his chest and neck here, but you ensure your eyes stay on the tape measure. You’re unaware of how he’s examining the top of your head.

“Technically? What’s technical about it?”

“Well, I wasn’t asking about a commission from you.” This is enough for your head to snap up. Your hands are still firmly on the tape measure around his waist, locking him in position to be this close to you, to be centimeters from this boulder of a man as he stares down at you with sincerity in his eyes. He’s literally so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. Those nerves from earlier are recollecting in your veins holding his steely gaze, but you don’t make any efforts to depart after his confession.

“You were asking… about my father? Why? Did you know him?” You should let go of the tape, but you don’t have the number yet to do so. Letting go just to wrap it back around him would be redundant. This isn’t any better since it’s trapping you practically against him, minimal distance between the two of you that any onlooker would confuse it as some kind of flirtatious bout, his naked torso feeding into the hypothetical guess. You stay where you are, blinking up at Sherlock who shakes his head back and forth.

“I did not. I just noticed that you were here alone so often. It made me question who Mr. Wright was. And so I came up with a bit of deception to tell Mrs. Thomas on her way out one day. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant conversation.” While honesty is easy for him to undergo, he does seem ashamed of his actions. The corner of his lips quirks for a second and it clicks for you that he knew about your father’s passing. And if he knew about your father’s passing, then it had you questioning his motives again. You want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but you hate this kind of subject.

Slowly, you look down to mark the number and then write it onto the pad of paper below. Having that be his last measurement, you detach from him and sigh out in displeasure as you look over the other measurements you’ve taken thus far. “So you got me that book out of pity,” you note, the excitement in your voice drained out from yet another person giving you special treatment you never asked for. “You asked about him because you thought he would help with your investigation since I wouldn’t, didn’t you?” You’re disappointed and you don’t bother to hide it. His cold exterior melting away so abruptly suddenly makes sense now. For a moment, you feel like a fool.

But Sherlock doesn’t allow this to last long. “Yes and no,” he replies and it leaves you puzzled. You stare at him from the side. He’s grabbing his shirt and slipping it back over himself, but he’s still looking at you in the process. “I thought that Mr. Wright may help me with my investigation, yes, but I also wanted to know if you ran this establishment by yourself. I guess a part of me knew that already, but I’ve never been one to carry out without confirmation or evidence.” He leaves the shirt open, the hair on his chest trailing down still very much visible. He conceals more of what makes him a man underneath those professional clothes, the clothes of a proper gentleman and a proper detective, but it’s not any less distracting. “Now, I don’t wish to offend you, but I did not know your father. I had little reaction to the news that Mrs. Thomas broke to me. But I knew you. I didn’t get you that book out of pity. I did it because I misread you.”

He buttons his cuffs somehow without struggling. You’re used to watching men and women alike grapple with said buttons because of the transition between left hand and right hand. You don’t think he’s ambidextrous, but much like other things about him, he’s most likely perfected it in a way where there are less steps, where there is less of a scuffle. You pay attention to this because his words are different from what you’ve experienced during your time in the city with a plethora of people coming to and from your shop. They hold weight because they’re about you, not about anyone else, but you and how you feel. It’s strange to be so known in the eyes of someone you met more than three weeks ago, but it’s also paradoxically freeing to be seen in a light free of that shame that’s haunted you since your arrival.

“I’ll… I’ll bring you that tie.” You settle on, a bit overcome with emotion in this instance from your thoughts bouncing to your father, his passing, the overwhelming “support” everyone’s extended out to you, and how Sherlock has given you what you’ve been craving for a long while now, and that’s validation and transparency. You don’t want to face him with the sting of tears in your eyes so he does appear to be confused as you walk away from him, but in your movement, you take heavy breaths to pull yourself together. It’s only when you feel secure in your features that you move to pull a royal blue tie into your hands. You’re sure it’ll bring out his eyes and he hardly uses color from what you’ve seen in his attire.

Soon, you remerge into the room, and Sherlock’s hands are politely cupping one another behind the small of his back, his shirt now fully buttoned. He’s still not looking in the mirror, the floor his choice of perspective, but with your return, he shifts his eyes up to your face and a thoughtful expression forms. He extends a hand out to you, but you raise your own to stop him.

“May I?”

He falters. You can tell he’s juggling whether he should allow you to or not, but in due time, he lowers his hands back to where they were before behind his back. It’s the slight nod that permits you to walk to him, which you do and you upturn the collar of his now wrinkled shirt for the access necessary. His pupils follow your hands with every movement and they only shut when you lift the fabric over his head to lay it around his neck. You situate both ends and Sherlock involuntarily takes a single half step forward from the light tug, his abdomen brushing against yours. Both of you hear the hitches in your breaths, and you could swear his adam’s apple bobbed from a light gulp, but neither of you choose to comment on it. You busy yourself with maneuvering the tie into its correct loops. You try to ignore how awfully domestic it feels and how your heart thuds harder in your ribcage.

“Your heart’s beating fast,” he says, that matter-of-fact tone as present as the day you met him. You forgot that your chests are pressing together and you rectify it by stepping that half step backwards that Sherlock took forward. He’s sturdy this time and doesn’t budge.

“It’s the temperature here,” you lie. This seems to appease him since he doesn’t say anything else about it, to your relief. You slip the knot upwards, one hand holding the tail, the other not stopping until it reaches his neck. Normally, you’d pull away from the client and have them view themselves in the mirror. Since this is not a normal time, you stay there in that position, your fingers against the cloth against his neck. His pulse is resting right into them and by how his jaw sets, you know he’s aware of what you’ve discovered and what you’re about to say.

“Your pulse is—”

“It’s the temperature here,” he parrots and you can’t even fault him for it because you used the same line. His wit may just hold a candle to yours. The speeding pulse introducing itself with your digits remains this way as you gaze at Sherlock. He doesn’t make any efforts to push you away and you don’t stagger backwards even if you think you should. It’s obvious to the both of you that you’re riddled with nerves and this is not an ordinary encounter nor an ordinary fitting. Eventually, you release the tie and step off to the side to maneuver out of his way. His stare follows you, but he soon removes that to walk to the mirror and view how the tie looks on him.

“Not bad, Lily,” he says.

You hide your smile behind your hand as you meet his eyes in the mirror. You were right, the tie enhances his irises. “Blue’s your color, Shoulders.”

It’s late at night, Sherlock paces the length of his floor, cautious in each step since he did not wish to alert the tenants below of his confusion and distress. Or more so, he did not wish to alert you. He’s refrained from playing his violin at such late hours in consideration of you and it’s well past the time that you’ve arrived home from work. He chose not to discuss the fabric he needs for his investigation and opted for it to occur tomorrow. He didn’t want to put a dent in whatever it was that was going on between the two of you since he usually transformed into a different person in detective mode. He’s been told he’s a pain in the ass to work with and it all has to do with the fact that he’s not a team player whatsoever, but someone who does everything by himself. He plans to get that over with when the time comes in his efforts to not completely scare you off as he has done to others in the past. You’re new to getting along with each other and he would like to keep himself from ruining it, a prophecy he holds in his head as a possibility since he is the reason for his lack of approachability. For once, for reasons he doesn’t understand, he would prefer to maintain a friendly status with you rather than antagonistic, or worse, estranged. Don’t ask him why that would be worse, he won’t answer.

Although he will see you tomorrow and he will most likely receive another piece to aid him moving forward, it didn’t stop him from trying to think about the details of the murder. They’re swarming his head all over again and he’s reliving his arrival at the crime scene to see if there’s anything he missed. This would be easier on his brain if he could just return back to the area, but of course, the police force wouldn’t be too keen on letting him reenter. Many officers hold resentment towards him and his intellect because of spite and envy and they don’t appreciate the proud aspects of Sherlock’s personality. Details stand out to him, almost perfectly outlined in paintings of what others deem as muddled colors. A man like Lestrade may display his appreciation for Sherlock’s talents and inevitable solutions, but there’s always the matter of ego to contest. A man’s ego in the fit of the “game” is fragile, especially when another’s wit and ideas are involved, superiority pouncing on what already is insecurity and vulnerability. Men in positions of power such as these hold, in Sherlock’s eyes, the most amount of emotion because they allow their arrogance and pride to corrupt their performances. While they’re in competition with Sherlock, Sherlock is in competition with himself and therefore it ensures the progression of his self growth, a means to always expand on what is already extraordinary.

But the unnerving fact of all of this despite these truths is how Sherlock’s pride still gets in the way. He stubbornly avoids the veracity of his arrogance because even if he did accept the claims of others in terms of his self-conceit, it doesn’t erase the many accomplishments he’s done up to this point. There are more to be consummated, just like this case in particular that refuses to let him sleep and refuses to let him think about anything else in his life, the basic essentials to survival sometimes neglected as a result. Forgetting to eat and nourish himself is not the ideal way to go about everything and really, nutrients would surely help him think better, but it’s how his brain is wired. It will linger on a subject until he can carve a path to the answer, until he can properly close a case and contribute a difference to the world the best way he can. This is his benefaction. Where others still trace as their purpose, he knows he’s in the thick of his own and this slump will be hurdled over as he’s done to other slumps of yesterday.

A clumsy sort of sound disrupts his current brain’s thought cacophony, knocking out of rhythm drawing his focus to his door. He’s not expecting anyone at this hour, especially not this late, so he’s bewildered to say the least. He stares at the door with intrigue, hopeful he imagined the distorting noise as he did not wish to halt his growing examination and introspection, but soon enough, the knocking continues and he knows it won’t disappear unless he answers the door as the person behind intends the impromptu meeting. He sighs his displeasure, but ultimately adjusts his loosened tie for the sake of etiquette, saunters to the door and brings it open after counting to three in his head. Sherlock’s not sure what he expected or who he assumed would be standing across from him, but it certainly wasn’t your back covered in alabaster lace, soft knots of fabric at each arm dangling from where you’ve adjusted the ties accordingly. He swallows with difficulty, especially noticing how your hair isn’t in its usual condition shapened by various tools and pins. It’s loose and free and no longer haphazardly restrained, bold in movement as you turn your body towards him upon your recognition of the door being open. He swears there’s brilliance in your eyes as they widen at him, light up in a fashion he cannot fathom correctly from how they also appear to be bloodshot, almost as rosy as the tint currently coating your face and chest.

“Sherlock!” You beam, definitely with more excitement he’s ever been confronted with in your presence, “I thought I heard you pacing. I knew I wasn’t the only one in this building who couldn’t sleep.” As you lean towards him, your hands find the left and right sides of his door frame. Your cheek presses into your shoulder as you regard him with commendation in your glowing features, innocently acute joy settling in your smile and the crinkles around your eyes. He doesn’t understand how you could be so happy to see him nor why you’re even standing here before him this late, but he does catch how you’re swaying from one side to the next on his frame he feels an odd surge of resentment suddenly for.

“Pardon my asking, but what are you doing here at this time of night? Is something troubling you?” It would explain the time and lack of warning for this visit, and he almost furrows his brows in preparation for some kind of predicament to heed, but those inclinations soon fly out the window as your palm reaches out to lay on his chest in efforts to appease the situation and dull the severity he’s approximated. He’s aware of how his heart rate picks up at the contact, but it’s hardly a point of contention or even importance because it’s occurred to Sherlock how you’re leaning not for warmth or security, but because you’re off balance. The disturbance of your equilibrium leads him to watch your body language and hear your speech pattern which sounds oddly slurred now that he’s thinking on it.

“No, nothing, nothing is troubling me,” you reassure with a pregnant pause in the air. You knit your eyebrows together as your smile falls into a thin line. “I suppose the apparent absence of company is troubling, but other than that, everything else is swell. It’s just the loneliness.” Your hand comes off his chest to wave off the worry simultaneously as your other hand departs from Sherlock’s door frame. In doing so, you stumble forward and almost fall, but Sherlock’s stature does not allow for that to happen. Seeing that he’s a force in front of you, his arms piston out to hold underneath yours, and under another circumstance possibly coupled with deep embarrassment, you would most likely lean away and apologize. Instead, you linger into his touch, weight shifting into him that is both nothing to Sherlock and yet so critically eminent to him all the same. He can smell something florally sweet coming from you and something so distinct that his conclusion of your visit is strengthened and emboldened by it.

“You’re drunk,” he conjects aloud, having already deciphered it internally. It’s relevant and obvious and sure it took him little time to figure it out, much less than the average person would take, but there’s a small portion of him that feels foolish because for a split second, for a split second he believed you were overjoyed to see him simply because he was him. Your drunken stupor’s seeking another’s companionship and there’s nothing particularly special about it being Sherlock since he was clearly the closest nearby.

“It would seem that way, but nonetheless alone!” You protest and concurrently confirm his thoughts at the same time. “You’re aberrantly strong,” you continue, your hands grasping at his tight forearms without a hint of shame. He almost slips and grins, but he keeps his impassive nature and gestures towards the hall. If he takes a few steps out, he could see your flat’s door from here. There’s not much distance to cover to get you safely back into your home.

“I’ll walk you back to your flat.” Sherlock’s willing to help you back and is fully prepared to do so, but you’re quick to rip your arms from his hold. The motion almost sends you flying backwards which then prompts him to shoot his arms out to further guide and protect, but fortunately, you find your footing and attempt to stand taller, squaring off your shoulders and raising your chin.

“You can’t make me go back there. If I see that damned sewing machine again, I’ll… I’ll put it out of its misery!”

A threat of this sort should not bother Sherlock whatsoever, especially not one threatening an inanimate object that not only he does not use, but one that couldn’t affect him directly no matter its livelihood or destruction. Yet, as he takes in your stance, your folded arms over your chest in your sincerity, drunk or not, he knows you’re not at all bluffing. You’ll break it and your sober-self will experience the consequences of such, your work no longer able to be attended to unless you replace the item. It’ll greatly inconvenience you and you have quotas to fill, clients to attend to, a business to run that he cannot authorize to be blundered due to one night of overindulgence. You work too hard and he couldn’t let you throw that away just because you drank a bit too much in one sitting.

“I suppose I could see what our other neighbors are up to. There’s bound to be someone awake, right? Maybe Mrs. Hudson is having a late night tea,” you ponder audibly with one finger coming up to thoughtfully caress your chin. You solely take one step to venture further into the hall, but Sherlock’s arm captures your waist this time, firmly planting you in your spot in front of his door frame. Before you could kick your feet out and push him away (you do neither, and make no efforts to do so, really), he levels you with his gaze and tilts his head to his flat. He feels your hands lightly grasp his arm in place at your waist. If he didn’t know the context of this situation, he would’ve guessed your arms would then wind about his neck for some kind of intimate dance. This does not happen, his mouth dry from how close this contact is nonetheless. It’s almost as overwhelming as how he had to hold still as you prodded him for measurements earlier in the day, except it’s you who’s in a vulnerable position with an inebriated dilemma and an insufficiency of clothing. Such insufficiency that others would deem improper, and worse, take advantage of, your reputation around bound to be soured due to everyone’s perception of what it meant to be a gentleman and what it meant to be a lady. This behavior is in defiance of that perception and he couldn’t enable you to make a fool of yourself, he wouldn’t forgive himself. He does not trust people.

“I have tea,” he clarifies after he realizes that there was too long of a bout of you two just locking eyes. His arm slowly snakes from where it’s encircled about your waist, but a helpful hand maneuvers to your back to further help you steady yourself. Your smile soon returns and your walking continues, this time into Sherlock’s flat.

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

One arm lays over Sherlock’s broad shoulder, the other reaching out to touch trinkets that Sherlock gingerly pulls you away from. From what he can tell, you’re in awe of what you see the more you two explore the length of his floor. He gently deposits you onto his loveseat to sit down.

“Here you are,” he says and then stands towering over you. You’re gazing up at him with the same admiration and astonishment that you did when you first entered his home and he chooses to ignore it. “Stay here and try not to touch anything. I’ll get the tea brewing.”

He’s reluctant to leave you behind seeing as his work is in disarray, his own form of organization that could easily be misshapen by your currently all-too-curious hands, but he also fears that you’ll do something worth regretting if he doesn’t entertain you and keep your attention in some way.

“Sir, yes, Sir,” you nod, one hand saluting him. “I won’t touch anything.” Normally, he wouldn’t believe someone with sticky fingers under the influence, but it’s different with you. He finds it easier to trust you when you smile at him like that and the amusement from how you then sit on your hands certainly skews his judgment.

Despite the slight nerves urging him to stay here with you, he soon finds his kitchen and pours water into a pot. He drank tea earlier so there’s not any that he can grab for you at this time at his disposal. It’s not much of a hassle placing the pot onto heat, his teapot checked for the proper leaves he would soon pour boiling water into. He wonders what preference you may have, if you favor lavender, or perhaps peppermint, or maybe something simple like black tea. He wonders if you drink some in the early hours of the morning to properly wake up, if you brew some for the sake of having something warm to drink with a fresh muffin for breakfast, if you rely on it to calm your rapidly beating heart in the plight of increasing stress. Sherlock wonders if this what you drink when you’re reading, if it’s what you nurse with cautious sips in the midst of stitching pieces together, if it’s what you turn to when you cannot sleep and you decide that you might as well find some kind of warmth in it with blankets that aren’t doing their job, and dreams that won’t make slumber any more appetizing. He wonders if it’s stopped assisting like it used to and instead of taking distance from it to rebuild its charm and tease tolerance, he wonders if it was easier to turn to wine. If it was easier to drink more and more than to sit with thoughts that won’t dare to leave you alone, if each gulp of the alcohol silenced them and buried them until the consciousness of being alive is nothing but a ghost of a whisper you cannot hear unless you’re left without hobby, task, or another human being. If you become painfully aware of how you have no one but yourself in moments like these. Oh, he wonders, he wonders. He wonders if you’re just like him.

It’s the distant sound of a door opening and closing that stops him from wondering. His head snaps up from staring at the surface of the water and immediately, he attends where he left you. When he sees you’re no longer sitting at his loveseat, he pivots to the front door and then marches over to it. Swinging it open, he glances back and forth to see if you left. Knowing that you’re drunk, you couldn’t have possibly gone far, but you’re nowhere in his sight and the thrill of panic sets into his back. It’s the creaking floorboards in his flat that drive him to step back inside, the door shut behind him as he tries to follow the muffled sound for as long as it carries, which isn’t long. Still, it leads him into his bedroom and he cautiously infiltrates the area only to find his made bed now in disorder with you settled underneath his comforter. Your hair fans out in a halo on his pillow as you bury your head into it, your eyes lazily coming open to meet his gaze.

“I told you not to touch anything,” he says, his voice quiet. It’s lacking sternness, but he can’t really be upset since he brought you into his flat with little control in your hands. He’s taking in your size in comparison to the size of his bed.

“I know, but,” you yawn, your eyes shutting in the process, nose wrinkling, a cushiony soft sigh falling from in between your lips that he equates to the hymns he’s heard inside of churches, “I got tired waiting for you. Your bed’s awfully comfortable. I think I might actually fall asleep.”

He didn’t take long in the kitchen, he knows that. However, he’s been drunk before, he understands how those minutes alone must’ve felt like centuries to your own devices. He should be shooing you out and getting you downstairs to sleep in your bed, but something in him can’t seem to do so. You look so… peaceful. It’s not like he was going to make any use of his bed himself since he planned to think all night, at most falling into his sofa for an hour or two of rest. With how much you’ve been through and how you’re constantly working yourself to the bone, Sherlock’s long acquiesced to having you spend the night here before he’s rationalized it.

“Go ahead. You deserve repose.” Sherlock comes closer to adjust your/his pillow. He doesn’t want you to wake with an uncomfortable kink in your neck or aggravate the impending migraine you’ll certainly wake with. He’s in the middle of fluffing, his wrists above your head, when he feels your hands grasp at them. Your hold is dainty, barely there, but he could feel it scorching him. He restrains himself, from doing what he doesn’t know, as he looks down into the depths of your pleading eyes, as your right thumb maddeningly strokes the sliver of skin unprotected by his shirt’s cuff. He confronts the drought in his mouth again and it travels to his throat the longer you keep your hold on him. An onlooker would surely be apprehensive to this image. His brother would absolutely lose his mind if he knew about Sherlock’s abandonment of propriety with an unmarried, unbetrothed woman laying in his bed. He would absolutely lose his mind if he knew of the thoughts mashing together in Sherlock’s head, one after the other, of how he could climb in and join you.

“Lay with me,” you breathe, almost as if you could hear those pesky fantasies clouding his mind. He grips the pillow tighter as he considers it. The prospect, as much as he wants to deny it, is tempting. Something… something in him wants to accept it. Something in him wants to settle in beside you. It’s that something, whatever the hell it is, that causes him to release the pillow from his tightening vise. He brings his hands to himself, your hold physically easy to depart from, but the willpower to pull away is what he had to muster. He feels out of breath.

“I… I-I have to go get your tea.” He points to the door and thankfully, you don’t say anything else. You just watch as he leaves the room.

What you don’t see is how his back leans into the door after he closes it, a large hand coming up to scrub down the length of his face. He’s not sure what came over him or why he even dared to consider laying with you in such a state. It’s wrong. For many reasons. The main being how you’re not sober and unaware of what you were asking for. This is not something he can do. It’s against everything he stands for. Whatever this is, whatever realm of feelings you’ve awakened within him, they have to stop. It’s unknown, thought manipulating—a distraction. Before you came in, he was busy with work. Work he has to get back to now that you’re taken care of and out of his sight. His hands clench into fists and then stretch out at his sides as he ventures back to the kitchen and pours the hot water into the teapot. He picks out the black tea leaves at the end and stares at the door to his bedroom with a tray in his hands.

He’s ready to tell you how there will be no funny business and how this is purely a friend looking out for a friend, nothing more or less, as he brings the door open… only to find you asleep, one of his pillows firmly in your arms, half of your face pressing into it. He sighs and eventually brings the tray to his bedside table. You’ll need it when you wake up.

Maybe he’ll tell you tomorrow morning.

[clangenrising]

Month 4 - Greenleaf

Goldenstar stepped out of her den and stretched, feeling the noon sun warm her pelt and soak into her shoulders. She sighed a bit and looked around. As expected, most of the Clan was out dozing in the sunshine, waiting until the cooler part of the day to handle things like border and hunting patrols. Oddy sat with Sagetooth near the entrance to the healer’s den, smiling widely and chattering away. 

Yesterday, Goldenstar had gladly accepted the healer’s offer and assured her that there would be a spot for her and her kits as long as she wanted to stay, and Oddy, for her part, had been excited at the prospect of a naming ceremony. Goldenstar had assured her that it wasn’t mandatory but she had agreed to it anyway. While healers were usually named at half-moon gatherings, Goldenstar thought it prudent to have a meeting to officially welcome her into the Clan as well. She’d told Oddy to be ready around noon, so she turned to leap onto the Stoneperch, but stopped suddenly when she came face to face with Scorch.

The ginger rogue had been waiting just outside her den it seemed and smiled at the look of surprise on Goldenstar’s face.

“Your excellence,” she purred. “Have a moment?”

Goldenstar grinned at the nickname. “I always have time for my favorite subject,” she joked. “What’s on your mind?” 

“You’re going to give the new cat a name,” stated Scorch. 

“I am,” said Goldenstar, glancing over at Oddy.

“I’d like one.” 

The statement knocked Goldenstar off balance, so to speak. “You would?” 

“Yeah,” she replied, sounding certain. Goldenstar was surprised at the lack of care and tact being used - she’d never seen Scorch speak so directly. The rogue continued, looking away casually, “Although I want to keep my name. Just…add a bit to the end. Make me an official cultist.” 

Goldenstar chuckled at that. “So you’re going to stay?” Her chest lifted with giddy excitement. 

“I think so,” nodded Scorch. “For now at least. Thought the stay might be easier if I was less of an outsider. I’m still free to leave, right?” 

“Of course,” Goldenstar purred and butted her head against Scorch’s. The molly stiffened at the touch, unsure how to respond, and Goldenstar managed to rein herself in. Blushing, she breathed out a “Sorry.” 

“Oh, uh, that’s alright, I just… wasn’t expecting it.” Scorch seemed almost dazed, but shook herself a bit and said, “Well, glad that’s settled then. I’ll leave you to it.” She stepped back and slipped away to loiter near the fresh-kill pile. Goldenstar felt light as a cloud. Her stubbornness had finally paid off with Scorch and she couldn’t be more pleased. Bunching her legs she lept to the top of the Stoneperch and turned around, proudly surveying her Clan. 

Taking a deep breath, she let her voice ring out through the camp. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Stoneperch for a Clan meeting!” The cats who were sitting around looked up and started to gravitate towards her and the rest came out of the dens to join them. Sagetooth spoke to Oddy who brightened and quickly gave her fur a last minute grooming.

Goldenstar waited a moment more and then proceeded with the ceremony. “Today we are very lucky to be welcoming new blood into the Clan. Oddy here is a skilled healer and has requested to join us in preparation for the birth of her kits. After some counseling, I have decided that a name change is no longer required for Clan membership,” she paused as some of the cats murmured among themselves, “but Oddy has asked to take one regardless.”

Sagetooth nudged Oddy and the queen stepped up to stand in the middle of the crowd, right in front of Goldenstar, her big blue eyes staring up brightly. “

“Oddy,” Goldenstar continued, “Is it your wish to join RisingClan and to serve as a healer?” 

“Oh, yes,” Oddy purred and a few of the cat’s chuckled. Oddy gasped a bit, realizing her mistake and said, “I mean, I do! It is! Yes, thank you.” 

Goldenstar chuckled and said, “Then I give you the name Oddstripe. You will need to travel with Sagetooth on the half-moon to officially be accepted by the other healers, but as far as I am concerned, you are now an official member of RisingClan!” 

The cats around gave up the cheer of “Oddstripe! Oddstripe!” and the cat of the hour looked around in amazement, a big grin on her face. Goldenstar’s eyes fell on Sagetooth however, who was frowning. She hadn’t said ‘by the power of StarClan,’ very pointedly in fact, and it seemed Sagetooth had noticed. Goldenstar looked away, deciding not to engage with that now. There was more business to conduct, after all. 

Once the cheers had died down, she raised her tail again to get the Clan’s attention. “We have another cat to induct!” she said, and the cats went quiet with interest. Scorch sat up tall, a cool expression on her face, as all eyes turned to look at her. 

“Scorch,” Goldenstar said, gesturing to the spot next to Oddy, “Join me here beneath the Stoneperch, would you?” She leapt down and Scorch stood, tail fluffing a bit, and moved to join her. 

“Do you, Scorch, wish to join RisingClan as a warrior, to hunt and fight in defense of our Clan, and to follow our way of life?” Again, she was changing the words a lot, and she could sense the apprehension at that from her Clanmates, but she figured Scorch wouldn’t be very fond of her adding ‘even at the cost of your life.’

“I do,” Scorch said, bowing her head graciously, then added under her breath, “your excellence.” Goldenstar grinned. 

“Then I give you the name Scorchplume. You have impressed me already with your determination, and we welcome you gladly as a warrior of RisingClan!” 

“Scorchplume! Scorchplume!” The call went up, from less of the cats this time. Goldenstar glanced around to see only Oddstripe, Ospreymask, Smokyrose, and Yarrowshade really enthusiastically calling out the name. Branchbark, Songdust, and Pantherhaze joined in, a bit unsure, but Nightfrost, Sagetooth, and Russetfrond either stayed quiet or barely joined in. Usually it wouldn’t be so obvious, but with such a small crowd, it wasn’t hard to see who didn't approve. Scorch could clearly tell too, and held her head even higher. 

Goldenstar leaned in and whispered, “Now I’m supposed to rest my muzzle on your head and you’re supposed to lick my shoulder.” Scorch raised a brow skeptically but lowered her head all the same, allowing Goldenstar to finish the ceremony. 

Her tongue brushed over Goldenstar’s shoulder, and she whispered back, “I guess this is harmless enough.” 

They stepped back from each other and Goldenstar said, “With that the meeting is adjourned. Congratulations to our new members. Please make sure to help them get settled into Clan life and make them feel welcome.” 

Yarrowshade came bounding over, whooping excitedly, and cried, “Why didn’t you tell me you were staying?” 

“A girl needs her secrets,” Scorchplume chuckled, flicking her tail against his side. He laughed and bumped his forehead against her shoulder. 

“Scorchplume! What a great name! It fits you perfectly.”

“Does it?” She asked, “what’s the ‘plume’ for?”

“Your tail,” Goldenstar said, “It’s like a column of fire.” 

“I see…” Scorchplume nodded slowly. “Well, you can still just call me Scorch. I made it clear to Goldenstar I wasn’t giving up my old name at all.” 

“Good to know,” Yarrowshade purred. Goldenstar’s eyes flicked over the camp to where Sagetooth was sitting by the healer’s den, a dark scowl on her face. Goldenstar swallowed and looked away again. Only a few moons in and she’d already alienated her healer and possibly her deputy. Anxiety bunched in her neck but she tried to ignore it as Scorch and Yarrowshade continued to banter next to her. She didn’t want to think about that right now. Still, the thought wormed itself into the back of her mind and wouldn’t go away.

UPDATES:

Oddy becomes a healer of RisingClan and takes the name Oddstripe. Scorch officially becomes a warrior of RisingClan and takes the name Scorchplume.

[buffetlicious]

For the Braised Fried Fish Maw Seafood Treasure Soup, the staff portioned it into ten smaller bowls before serving it to us. Not sure if it is because I am holding a camera, but my bowl came with more chunks of crab meat and fish maw. Basically, a seafood soup thickened with starch so the ingredients seem to be suspended/frozen in the soup. Black vinegar and white pepper accompanied this soup so feel free to add some to it.

Well, the Roasted Crispy Chicken with Prawn Crackers was warm and tender to eat, it however wasn’t crispy at it. And just like everywhere else in Singapore, they referred to this deep-fried chicken as a roasted chicken. Sprinkle a bit of the salt & pepper before putting it into the mouth. A lacklustre dish but thank goodness, the prawn crackers were crispy though.

This Steamed Hybrid Garoupa in Hong Kong Style was cut into sections just before they served it to us. This hybrid grouper is probably a cross between the giant grouper (Epinephelus lanceolatus) and brown-marbled grouper or tiger grouper (Epinephelus fuscoguttatus) and given the Dragon Tiger Grouper (龙虎斑) name. The fish got to be very fresh to be steamed and cooked with just a simple condiment of soya sauce, julienned spring onions and cilantro leaves for garnish. The end result, sweet springy flesh with collagen like skin that is so good to eat.

The Braised Whole 10-Head Abalone with Sea Cucumber and Spinach was up next but the process of waiting for the next dish to be served was a long one as in-between the hosts are showing us video stories of the newly married couple and plus the live singing by the friends and band. Ten pieces each of the abalone and sea cucumber sitting atop a bed of blanched Popeye’s favourite green vegetable. Why 10 you may ask? Because a table usually seat ten people so the food portions are divided equally so each get a piece of everything (for the expensive ingredients that is). The only complaint for this dish is that the spinach is on the bitter side.

Like an overturned basket or nest, spilling out Deep-Fried Prawns with Black Truffle Mayonnaise Sauce. If there is anything to change for the presentation, I would move the red and green coral lettuces from under the eatable nest and placed it in the nest for a more dramatic effect. Anyway, these truffle gratings lend an aromatic and earthy fragrances to the classic mayo prawns topped with orange flying fish roe. My colleague and I detected a mild spicy hint of wasabi in it but another colleague said it is from the truffle and mayo combo. Differences aside, this is one dish I won’t mind having again.

I always love this noodle served at the end of the dinner courses just before dessert. The Braised Ee-Fu Noodles with Yellow Chives and Straw Mushrooms is a usual staple at wedding due to the fact it is also known as longevity noodles (寿面). Normally, I would consume more than a bowl of the yi mein (伊面) but that night I was already quite stuffed from the dishes served and I was leaving room for dessert. :D

By the time the last dish was up and the clock was ticking closer to 11pm. The warm Teochew Yam Paste with Gingko Nut and Coconut Milk with its gooey and smooth yam (taro) paste and whole gingko nuts smothered in thickened coconut milk is bursting with sweetness and a great comfort to many of us Singaporeans. I liked the fact that the chef tuned the sugar level to just sweet enough as I preferred mine not too saccharine. Anyway, I just had to ask for another bowl as it was just too good to pass up.

Dinner is now over and after shaking hands with the groom, bride and their respective parents, it is time to head to the train station to catch the train home.

[sansterballpro]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN FOR CAR REPAIR FINANCES!

Hello! I hope everyone reading this is doing well and taking care of themselves! c:

As stated above, I’m opening these commissions to try to save for the repairs needed to fix my car! On Monday, my transmission suddenly blew on my way to work and a new one is needed for it to be able to work again.

But with both the costs of a new transmission and the repair labor, I’m in a bit of a tight spot and don’t have the money to pay for said repairs.

My place of work isn’t the closest and I will not be able to borrow my family’s vehicle for very long for they have work as well, so commissions are officially open to try to pay it off quicker! qwq

My commission information & terms of service are below if you’re interested, as well as my kofi, but please don’t feel obligated to do either! I appreciate the support a ton and thank you for reading either way! ;v; Please take care of yourselves and I hope everyone has a wonderful day! <3

link to my Kofi if interested! C: if you mention your favorite character, I’ll doodle you them in response to your donation!

Chibi Style (Examples Below):

> additional characters will be 50% of the original price extra (before added flat colors). I will draw up to three characters!

> basic colors/gradient backgrounds are free, and simple backgrounds (basic clouds and skies, such as the Fresh example) will be a $8 extra!

Sketch:

Full Body - $18

> add flat color for $5 more (per character), gradients are free!

Cleaner Line Art w/ Flat Colors:

Full Body - $30

> added gradients are free!

Fully Colored & Shaded:

Full Body - $40

> click the alt text to see what kind of commission each ex. is!

Detailed Style (Examples Below):

> additional characters will be 50% of the original price extra (before added flat colors). I will draw up to three characters!

> basic colors/gradient backgrounds are free, and simple backgrounds (basic clouds and skies, such as the Fresh example) will be a $8 extra for half body, and $12 extra for full body!

Sketch:

Half Body - $18

> add flat color for $5 more (per character), gradients are free!

Full Body - $23

> add flat color for $8 more (per character), gradients are free!

Cleaner Line Art w/ Flat Colors:

Half Body - $30

Full Body - $40

> added gradients are free!

Fully Colored & Shaded:

Half Body - $45

Full Body - $60

> click the alt text to see what kind of commission each ex. is!

Icons & Headers (Examples Below):

> these are all bust drawings (chest and up), but can be placed on different canvas sizes based off what you’re looking for!

> I will only draw one character for an icon since it is placed on a square canvas!

> I will draw up to three characters for a header, with each character being 50% of the original price extra! If you’re specifically looking for four characters (since it’s a wider canvas), I’ll make each added character 40% of the original price extra!

> basic colors/gradient backgrounds are free, but detailed backgrounds (fully colored) for the headers start at $8 and can range up to $25 based off what you’d like done!

ie. a cloud filled sky (seen in examples above, more specifically with Fresh) would be $8, the flowers (seen below) would be $15, while a complex, detailed scenery or cityscape would be $25.

Chibi Style:

Fully Colored & Shaded - $25

Detailed Style:

Fully Colored & Shaded - $35

> click the alt text to see what kind of commission each ex. is!

Terms of Service:

The best place to contact me about a commission is Tumblr, but if Twitter is your preferred way to contact then I am there as well! Please be sure to reach out to me to confirm your commission before any payment is made.

The only payment method I use is PayPal in USD! Once the commission has been paid for I’ll begin the drawing!

Throughout the drawing process, l’ll send updates and screenshots, to which you can let me know if anything needs to be changed.

I hold the right to respectfully decline a commission that I don’t feel comfortable drawing, so if there’s any questions I’m happy to answer them!

> PLEASE NOTE: Commissions can take up to four weeks! I will continuously keep you updated and please don’t hesitate to ask for progress, but I am not a fast artist and may have other commissions to finish first! If you need something by a specific date, I can make exceptions to that!