#it's like responding to fan-mail so he enjoys it :'')

[himexyandere]

Here's the Part 2 to my first Yandere Villain post as promised! I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

Link to Part 1

It isn't long before you start receiving a bunch of gifts from the villain, ranging from simple things like sweets, flowers, and clothes... To unhinged "gifts" like pieces of hair from another smaller villain you've been hunting, or a tape recording of him torturing another villain. Needless to say, all of these things are promptly discarded by your sidekick with claims that they could be boobytrapped or poisoned.

Most of the time, you don't even see the gifts, as you're busy with protecting the city and responding to distress calls. Your sidekick is the one that handles all of your fan mail. Though, calling the villain's deliveries "fan mail" is a gross oversimplification. He isn't your fan. He's madly in love with you.

And of course, he shows his love for you in the only way he knows how — by kidnapping you. After responding to a distress signal that was just on the outskirts of the city, you promptly fell unconscious as soon as you arrived at the location... Only to wake up in an unfamiliar bedroom. It doesn't take you long to put two and two together. Although, you weren't expecting your cell to be so... Luxurious, nor did you expect to have servants tending to you.

The servants are quiet, but they do answer some of your questions. They bathe and pamper you in a way that implies you're going out to celebrate something. Once you're all dressed up and proper, the villain finally comes into the room. Immediately, you ask him if this is some elaborate scheme to get you to lower your guard so that he can finally kill you.

He's confused..? "Have my feelings truly not reached you, even after all this time, my dear hero? Have you not been getting my gifts? I've attached numerous love notes to them all."

You just flat out tell him that you have no idea, since your sidekick would dispose of them and tell you what was in the package afterward. His face visibly darkens before he asks how attached you are to your "little sidekick". It's clear he has murder on the mind, but you're a little too exhausted to do anything aside from sigh and tell him that it isn't your sidekick's fault for assuming his "gifts" were traps. He is a villain, after all.

After a bit, he does ease up a little, though he still looks upset that you haven't been getting any of his supposed love letters.

"Upon further thought... This is perfectly fine! I have a spectacular night planned for us, and I shall reaffirm the words of adoration I wrote to you all throughout."

[virahaus]

Thinking more obikin thoughts,,,,

(I should make this a series at this point aknsksns)

Anyway in a fix it universe where padme and Anakin are just besties, and Obi-Wan promised Anakin that after the war they could do whatever they want (comic compliant that's right),,, we arrive to completely-oblivious-of-his-feelings!Anakin & trying-to-woo-your-former-padawan!Obiwan combo 👀

Obi-Wan trying to give Anakin presents and bring him out on dates all over the galaxy, keeping his arm always around Anakin's waist and being affectionate,,,, all of this and Anakin, while drinking it up like a sponge, just doesn't get it. He thinks Obi-Wan is being affectionate because the war is over and after their last almost-death situation the council just doesn't care to reprimand about their obvious attachment anymore.

All of this is resolved, impossibly, by anonymous fanmail. The Jedi (even if they survived in this scenario) took a mighty blow on their public imagine with all the subtle propaganda Palpatine sprouted about them so they are trying to reply to the galaxy concerns and misconceptions about them. All jedi who are knights and masters are eligible for this fan mail stunt and the more famous they are the more of it they get.

Anakin gets a lot of fanmail where they gush about his and Obi-Wan romantic relationship and while at the start he's totally dumbfounded about it, the more they cite things he and Obi-Wan have been doing in these last few months (and years, let's be honest) the more he being (unknowingly) in a relationship with Obi-Wan makes sense. He gets his freak out with padme (who thought they were just being discreet and smacks some good sense into Anakin) and so for the next outing Obi-Wan organises for them, Anakin tries to up the game to see how Obi-Wan responds,,,, and Obi-Wan is Enthusiastic™ about it (poor man was going mad thinking he was doing something Wrong and now all of a sudden Anakin begins to initiate,, some more encouraging touches so he's Ecstatic).

Just think: them going on romantic dates for months, but with no kisses, Obi-Wan staying patient because he knows Anakin has never done this before but getting progressively more depressed thinking he may have interpreted this wrong, and then out of the blue Anakin kisses him after their date. Obi-Wan mind is blown. Man is going to worship is boy now that he has the all clear lmao

(even funnier is thinking about Obi-Wan pestering other jedi about it and getting smashed while crying that Anakin maybe changes his mind. Quinlan just drops him into his apartment and vows to never ask about Anakin again while Obi-Wan drinks: it only gets him Obi-Wan dirty old man rants or his infinite sadness rants. No in between).

Even more hilarious is the fanmail being explicit at some point (everyone says to Anakin that he must be enjoying Obi-Wan big dick energy so much) and Anakin first thought is be offended that ppl would think of him as the bottom - and then getting turned on by the thought of being fucked into incoherence by Obi-Wan. Classical Anakin behaviour Mr."I want to be in control" and then having a meltdown the second he gets the supposed control he wanted. Poor boy just needs to be fucked pliant and he'll be good.

Anyway, that's it. My 1 am obikin thoughts strike again.

[kidstemplatte]

random papa headcanons

i genuinely don’t know where this came from haha. they range from zodiac signs to hobbies to mental health so sorry for the inconsistency lol. please enjoy <3

⋅───⊱༺ 𐕣 ༻⊰───⋅

primo

- primo is one of the most kind and caring people to exist in the world. he’s very intelligent as well- he has a mind suited for many jobs. sometimes he wonders what he would’ve done if he didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps.

- he’s a great writer in all regards- poetry, essays, speeches, all of it. he did exceptionally in school and was very humble.

-primo is great at conflict resolution. he’s direct and efficient but considerate of people’s feelings as well.

-generally pretty healthy mentally but has struggled with depression periodically throughout his life.

-i don’t think primo ever planned to be a father, he didn’t even think it was possible considering his responsibilities. but as he got older and reflected upon his life he regrets that he never had children.

- we all know about primo’s legendary garden, but his next project he’s dreaming of is an orphanage in the clergy. or just to overall encourage more inclusion of children :,) (when appropriate ofc haha)

- a hopeless romantic deep down.

-virgo/libra.

secondo

-secondo is a great artist. he likes painting landscapes and scenery. hes also really good at drawing buildings/ architecture. when he was younger he thought maybe he’d be an architect. some of his paintings are hanging around the clergy but nobody knows they’re his.

- good at math but doesn’t enjoy it persay.

- reads a lot of classic novels (and romance books lol) if he’s reading something trashy in public he’ll switch the cover so he isn’t judged and can maintain his reputation ☠️

-i think he’s struggled with depression throughout his life that’s beyond situational. even when he was at his peak, something chemically in his brain just wouldn’t let him fully soak it in.

-extroverted but very distant simultaneously. has a hard time getting vulnerable with people.

-smokes a lot of weed. i think all the papas do tbh

-huge music connoisseur (prestigious metalhead) (will say ��name 5 songs” if he sees you wearing a band shirt)

-biiiiiiig leo/capricorn energy.

terzo

- terzo has adhd for sure lmao. he was never diagnosed though.

- he was the walking stereotype for ADHD as a kid: a rambunctious and high-energy boy who struggled in class.

-terzo is very intelligent, though. he just never cared about school too much. he was good at talking his way out of trouble.

-terzo is incredible sensitive to rejection. so much so that he would have a very very hard time confessing his romantic feelings towards someone. (feelings that move beyond sexual attraction)

- his hypersexuality, though he genuinely just loves sex, is often a subconscious quest for dopamine and validation.

- he has a very kind heart, goes out of his way to make people laugh if he sees they’re struggling.

- loooooooooooves to watch reality tv or anything full of drama.

-either a scorpio or a gemini.

-very active online. he’s a little obsessed with reading fan forums and posts. but he also just loves the internet in general

-i think he was the most interactive with fans, he would respond to fan mail most frequently. when he got horny mail from someone he would often respond with equally something equally risqué ☠️but of course when the subject matter was serious or heartfelt he would respond genuinely.

copia

- copia drew comics when he was younger and still does. over time they’ve evolved from mystical stories to simple doodles to get him through the day.

- sometimes he’s a little forgetful and mixes up his papers, so when he confidently hands his mother a comic strip she’s featured in, it’s a little awkward.

- copia loves animals, and he always has. he was afraid of dogs (specifically bigger ones) when he was younger, though. he also likes birds and can identify most species. (so can primo!)

- copia had a little bit of ocd throughout his childhood that’s lessened up over time.

-he also has generalized anxiety that’s lessened after he’s become papa which is shocking

- he has inattentive adhd. he’s an exceptional worker despite his negative symptoms because he pushes himself so hard to succeed. but sometimes he gets a little burnt out and forgets to rest, or spirals into an unmotivated state.

-we all know he’s a huge dork, so to elaborate upon that: he likes star wars, star trek, dc, and comics of all sorts.

-he has a funko pop collection in his office (including one of himself LOL)

-i think he’s a gemini and i’m so passionate about this. that or a pisces.

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thanks for reading yall :,)) i have more stuff coming up i promise i’m just not able to work as frequently due to school!! i hope you enjoyed.

<3, alice

[shegatsby]

Hi, please don't kill me with this request, but can you do one where female reader is invited by Will and Hannibal at Hannibal 's home but it's a trap, please? Warning:Non-con

A/N; Hi! Thank you for the request. Sorry for any typos please enjoy and don't forget to leave a comment.

Warnings; Kidnapping, non-con etc.

Y/N was always careful with her steps and actions, she loved to play mind games with her peers at university but they were too dumb or too stoned to notice so she started to get bored and decided to play with older ones.. like her two professors. Doctor Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. Everyone knew that they were solving murder cases for the FBI and also teaching at Baltimore University, they had a lot of fans who were their students, asking questions about the cases but of course they were profesionall so they kept teaching and never revealing.

It had been 6 months ever since she started to play, first she left a dead dog on the steps of Doctor Lecter's doorsteps.. too bold? Perhaps. She didn't forget to leave a note but she didn't write it herself, she just printed it and left it there.

the note said; ''Let's play.''

The first week after she did that was silent, of course it made it to the local news but neith Lecter nor Graham said anything.

Next week she broke into the morgue and found a person's chopped off hand and then left it at Graham's bedroom. This would get them fired up she thought.

Of course what she did made it to the local news and people started to talk. She loved the attention, even though no one knew who did it.

After the lecture with Doctor Lecter, she packed her things and headed to his office, he kept saying that his office is open for everyone and she needed few books.

She knocked on the door two times gently and waited for his silk voice to respond, ''Come in.''

As soon as she walked in his rich perfume hit her nostrils and she had to calm her senses. ''Miss Y/L/N, please take a seat.'' he seemed surprised even though she frequently visited him.

''Hi Doctor Lecter, I just wanted to get few ideas about the assignment you gave us. Also if I could borrow few books on that matter.'' you gave your cutest smile, Hannibal got used to your frequent visits and small talks at the corridors, his arm brushing yours ever so slightly, ''Of course,'' he said leaving whatever he was doing and giving her his full attention. There was something in her eyes, something mischievous.

He stood up to bring her few books, he on purpose placed to books on her lap, arms bushing, just to see her reaction. Instead of getting shy she raised and eye brow with a small smirk forming at the corner of her pretty mouth. It was a dangerous game that they were playing.

He sat back on his comfortable seat, ''Would you like to have dinner with me and Mr. Graham? It would be an eye opening conversation.''

A dinner invitation from Doctor Lecter was a privilege because his dinner parties were famous and not everyone could get in.

''I would love that.''

''Excellent! I will e-mail you the details.''

She wore a black dress and high heels, she had natural make up with red lips, she was giddy with excitement.

The door was opened by Will Graham because Doctor Lecter was in the kitchen fibishing up the last touches of the dessert,

''Please come in.'' Will's blue eyes roamed her up and down and she could see the pink dust on his cheeks, he liked what he saw.

Will took her to the dining room where the fireplace was lit and warm. Hannibal walked in with tree plates of dessert and stopped in his tracks for a split second when he saw her. ''Hello Y/N.'' his voice was as always neutral but his movements changed, which didn't go unnoticed by her.

During the dinner the conversation was philosophical and they were discussing ethos a.k.a ethics. Hannibal casually unbottened his navy jacket to place a newpaper on the dining table, it was a local newspaper and what she saw stopped her, it was crime.

She was caught, instead of denying she got her glass of red wine, laid back on the chair and took a large sip, ''I was bored. Do you have any idea to be surrounded by idiots all day?!'' it was a rhetorical question.

''Well,'' Will finally spoke, ''You wanted our attention now you have it.''

She finished her wine, placed it elegently on the brown table, ''I want in.'' she said Hannibal wiped his mouth with a white cloth and looked at her deeply, ''Elaborate on that please.'' it was a demand.

''No offens but lectures are boring. I want to be on the crime scenes. Consider this as an internship.'' she played like she had all the cards, ''Why would we allow that?'' Will asked standing up and and coming closer to her side, he placed his large hand on her chair, she could feel the weight.

''Because you both want me.'' she said looking directly at Hannibal Lecter, she noticed their primal attraction towards her few months ago and to be sure she played few tricks and they both fell into it, it doesn't matter if you're a world-wide known psychiatrist or forensic scientist... you are a human being and you have urges.

Hannibal quickly stood up to stand on her other side, placed his hand on her chair just like Will did. ''This could be fun.'' his other hand went to her throat and squezzed it, not too harsh but not too gentle.

[scaredshadowsswap]

hello hello I love your stuff so much! how would each staff respond to being pranked? would they prank back? tattle?

Thanks! I love writing stuff so it works out great!

Clef:

The one piece of advice with Clef is don’t dish out what you can’t take. Clef’s response to being pranked would be considered a grand overreaction, and even the most minor of pranks would have him responding with a prank that could ruin your week, month, year, or life depending on how generous he’s feeling. Clef would not fight in a prank war, he would end the prank war immediately. That being said, you can prank Clef, he won’t tattle. He may or may not kill you, so be careful (we all know what happened with that D-Class Costume Party). It also depends on how well he knows you and if he sees you as an asset. If you prank him without knowing him well, it better be a damn funny prank or you’re not going to survive his counter-attack. Clef would be willing to “team up” in a prank war against someone else, but it would just be him sending you to go do his dirty work.

Kondraki:

Kondraki does not like pranks, don’t try it. He won’t tattle on you, but I just feel like he would have no issue holding you up against a wall by your collar and bashing your head in on it. I imagine Draven tried to prank him once, and was lectured for hours and grounded for weeks. He’s no snitch, but by the end of it, you’ll probably wish he was. Kondraki would absoutely not form an alliance with you in a prank war, and would fight anyone in participation.

Gears:

Why would you prank someone with no emotions who is so high-ranking? Like it’s an option, but not a good one. In terms of what he’d do, I don’t think it would be interesting. He’d call you in for questioning, call witnesses, and file a full-fledged incident report. Then, he’d let HR decide on an outcome. I don’t know if he can tattle to anyone since he’s at the top, but it would probably be the most boring outcome, until you find yourself mysteriously on 82 different mailing lists, all which send you daily emails…

Iceberg:

I feel like Ice would try to start a prank war and would want to have some fun rivalry going on, but he just doesn’t get pranks? Like, he’ll try to get back at you, but what he does just isn’t as funny. Like instead of moving your furniture three inches to the left, the he’d just throw a cup of water at you in passing, which would make anyone who sees it in passing just think he’s an asshole. He’s not trying to be, he just really wants to participate in a prank war with someone. Feel free to team up with him against another group of people, as long as you come up with the prank ideas. He’d be more than happy to help you execute your plans against other people, and would have a lot of ideas for how to better your pranks.

Shaw:

It’s a blast. Shaw is the reigning champ of prank wars, and has had ones that go on for months with Clef. Shaw has had so much time to come up with new pranks, and can reuse old pranks when people die, so they have a ton of material. Shaw is also nice to prank because they’ll match the intensity of your prank and won’t go much past it. Occasionally, a prank will push the boundaries, but when that happens, it is Shaw’s way of trying to egg you on to continue the battle. Usually, someone just kinda stops or you both will call a truce (for the time being), but once Shaw knows that you find pranks funny, they won’t really hesitate to prank you again. You may team up against someone sometimes, but Shaw holds no alliances and is really just doing this for fun.

Glass:

It depends on the nature of the prank. Glass will take harmless pranks in stride and enjoy them, but he is more aware than anyone else that not all pranks are harmless. Hurting someone’s self-esteem is a no-no for him, and so are any pranks that result in physical injuries. So, he might laugh if you wrap all his pens in wrapping paper, but he would not be a fan of someone ordering a singing telegram as a joke at his expense. Surprisingly, even with tame pranks, Glass will not prank you back. I think Glass is too concerned that his actions may hurt someone, so he will be unwilling to partake in your prank wars or join a team to prank someone else. If it goes too far, Glass’s reputation could be ruined, and he is not willing to do that when so many people trust him.

Rights:

When I talk about “prank alliances” forming in other people’s, I’m talking about Rights. She’ll form a prank alliance with someone to pull off some pretty crazy pranks, which’ll mean you may also need a partner to match her level. She does value her work, so I don’t recommend messing with that, but she’s okay with modertate-intensity pranks generally. She doesn’t really like long prank wars like Shaw, and prefers hers to last a week or so but not much longer. She will definitely ask for your help, maybe even if you’re a stranger. She has a ton of fun with these and likes to use it to bond with some coworkers.

Strelnikov:

It depends but generally not recommended. He won’t tattle on you, but he probably won’t find it very funny, and it’s not as fun if the person you’re pranking doesn’t really think it’s funny. He doesn’t get upset, he’s just completely stoic about it, and will maybe give you a look, but not much else. He wouldn’t really participate in prank wars because 1.) he’s the leader of an MTF, anyone below him wouldn’t dare, and 2.) people got sick of him not really finding it funny. His lack of reaction has really dissuaded people from pranking him, and he probably wouldn’t join your prank alliance simply because it’s not really his sense of humor.

[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 23/? Word count: 4190 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 21. Monday-weekend-debrief

The bell rang. Matilde looked up from her book, questioning who it could be. She got up from the sofa and made her way to the cottage's front door. It couldn't be her father, because his flight was delayed. Could it be Jens, who missed his flight after all? She opened the door, still holding the book in her hand, her index finger between the pages as a temporary bookmark.

"Hey," Charles smiled.

"Hi," Matilde said, slightly confused how he got here. It was not like she had shared her address, or asked him to be here. Oh, wait, she thought, she had shared the address for the team, for emergencies, to Charles. And define emergencies as sending gifts since many people wanted to send her flowers or small gifts.

"Fan mail," he mentioned, when he saw Matilde eyeing the two big shoppers filled with letters and gifts. "I got permission from Ferrari to drop it off."

"Oh, right. Come in," she smiled and stepped away from the door.

Charles entered the cottage and walked towards the living room. "How are you doing?" He put the two bags on the ground and looked curious at Matilde.

She put a bookmark between the book and put it away. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and slowly nodded. "Fine," she replied. "Not like my old self, but it's getting better."

"That is good to hear." He looked around. "Are you alone?"

She nodded. "Yup," she said.

"Where's your brother?"

"Back home. He needed to go back to work," she responded, removing the clip from her hair. Her curly hair fell over her shoulders.

Charles' eyes scanned her hair. Curls? He couldn't help but admire the curls framing her face. "Curls suit you," he commented, a genuine smile playing on his lips but still a hint of surprise in his voice. He hadn't seen it before; she had never worn her hair like this.

"Yeah," she softly chuckled, running her fingers through her curls. For a split second, she forgot that her hair was not styled yet, nor blown out. She didn't have the energy to straighten it, but she also didn't expect someone to visit her. "This is my natural hair." She looked away. Hopefully, he wouldn't think it was ugly.

His eyes softened as he watched her; she was shy. "It looks beautiful."

"Thanks," she replied, feeling a warmth in her cheeks.

They stood there for a moment, a comfortable silence settling between them. Charles scratched the back of his neck, and Matilde looked at the clock on the wall, reading the time.

"I would have asked you to open the fanmail with me, but I have an appointment at the hospital in an hour," Matilde said and plastered a small smile on her face.

"No worries," Charles said, glancing at the bags. "I'm sure you'll enjoy reading them. And hey, if you want some company for that or anything else, just let me know."

She nodded, appreciating the offer. "I might take you up on that. The company, I mean."

A careful grin grew on his face. "Looking forward to it. Now, I should probably get going. I don't want to keep you from your appointment."

She walked him to the door and unlocked her phone simultaneously. "I'm going to call a taxi," she mumbled to herself. She looked up at him. "Thanks for bringing the fan mail."

"Yes, of course," he replied and smiled warmly. "But call a taxi? Are you going alone to the hospital?"

"Yeah. I don't have anyone to come with me, and I'm not cleared to drive yet." Matilde's dad would join her to the hospital, but his flight got delayed to the evening. Jens was on his way back to Denmark, and her mother was working. And everyone else who could possibly join her wasn't available.

Charles looked at his watch. "If you want, I can drive you to the hospital."

Matilde hesitated for a moment, considering the offer. The warmth in his eyes was genuine, and she appreciated the kindness he had shown since their talk after the fight. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Otherwise, I wouldn't offer it, Matilde," he smiled.

"Oh, yes, right." She pointed behind her. "I'm going to get my purse and keys, and then we can leave."

"Take your time."

Charles followed her inside the cottage and sat on the couch while Matilde was getting ready. He looked around, it was a cosy cottage - definitely something Matilde would rent. He picked up the book she was reading: it was a novel written by Jørn Lier Horst, that was all he could read because the book was in Danish. It was an attempt, but an attempt he knew would fail.

"I was thinking," Charles then mentioned. "I'm here with the Ferrari. I think it's too uncomfortable for you to sit in?" He looked at her as she put some things in her bag. "It's a low seat."

"You're with the Ferrari," she smirked and teased him with it.

They made eye contact, and they both smiled.

"We can go with my car. I'm here with the Volvo," she replied. "I'm ready to go."

He nodded and got up. "I like your outfit," he complimented. Matilde was wearing white straight-leg jeans and a dark grey T-shirt. She was known to wear quite casual outfits at the office. Charles would call it casual chic, but now he saw Matilde dressing fully casual. "It's different from the office outfits."

"That's because I'm not at the office," she smirked and then the smirk turned into a genuine smile. "But thank you."

They left the cottage and walked to the car park. As they approached her car, he opened the passenger door for Matilde, a small gesture that didn't go unnoticed. She got in, and Charles closed the door before heading to the driver's side.

"I finally got used to the English cars, and now I'm driving in an... Can I call this an Italian car?" He tried to wave the moment of the door away, hoping she wouldn't find it awkward.

"Swedish," she corrected him. "Even though it is wearing an Italian plate."

"I see."

During the drive, the conversation flowed naturally. Charles updated Matilde on the results of the Grand Prix; Max won, Charles became fourth, and Carlos was fifth. According to Charles, it was a tough race with weird incidents and decisions from the FIA. Matilde listened carefully since she hadn't watched the race yet, nor did she read any updates. During the conversation, Matilde got a call from her father, so she answered it. Charles hadn't heard her speak Danish often, it was quite an interesting language to him.

"You know, you sound different when speaking Danish," Charles commented when the call was over.

"Really?" Matilde replied and put her phone down. A smile was resting on her face.

"Yeah," he shrugged and entered the hospital's car park. "Danish is a weird language to hear, in my perspective. It changes your voice."

"Same goes for you," she chuckled. "In French and Italian. And English, of course."

"As in?"

She shrugged. "Whenever I hear people speak French, it's so cool, classy and chic. Also romantic. I don't know why. I have no idea what is being said, but it's cool."

"Romantique," he repeated in a cheesy tone. "Ohlala." He smirked when he saw Matilde's side eye in the corner of his eyes. "So you think I'm cool, classy and chic when I speak French?" Charles teased and drove around for a free parking spot.

"It's an electric car, by the way. It needs to be charged," Matilde briefly mentioned, changing the topic. She felt her cheeks heating up.

Charles shared a sarcastic smile with her. "I thought that we were driving with a Ferrari engine."

She snorted. "Oh, shut it." She looked in the mirrors when Charles was parking the car, making sure he was parking right and did no damage to her car. She felt like a driving instructor, but she knew better. Matilde had seen compilation videos of Charles parking his car in Monaco and at race tracks, and she wondered how he had gotten his driver's license.

They left the car, plugged in the charger and approached the hospital entrance.

"But I... Why are you not driving a Ferrari?" Charles then asked. Volvo also wasn't a partner brand of Ferrari, so it didn't make sense to him. Matilde stopped walking. Her eyebrows raised. Charles stopped walking as well, looking behind him. "What?"

"You know, Charles, that is an expensive question only rich people would ask," she said and continued walking beside him. Charles straightened his face. "I'm kidding," she smiled. "I still have to pick it up, I suppose."

"Now, that is an expensive answer only rich people would say."

"Oh, stop it." Matilde felt her cheeks heat up. "No, I don't know. Galileo once mentioned that I could register to pick up the car, but I honestly never did. And yes, this is my own car, I bought it myself, I had to donate a kidney for it because it's still expensive. Plus, I wanted to drive electric - I know, weird thing to do while working in the most polluting sport, but every small thing counts. And do you see me drive a Ferrari? I don't."

Their conversation flowed, each word drawing them deeper into a connection outside their work relationship. Meanwhile, hospital staff and visitors passed by, some giving them curious glances, but the two paid little attention to their surroundings.

"Hmm, true. You're not the kind of person to drive a Ferrari - no offence. You are too... down to earth for it," he responded, glancing at Matilde. "But... Wait. I'm only now realising that you drive to every European race."

"Even the smallest things help," she smiled.

It wasn't until Matilde reached the reception desk of the right department that she finally noticed Charles was still beside her. She turned to him, tilting her head. At first, Charles looked confused and questionable at her for sharing the look. Then his eyes widened, and he formed an 'O' with his lips.

"Oh, my god," he whispered. "Sorry, I had just no clue that I walked into the hospital with you," he apologised.

"It's fine, no worries. Neither did I, though."

"I can leave, I'll wait in the car."

"No, it's okay. You can stay here and wait in the waiting room." Matilde looked away from him to the nurse behind the reception. She shared some details and got asked to have a seat in the waiting area until the doctor was ready to see her. 

Charles followed Matilde to the waiting area. As they settled into the chairs, the atmosphere took on a different tone. The surroundings were a stark reminder of the hospital environment and the hushed conversations. He looked around and noticed a few couples, but also families. No one was alone, everyone had someone with them. The conversation between him and Matilde came to a halt. Being at the hospital wasn't Charles' favourite spot and he only started to feel the hospital surroundings pressing on his shoulders when he sat down. He got pretty distracted by the conversation, but now he got confronted with the space.

He looked beside him; Matilde had the same thing. He noticed the subtle shift in her presence. It was like she was covering her nerves during the entire ride, or she got distracted, but now, got confronted with the hospital and her appointment. They were ten minutes early, but within those ten minutes, Matilde changed from a casual mood to the nerves.

Matilde took a deep breath and blew the air out her nose. Her leg was bouncing now, and it intensified over the seconds.

Charles looked at the bouncy leg; he had never seen Matilde so nervous and fragile simultaneously. At work, she barely showed any emotions. Of course, she did show emotions, but always for other people and stayed professional. And the nerves? No one had ever seen them on her. When something was going on with herself, she didn't show it and kept it for herself. This weekend was the first time he saw how gentle she actually was, that she's keeping up an act at work as a professional. Charles placed his hand on her bouncy leg, hoping she would stop bouncing it.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I'm just nervous."

"It's okay," he whispered back.

She grabbed his hand and held it. "I just don't like this place, and I'm just scared that I will go home and basically die."

"Wha- How?" Charles was curious, because Matilde had spent a few days in the hospital and if something were wrong, she would have known it by now. Or something else was going on.

"Bad news."

He scanned her face. "Hey, I'm sure everything is fine. If there were something wrong, then they wouldn't have let you go Saturday."

As they shared a glance, someone called Matilde's name. Her heart skipped a beat.

Charles gave a soft squeeze to her hand. "Good luck. You got this."

She took a deep breath and got up, letting go of Charles' hand. She looked at him and nodded. "Okay, thanks," she said with a half-smile. And with that, she walked away.

He watched her retreating figure, a mix of concern and support in his voice. As Matilde disappeared into the consultation room, Charles was alone. Again. He leaned back in the chair, grabbed his phone, scrolling through his social media to kill some time.

As the minutes ticked by, Charles found himself growing increasingly relentless. He glanced at his watch, realising Matilde had been in the consultation room longer than expected. And he saw nurses entering and leaving the room. He looked down, again, being confronted with his feelings and his behaviour. Why was he anxious?

Finally, the door of the room swung open. Matilde was shaking the doctor's hand and stepping outside. Her expression was a mix of relief and exhaustion. Charles immediately got up and walked towards her. Without realising, he reached for her hand. "How did it go?"

"Good," Matilde replied and smiled with relief. "Stressed about absolutely nothing."

"That's good to hear," he replied, also relieved. He assumed the conversation was about appendicitis.

"Yes," she responded and stepped away, pulling his hand with her. Even though everything was okay, she wanted to leave the hospital and go home as quickly as possible. "Do you mind if I?" Matilde held up her phone.

''No, please, go ahead."

As they walked through the hospital, Matilde recorded a voice memo for her family, sending a quick update. Charles, again, listened to the Danish words. It was an impressive language. Just a minute later, they left the hospital and entered the car park. They had to pay for it, so Matilde insisted on paying since it was her appointment and her car. She released his hand and paid for it.

"When I almost collapsed on Thursday, they weren't sure if it was appendicitis or an inflammation of the ovaries," Matilde shared. "They share the same symptoms." She watched how Charles unplugged the car, and they stepped in. "I had appendicitis, but they still wanted to do some more exams since cancer runs in my family. Every test came back negative, luckily, but I still have to get examined once a year to be sure."

He looked at her; he hadn't asked for it, and she still shared it. His face softened; it felt like they had moved to the next stage: from work relations to a personal relationship. They both opened up to each other. "That's positive news, Matilde." His tone was gentle, appreciating the trust she had.

"I was so scared they would find something," she said, running her hands through her hair. "It was appendicitis, but the fact that they had to check for cancer."

"Yeah, I understand," he quietly said. "But now you know that you don't have cancer and that you're healing well."

"That's true."

Charles started the car, and he drove away. During the ride home, it was silent. Charles noticed how tired Matilde was and that this drive back to the cottage was too much for her - she acted bigger than she actually was. Every bump, stop and turn made her feel more uncomfortable in the car. Charles tried to drive as gently and carefully as possible. At first he didn't see why Matilde couldn't work from home, but now he saw how her body was recovering and how tired she was.

The car was parked close to the cottage an hour later. Charles shut off the engine and looked at the woman next to him; her eyes were closed. "Matilde."

Her eyes shot open right away, and she looked around. "Are we there yet?"

"Yes, we are," he softly chuckled. He got out of the car and waited for Matilde to step out so he could lock the car. He handed the car key over to Matilde. "It was a pleasure to drive in your car."

"Now I can say that a F1 driver drove in my car," she managed to joke.

A smirk left his mouth. "Oh, my god," he playfully said.

"Thank you for coming with me," Matilde thankfully said, her eyes meeting Charles' eyes with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

"Of course, no need to thank me." With a small smile, he lifted his arm, subtly inviting her into an embrace. To his relief, Matilde mirrored the gesture, stepping closer to him.

As their bodies came together, Matilde's arms found their way around his torso. Charles wrapped his arms around her shoulders. They both felt that it wasn't just a casual hug. It was more than a mere display of comfort; it was a moment of shared vulnerability, and a hint of something more. Matilde's face softened as she felt his arms around her, it was like she was feeling...protected. Oh, no, wrong thoughts. But she needed a good hug.

Eventually, they pulled away, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange of understanding. Charles offered a genuine smile. The hug, brief yet intimate, spoke volumes about what they had forged in the face of uncertainty.

Then, a car approached them. Matilde and Charles both looked at the driver: Kevin Magnussen. Matilde looked at Charles, and he looked at her, both realising that he might have seen the hug.

Charles knew it was time to go. "Take care, Matilde."

"You too, Charles."

As he walked away, Matilde realised something. "Wait, Charles." He turned around. "In the second drawer of my desk, at the office, there's a golden box. In the box I have birthday cards of everyone whose birthday it is this month. I can't be at the office, so...uhm... Can you please take care of it? Or explain it to Galileo?"

Charles' face softened and his eyebrows raised in surprise; she really cared about her people. "Yes, of course," he smiled.

"I wrote their birthdays and departments on a post-it on the envelope. I usually just put it on their desk or their workstation."

He nodded. "I will take care of it, don't worry. You rest well, and we will keep in touch. And we will see each other soon."

At that moment, Kevin walked by. His eyes shot from Charles to Matilde. "Hej," he said to Matilde.

"Hej," Matilde said, surprised. She waited until Charles drove by so she could wave at him. Once Charles drove away, she turned back to Kevin. "Velkommen."

"Tak," Kevin replied. He noticed that she didn't expect him. "Lars send me here, to check on you."

Matilde smirked and rolled her eyes. "Of course." They walked to the cottage. She couldn't shake off the awareness of the brief yet intimate hug she had shared with Charles. A part of her wondered if Kevin had noticed, given the awkward exchange of glances when he approached. "Well, I'm okay. Just came back from the hospital."

"With Charles?" Kevin raised an eyebrow.

"He only drove me to the hospital. I went to my appointment alone."

"Uhu," he hummed and grinned. "First, he acts like a dick, then you fight, and now he's driving you to the hospital."

"And you are saying what exactly?" Matilde opened the door of the cottage.

Kevin closed the door behind him. "Nothing."

"You sound just like Jens. Honestly, this feels like a changing of the guard: first Jens, then Charles, you, and later this day, my dad. I can take care of myself perfectly fine." Matilde sat down on the couch and placed her bag on the floor next to it.

"Uhu," he hummed again. "Well, when I saw Charles stepping out of your car, I worried he might do something. Especially after last week."

"We talked about it," she replied. "And we made up."

He squinted his eyes and slowly nodded. He walked to the sofa and sat down across from her. "How did the appointment go?"

For a moment, Matilde considered asking about the interrogation Kevin probably had to do from Lars, but she noticed some genuine concern and interest in her situation and well-being. "Fine," she replied. "They had to check my ovaries. At first, they weren't sure if i had appendicitis or an inflammation of my ovaries, the symptoms are almost the same. And because ovarian cancer runs in my family, they just wanted to be sure, besides appendicitis, that I didn't have any cancer cells in my body," she told him. "My grandmother had cancer in her ovaries; my mother prevented it by removing her uterus, as well as ovaries and everything that has to do with it. And just to be sure, I got tested and must return every year for a check."

"So I assume you don't have cancer?"

"Nope, nor do I have an appendix anymore."

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "Fuck, Matilde. That's heavy." He was hiding his emotions for Matilde, but he felt relieved since his own mother had to deal with this type of cancer. He knew the effect of it. "And you, how are you?"

"That's life," she casually replied. "But I'm fine, all good," she smiled.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." He smiled and then looked at her hair. "I didn't know you had curly hair."

"Surprise," she responded. "I hate it, so this is definitely the last time you will ever see me like this." She tenderly touched her curls.

"But your family doesn't have curly hair?"

"The mother of my grandmother. It skipped an entire generation, including my brothers, and I am the only one with curly hair in the family."

"Ha," he said surprisingly. "Weird, but it suits you, and it's pretty."

"Hmm, tak." She looked at him. "Why did Lars send you here?"

Kevin threw his hands up in the air. "You tell me."

"And you just listen to him, follow his orders and check on me?" An amusing smile lay on her face. "What will you put in the report?"

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. Mainly because he noticed the similarities between her and Lars. "You and Lars have the same humour," he shared. "Lars is worried, and Jens didn't say much." He saw Matilde raise his eyebrow. "And I'm also worried, so I wanted to see how you were doing. Besides, I've read and heard all these fucked up rumours. What the fuck were they thinking? Burnout, stress, miscarriage? That's rude."

"Guess the news about F1 was too boring so they made me the main character of the weekend," Matilde added and snorted. "But serious question: why is everyone so overprotective? I mean, I really appreciate that you showed up, don't take this personally, but do you know what I mean?"

"People care about you," Kevin concluded. "And a lot has happened this year already. It's normal for people to check on you," he shrugged. "And you're in England, far from home and..."

"Hmm," she hummed. "Fair," she breathed. "But still. I really appreciated it, though."

"Of course. That's what friends do." Kevin grabbed his phone. "Laura and Ottie made something for you." He handed over his phone.

Matilde grabbed the phone and looked at the photo; Laura, Kevin's daughter, and Ottie, Lars' daughter and Matilde's little niece, were posing with a drawing. It was hard to describe what the meaning of it was, but it was beautiful. A smile covered her face.

"They had to make a drawing for Tante Matilde. They wanted to give it to you once you are back, but they couldn't wait for you to see it."

Her face softened. "That's so sweet, and cute. Tak." She smiled. "It's beautiful. Very artsy." She handed back the phone. "Shit, I have to call Ottie. We always have our Monday-weekend-debrief. Three years old and already debriefing every race." She licked her lips. "I will call another time."

"She will understand it, don't worry."

"Lars will make sure she will understand it," Matilde smirked.

Kevin nodded and chuckled. "Can I make you some tea or coffee?" Kevin got up and walked towards the kitchen.

"Oh, god, sorry, I forgot to ask if you wanted something to drink," she stammered.

"See, this is why I'm here." He was opening some cabinets to find a glass. "Well?"

"Tea, and a glass of water, please. I will balance the warmth and the cold on this warm day."

Next chapter

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry @snzleclerc @ironmaiden1313

[sokkastyles]

Hi, I’m finding it difficult to wrap my head around your (and some other meta writers) take on Sokka’s sexism and how writing a nonsexist society would be braver?

Why is it more brave to write a story without bigotry than one overcoming it?

Defensive Writing Section Where I Respond to What I Imagine You Could Respond With: 1) I know the original series did not succeed in, or even really try, empowering its women. 2) I know sexism is baked into the show and its romances. 3) I know Katara deserves better (but, this might be where we diverge, I don’t feel served by a reality/story where we pretend women’s domestic, unappreciated labor isn’t a pillar holding society up. Tbh it feels kinda disrespectful to keep that offscreen and media tends to downplay it as is). 4) I know the show isn’t out yet and we’re all guessing. I am picking your brain on your guess cause it confused me. 5.) Sokka’s arc is about maturing manhood and leadership, I’m afraid removing his sexism dodges an opportunity to explicitly deconstruct its toxic expressions. Again, I know the show was unsatisfactory with this the first go around.

Fan Mail Section Where I Attempt To Convey I Meant No Harm: Love your blog! Again, just confused.

First of all, I did not say that writing a nonsexist society would be braver or that the story should not have bigotry in it. What I said is that the story should have more adult women in it.

For example, I do enjoy Katara's story of struggling against feeling like she needs to take on a motherly role because of her gender. I think it's realistic because it's a conflict many girls face, and watching her fight against that can be cathartic. But what's harder to reconcile is the way the narrative goes out of its way to justify forcing this role on Katara. Not all of this can be chalked up to a sexist world. Kya being dead before the story begins was a decision the writers made, for example. I'm not necessarily saying that should be changed, but it is a common trope in media and it's a problem that women are disproportionately killed off to serve fictional narratives this way. Compare, for example, the way the story explains Hakoda's absence without killing him off entirely, and the fact that we know a heck of a lot more about him as a character than we do Kya. His absence is still used to characterize the heroes, to explain the struggle they face in a war-torn world, but he gets to be an active agent in the story, too.

Another example is that although a lot of Sokka's sexism stems from a lack of understanding of Katara's waterbending, which can be explained in the narrative by the fact that the FN has nearly eradicated southern waterbending, this does not explain why Katara wasn't taught more about her bending by her grandmother, who is both from the northern tribe and present when Hama and the other benders were taken. In the flashbacks in "The Puppet Master," we see that there were many women who used combat waterbending, and apparently waterbending healing was not even known in the south so there was no gendered division like in the north. There's no real reason why that should change so quickly in such a short amount of time to the point where the southern water tribe all of the sudden becomes this hugely sexist society where only men are known to fight.

Katara and Sokka are presented with opposite ideas about gender, but we don't have any real sense of where they got these ideas. I like to headcanon that Katara got her feminism from gran-gran, who fled the southern water tribe because of sexism, but it's strange then that Katara doesn't even know this story. Why is Kanna such a complete nonentity in the narrative, when her story is so important to the story the show wants to tell about Katara?

We get more backstory on Sozin than we do a lot of the adult women in the story, when they even show up. Zuko's mom is fridged just like Katara's, and although I love how this serves as a bonding point between them, it would be less glaring if Iroh's and Azulon's and Sozin's wives were also not nonentities in the narrative.

Someone commented on this post that the live action might be giving us Suki's mom. So let's look at how even this small change might effect the story. Even keeping in Sokka's sexism. Let's say that it does play out like in the original, and when they get to Kyoshi Island, Sokka is shocked - shocked! - to be beaten by a bunch of women. We're supposed to think Sokka is wrong. And he does get proven wrong. But the Kyoshi Warriors are still the exception to the rule. Sokka doesn't so much learn that women deserve respect as much as he learns to respect some women because they can kick his ass.

But, if we bring in Suki's mom, then suddenly Suki doesn't have to be the sole named character responsible for teaching Sokka not to be sexist. The story becomes less about how Sokka should respect women because some of them are cool and he'll get a girlfriend out of it, and more about how all women deserve the same respect, because we see more women just present and living in the world of the story.

I'd also like to ask everyone to take a step back here, because to my knowledge, the show never said it was taking out certain arcs or presenting the characters without narrative flaws. This all seems to stem from the young actors themselves saying merely that the show took out some "iffy" moments.

So what did they take out that Ian and Kiiawntio might be referring to? Maybe some of the anachronistic and, frankly, racist moments such as, for example, Sokka and Katara calling Zuko and Sokka's cultural hairstyles "ponytails." Which would make sense, considering that the show probably feels like they can trust their audience to accept hairstyles that might appear different to Americans moreso than the writers of the original show did, considering that this is not a show airing on American kids' cable in the early 2000s, but a modern show with a global and much more globally aware audience. These are the kinds of updates that I would expect from a modern live action series. And that is a very good thing.

I also trust the young actors of color playing these kids to say "hey, these kids would not actually talk like that!" More than I trust white writers and execs.

[itsonlytext]

sea salt & cologne · scene i

“And yet.. I still believe him anyway. Always. Why do I do that, Mariana?”

a miscommunication and some rather bad wording leads to the obvious. (according to sherlock, at least.)

a/n: heyy first sh&co fic (woop woop!). this was my submission to the sh&co flashbang event that took place in around april. writing sherlock and john's pod dynamic is (obviously) much different from what i know, so it felt a little daunting to enter. but i did! and i was paired with the lovely lovely sweet and jubbly @raveboy34 who did the most scrumptious artwork you'll ever see as you keep reading.

≈ 3000 words.

(read this story on ao3.)

"To fifteen-year-old Nadine from Manchester, thank you for your email. I will make sure to give Archie a treat on your behalf. Erm... Oh! To John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry," he cleared his throat. "To the listeners, I'm not shouting myself out, obviously, this is another fellow John that listens to the podcast! Isn't that cool? Well, John-that’s-not-me, thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy your holiday in Brum! It's.. an interesting place. Ah- no, that’s.. Let’s not say that," he muttered, pausing the recording with a huff and unconsciously reaching for the mug of tea that was made for him.

He didn’t know how, but on the rare occasions that he decided to, Sherlock consistently made the most impeccable cups of tea. Without fail. John couldn’t even get his own cups of tea right let alone someone else’s.

After taking a large gulp, he leaned back in his swivel chair and gazed at the laptop screen in front of him.

The past forty minutes had consisted of scrolling through fan mail in his bedroom and attempting to complete this week’s shoutouts. There was an overwhelming list of unread emails and he felt awful having to blindly pick out who to respond to. He played the recording back.

“Oh! To John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry-”

“Ugh,” he scrunched up his face. “Why do I-”

He played it again.

“-John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny b-”

And again.

“Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry–”

“How’s it going?”

He hastily paused the recording and glanced back at the head that had popped in through the gap in the door. “Hey, Mariana,” he dragged, lamely attempting to exit the tab as she peered in.

Having heard the recording, she frowned quizzically.

“Are you.. giving yourself a shoutout?”

“Yeah, that- No, no, I’m..” he shook his head excitedly. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“There’s another John listening to the podcast! Isn’t that awesome? He sent an email. Said he was going to Brum for the summer.”

“Oh, wow,” she stepped into the room, running a hand through her slicked-back curls. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at the screen. “I wonder if there’s another Mariana listening somewhere in the world.”

“Yeah, I guess there is! Isn’t that cool?”

Another head of dark curls popped in through the door. “Doubt it.”

“Oi!” he turned to Mariana with an apologetic gaze. “Don’t listen to him, I’m sure there’s loads of Marianas out there.”

“Doubt it.”

He huffed, leaning further back into his chair to see. “And why’s that?”

Sherlock stepped in calmly, bringing his fingers together. His hair was damp against his head, and he carried in a fresh scent of shower gel along with him. “Because no one here is named Mariana, so no one listening to the podcast would feel the need to highlight it should that be their name.”

They rolled their eyes in unison.

He carried on with a sharp intake of air through his teeth, his eyes occasionally glancing at the agonisingly bright laptop screen. “But, taking yourself as an example, I’m almost certain there are at least six other Johns in the vicinity of Baker Street. You’ve a painfully common name,” he finished matter-of-factly.

“Oh thanks, mate,” John ignored the sly smile that tugged at Mariana’s lips. “Well, I apologise for not having a- a rich and pompous name like Sherlock. Yeah, how ridiculous of me. Anything else about me that’s painfully common?”

“Actually, yes. In my free time, I’ve written an essay on both your idiosyncratic and conformate behaviours. Would you like to read it?”

“Well–”

“Hang on, Sherlock, you’ve.. Written an essay about John?” Mariana asked, resting a fist on the back of John’s chair.

“Of course I have,” the detective frowned, absently brushing away a stray curl that fell into and obscured his line of view (John). “In the past year that he and I have been flat-sharing, I’ve come to.. Collect data, if you will.”

“That’s really sweet,” she raised her brows amusedly, fluffy curls bouncing on her shoulder as she tilted her head. “So.. Have you written one about me?”

“Actually, it’s totally reliant on observation and the facts,” he responded sharply, diverting his gaze. “I wouldn’t consider it sweet at all. And no. I have not written one about you.”

“Aw, that’s a shame.”

John pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, well, considering he just called me painfully common, I wouldn’t call that a shame.”

“It wasn’t an insult, Watson, it was a fact - yet another inherent trait of yours.”

“What?”

“Taking everything personally.”

“Oi-!”

“See?”

“Mate, we’ve been together for almost a year and all you can say about me is that I’m painfully common?!”

Sherlock shrugged. “We balance each other out. Like..” he scrunched up his face in thought. “Ying a-and..”

“Yin and Yang.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, mate. So I’m the brawn to your brain.”

“Yes, exactly.” He paused. “What?”

“Oh, because you’re- you’re so uncommon, aren’t y- Well, you know what, you are.”

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, yeah, of course you do. How’s this for a compliment? You can’t even–”

“Hey!” Mariana put her hands between them in a feeble attempt to soften the tension. “I think we’re all getting a bit worked up. John, why don’t you finish.. Whatever you’re doing–”

“Shoutouts,” he sighed, rubbing his face annoyedly. “I was just trying to do the bloody shoutouts.”

“Right,” then she glanced sternly at Sherlock. “And why don’t you get back to your experiment?”

The detective straightened himself, pulling his gaze away from John with a frown. “Which one? I currently have four ongoing experiments.”

“I don’t know, how about the one that required you to use all my conditioner? You owe me, by the way. My hair feels like straw now, feel it,” she tilted her hair forward.

“No.”

"But I see you’ve managed to condition your lovely, lovely locks,” she carried on sarcastically, gesturing to his wet hair and damp skin.

"Thank you,” he replied. “It’s a new one.”

"Yeah, I- I noticed. It’s nice,” said John. His eyes widened. “It smells nice. Obviously. I don’t.. Feel your hair during the night, that’d be weird.”

Sherlock eyes narrowed amusedly. “Is that a fact.”

For God’s sake, John thought to himself. He just called you painfully common and you’re still acting like some fan. He rolled his lips with a stony resolve, forcing himself to keep eye contact.

Sherlock faltered slightly.

Mariana watched. “Hello.”

The detective calmly tore his eyes away at the sound of her voice. “Besides. That.. That experiment was boring. I finished it. Would you like to know the results?”

She glared at him. “Does it have anything to do with human remains?”

“Well. Yes.”

“Then no.” She turned to John. “I thought we could go for a drink. You know, to remind you two why you’re still living together.”

He sat up straight, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he thrummed his fingers against the desk. “Er, yeah, sure, once I finish these shoutouts.”

“Okay, great. We’ll leave in ten minutes. Sherlock, are you coming?”

The detective seemed to debate this offer intensely - his thick brows furrowing, tanned cheeks hollowing and grey eyes slightly narrowing until he finally said, “Of course I would.”

“Perfect,” she replied light-heartedly. “Let’s go.”

As Mariana began to leave the room, Sherlock followed cautiously, still deep in thought. “I can’t strongly recommend this line of work to you if you are unable to converse about human remains, Mrs Hudson.”

“Hey!” she held open the door with her foot and gestured for him to leave first. “My job is to answer emails, help pay the rent and send out the merch. Not to look at, or talk about, human remains..”

Her voice faded as they left the room and the door creaked shut.

John let out a gentle sigh and swivelled back to face his laptop. “Right, let’s see…” he opened up the tab that he had previously tried to hide from Mariana. He frowned. “Hang on. Why’s the footage so long– Oh, shit, I’ve been recording this entire time!”

*

The pub was relatively busy with a constant metronome of the door languidly swaying open and shut and the gentle hum of others’ conversations - cushioned only by the soothing tang of refills that glided down their throats in an attempt to ground.

In the search for a small table, Mariana had left the men upfront to order the drinks.

“Two pints of bitter and a gin and tonic, please,” called John as he leaned over the bar with a squint to tune out the overly repetitive pop music.

“Yeah alright, mate. Be a bit because it’s just me today.”

“No worries. Ta,” he scratched the top of his head and settled back into the stool.

Sherlock wasn’t sitting. In fact, he rather awkwardly stood beside John as they waited for their drinks - his posture perfect, his stance unnervingly still. There was a grim (and awfully heavy) twist in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had somehow, in some way, upset John, but he couldn’t put a finger on why. He gazed at the doctor as he thrummed his fingers against the countertop, the reflective surface and soft lights casting a warm glow against his skin.

“Well..” he began, his deep voice cutting through the obnoxious music.

John glanced at him. “What?”

Ah, thought Sherlock. He’s still upset. (Angry? Flattered?) “It’s incomplete, but would you like to read it?”

“Do I want to read an essay about how I’m painfully common? Erm, let me think,” he tilted his head sarcastically. “No, I’m alright mate. Besides, if it’s about me, what more could I possibly want to know?”

“Actually, I’m positive that I know more about you than you do.”

“Yeah, you probably do- What? No,” he shook his head annoyedly. “Forget it. I don’t want to read your bloody essay that’s about how I’m- I’m so painfully common.”

Sherlock’s face scrunched up. “Why are you so obsessed over that phrasing?”

“Because-!” John stopped himself. His lips pursed into a thin line and his eyes softened.

He frowned. The detective tried to use all his innate and learned deductive reasoning to try to understand - he even attempted to reflect on the ‘social etiquette' intervention he had been forced to have with Mrs Hudson last week. But it was all too much: the torturous music (to which he regretted not having brought his ear defenders), John’s uncharacteristic indifference, his lack of knowledge.

Their intense gaze seemed to make John freeze up, his navy eyes unable to pull away, unable to portray the anger his voice lamely attempted to convey. The warm, soft lights reflected into his eyes, illuminating them into a brighter, saturated tone that made Sherlock forget about the (god-awful) twist in his stomach. They were beautiful, Sherlock thought simply. (He was beautiful.)

“It’s-” he leaned his elbows on the countertop and ran his hands over his flushed face. “It’s fine. Seriously, just forget it, it’s fine.”

Sherlock cautiously opened his mouth to speak. “You don’t–”

“Here you guys go,” the bartender slid forward the three drinks.

“Thanks,” said John politely, juggling the three glasses into his hands without asking for help from the detective, who was watching him with a concerned brow etched deep into his skin. “Sherlock. It’s fine, mate.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he watched John carefully walk through the maze of tables until he found Mariana sitting at the back on her phone. After four seconds of debating with himself, Sherlock turned slightly, pulled out his wallet, silently paid for the drinks and sauntered to the table. (Ignored the churning in his stomach.)

*

An icy wind had been the final push out of Autumn - it had blown away the rusty coloured leaves until the pavements on Baker Street bore nothing but a thin layer of frost.

It had been five days since Sherlock had (mistakenly) revealed the existence of his essay about John and, according to his knowledge, not much had improved in 221B. The doctor was often tucked away in his room, with the excuse of ‘editing the podcast’ slowly fraying and eventually dissolving into just ‘being tired’. Mariana had taken it upon herself to become an intermediary; she waded through the flood of emotions that had drowned both of the men by attempting to speak to them both privately and also sweetening some (rather bitter) messages that they had for one another before delivering them. Sherlock had, of course, seen right through her considerate attempts at cushioning John’s colourful insults, but he didn’t say anything no matter how uncharacteristic her edits were. (He sometimes wanted to tell her to read the essay he wrote about John so that she could learn how to properly speak on his behalf but, in case he accidentally offended her, he kept those thoughts to himself.)

However, when the orders for the podcast’s merchandise started piling up, Mariana had no choice but to plant her focus on packaging and sending them away. And when that happened, his (dreadful) stomachache had gotten worse.

The silence was killing him. (John was killing him.)

By midday, Sherlock had curled up into the sofa, his legs tucked close and arms wrapped around his chest with his fingertips pressing against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His eyes were shut and his face was uncomfortably pressed against a pillow, but he didn’t move. (If he did, the texture of the pillow would send a cold shower of shivers through his body.) Instead he resorted to taking deep, levelled breaths - unconsciously counting his heart’s BPM. (Always calculating, moving. Even when he didn’t want to.)

He had successfully managed to tune everyone and everything that made even the slightest of noise. He had been idle like that since 9.17am, so disturbingly still that, after the first hour, Mariana had to check if he was still breathing. He was.

During the forty-second round of unconsciously monitoring his heart’s BPM, an aggressive vibration had interrupted his counting. Sherlock opened his eyes and, for a moment, he stopped breathing.

Tried to ignore it.

Couldn’t.

(Always subconsciously craving the thrill of possibility.)

He unfolded his limbs, pulled his head away from the pillow with a shiver and sat up. His phone vibrated again.

Sherlock leaned over to the coffee table and picked it up.

Lestrade Says You Weren’t Answering Your Phone. Apparently There’s Something You’d Want To See At NSY

Interested?

It was John. (Oh God, John.)

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Are you?

There was a pause. (Suddenly his BPM was significantly higher than it was 16 seconds ago.)

Maybe

Sherlock was used to the quiet. Most of the time he craved it. A flattened wavelength was his ideal; it opened doors to his thoughts, germinated possibilities and carefully constructed intricate experiments. But this was entirely different:

John never said ‘maybe’ to the possibility of getting to play audience and watch his consulting detective work, to record the perfect material for his podcast and prepare for a rush of adrenaline at any given moment. He never (never) said ‘maybe’ to the idea of working with Sherlock.

The detective switched off his phone, stood up and straightened his jumper.

A gentle string of footsteps told Sherlock that Mariana had walked in. The familiar, .2-second high-pitched creak of a door also told him that she had just left John’s room.

“I assume you were talking about me,” he began plainly, entirely avoiding eye-contact as he strode over to the desk by the window and picked up his ear defenders.

“Why do you assume that?” she lightly asked, setting down a pack of diet Cokes on the kitchen table before beginning to gather her fluffy curls up into a high ponytail.

“What else would you talk about?”

“I..” Mariana hummed unconvincingly, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. “We talk about lots of things.”

He grabbed his coat from his armchair and shrugged it on. “Like?”

“Hm?”

“What sort of things do you talk about?”

She glanced down and wrapped her cardigan around herself comfortingly. “Like.. Beer. And Archie. Oh! And lots of podcast stuff, which we know you don’t really enjoy, so–”

“Scotland Yard has called. There’s something that they’d like me to see.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Yeah, that’s great! You’ve been wanting a case for a while.”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s eyes wandered anywhere but in the direction of Mariana. “Will John be accompanying me? For the podcast stuff. ”

“Er, yeah.”

The voice came from behind Mariana. She took a step to the side to reveal John stepping into the living room with one shoe on his (left) foot and the other in his (right) hand. He bent down and slipped the other one on calmly, his face void of any indifference he had been holding against the detective for the last few days. “Got my mic all charged up,” he patted the small clip-on attached to his shirt. “Just in case.”

Sherlock eyed him carefully. “That’s good.”

It was silent. (His stomach churned.)

“Let us leave,” he said plainly, brushing straight past Mariana and John and ignoring the way their eyes met.

After he left, John sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “See?” he whispered.

Mariana shook her head. “Remember what I said, just–”

“Try again, yeah, I know,” he paused. “Sorry, Mariana- No, yeah, you’re right.”

“I hope so,” she placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him out the living room. “Now go, before he thinks we’re talking about him.”

“Again.”

***

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Mariana?”

“Yep, it’s me,” she poked her head through with a smile. “Sherlock’s still sleeping on the couch. How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” John sat up on his bed as she walked in. He politely turned off his phone and focused on her. “What’s up?”

“Three things. One, we’re out of diet Coke.”

“Ah,” John clambered off his bed and pulled open his wardrobe doors. He reached to the bottom, pulled out a pack and handed it to Mariana.

“You keep packs of mini diet Cokes in your wardrobe?” she asked quizzically.

“Don’t tell Sherlock.”

Intrigued, she peered into his wardrobe. “What else do you keep in there?”

“Pop tarts. Only the good ones, though.”

“Huh, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m locked in the flat by myself,” she joked.

“What was the second thing?”

“Oh, yeah, you know the ‘thank you’ cards for the merch that spelled your name wrong?”

“How could I. Jonk is a pretty big mistake to make,” he deadpanned. “I mean, whose name could possibly be Jonk?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I have finally used them all up in our orders!”

“Finally. But now that means that fifty of our fans have a card that says, ‘Thanks again! From Sherlock, Mariana, Archie and Jonk’.”

“Well, I’ve just ordered another one-hundred cards with the correct spelling of your name.”

“Thanks, Mariana. Honestly though, the guy on the phone was ridiculous, I even spelled my name out for him! Y’know, the same, painfully common name that everyone knows. ”

She glared at him. “John.”

He sighed, running his hands over his face. “I know,” he mumbled. He looked up. “I know.”

“Seriously,” she lowered her voice to a gentle tone. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

“I-” he sighed, closing his wardrobe and trying to change the subject. “What.. Was the third thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

“It was about you still not talking to Sherlock!”

“Ah.”

“So?” she asked firmly.

There was a certainty, an air to Mariana that John had admired since they first crossed paths - always headstrong in her resolutions and cautious enough to ground the men’s often impulsive and derelict decisions. She also always saw right through him. (Both of them.)

John sat down on the edge of his bed. Mariana leaned her back flat against the wall as a nod for him to talk.

“I don’t know, okay? Yes. What he said upset me.”

“He always makes those kinds of comments, though. I mean, to me, as well. You’ve never really reacted this way before,” she commented, hugging the pack of drinks close. “Did he.. Perhaps say something else to you? At the pub?”

“No,” he shook his head. “That’s just the worst bit, isn’t it. That is all he said - painfully common and I just.. Lost it. Like some- Some bloody, stupid.. Stupid child. I don’t know why I did, he’s right, but. What he says means something to me, Mariana. What he thinks. I mean, what makes me different from the other six Johns in the vicinity?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t actually think there are six Johns in Baker Street. We’d definitely know.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it,” he replied gently. “He’s such a cocky git that you can’t tell if he means half the stuff he says.”

“And yet…”

“And yet.. I still believe him anyway. Always. Why do I do that, Mariana?”

There was a glint in her eyes as she watched the doctor debate with himself. “Are you still ghosting him online?”

“No. Well, yes, I have been. But I texted him today. Lestrade says there’s something she wants us to see, and I haven’t had much content for the podcast in a while, so…”

“You’re going to go with him.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause.

Mariana stood up straight. “You need to talk to him, John. He needs you, no matter what he says. Your silence won’t help him understand. Give him another chance.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Mariana.”

They shared a soft, genuine smile and she began to leave the room, only pausing for a moment. “Oh, John.”

He glanced back. “Yeah?”

She seemed to construct her next words carefully. “Try telling him how you feel. I think that’s what he needs. What both of you need.”

John gazed at her, contemplating what she said with a soft frown. He eventually nodded.

*

read part two of 'sea salt & cologne' here.

tags (feel free to let me know if you'd like to be specifically added to/removed from the sh&co tags list): @helloliriels@dragonnan @strawberrywinter4@with-a-ghost-mr-holmes@7-percent @totallysilvergirl @inevitably-johnlocked @johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @raina-at @lisbeth-kk @gaylilsherlock @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear @meetinginsamarra @bs2sjh @gomielka @thetimemoves @thegildedbee @iwlyanmw @jobooksncoffee @amyreadsandstresses @jolieblack @notjustamumj @jawnn-watson @thalialunacy

[ayyy-pee]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Kofi

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Female Reader, Kenjaku/Fake Suguru Geto x Female Reader

Summary: The loss of your lover is a pain you'd never dreamed of having to cope with, everyday feeling like an endless nightmare. When he reemerges in your life, you can't help how happy you are to have a second chance with him. Even if he is a little...different.

Genre: Thriller

Story Warning: Major Character Death, Grief and Loss, Angst, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Possessive Sex, Possessive Behavior

Artist Credit(Twitter)

You enter your apartment, sighing heavily as you pull your black heels off before heading to your kitchen to pour a glass of wine. You yank your wine fridge open, another sigh rushing past your lips when you see there’s only reds left; his favorite, but you were never a fan.

“Maybe one day you’ll put down the moscato and enjoy real wine. That shit’s basically juice.”

His voice echoes through your head as you pluck a random bottle from the fridge and grab a glass. These days, alcohol is the only way you’re able to get to sleep. You wouldn’t normally be chugging a bottle of wine before bed and risking the awful wine hangover you’ll be sure to have tomorrow, but you’re out of your usual liquor. You’d been too out of it to make a trip to the liquor store and honestly, leaving the comfort of your apartment was just too difficult for you right now.

You’d grown accustomed to doing everything with him. It could be picking up a bite to eat, grocery shopping, checking the mail…no matter how mundane, you did it together. 

And now, you had no other choice but to do it alone.

You pop the cork from the bottle and pour until the glass is filled to the rim. You pick up the glass and make your way to the living room, not caring that it’s spilling over the sides and sure to stain the rug. He’d be so pissed if he saw you right now, but it doesn’t actually matter, does it? He’s not here to see you right now.

As you plop down on the couch, you put your lips to the rim of the glass and tilt the glass up, chugging and chugging and chugging the red liquid until the glass is almost empty. It’s fucking gross, as expected and you wish for a second that it was moscato in the cup. You’d have to work through all of those bottles of reds so you could make room for the wines you liked – sweet, fruity and delicious.

“All that sugar is why you have a hangover today, dumb dumb,” He’d tease. “I’ll grab you an aspirin and we can just stay in today.”

You rub your eyes quickly when you feel the sting of tears threatening to spill. You’d shed enough tears over him. After today, it was time to move forward.

The tall windows of your apartment give you a front row seat to the gloominess outside. The overcast skies and the fat raindrops slamming into your window do little to lighten your mood.

On the cushion next to you, your phone vibrates with a text message. You’d been getting a lot of those today, all of them receiving no response from you.

But it’s Satoru, your best friend…well, his best friend.

Satoru: Please let me know if you need anything. I’m here for you.

You drop your phone back on the cushion. Maybe you’ll respond, maybe you won’t. Right now, you don’t fucking care. You don’t fucking care that you hate this shitty wine you have no choice but to drink, you don’t fucking care that Satoru is trying to be a good friend by supporting you through this, you don’t fucking care that the apartment is full of memories of him, and you don’t fucking care that he left you to do all of this alone.

You don’t care.

You don’t care.

You don’t–

The pitter patter of droplets pulls your gaze down to your lap where you see the small circular shadows staining the fabric of your dress. Lifting a hand, you touch your cheek and feel the wet streaks running down your face. Your lip quivers and you quickly set the glass of wine down just as your body follows.

Why? Why did it have to be you left alone to deal with this?

Why couldn’t he just stay?

Why did he have to go?

It wasn’t fair.

The tears keep falling no matter how many times you swipe them away. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of fabric laid across the back of the couch. It’s navy blue with little yellow checker patterns on one side. It was his favorite sweater. You snatch it from its spot on the couch, staring down at it as your shaky hands trace the pattern.

Sniffling, you bring the sweater up to your nose, inhaling the scent greedily, sobbing when the familiar smell assaults your senses.

“Suguru…” you whisper into the cloth, choking back a sob. “Suguru, what am I supposed to do without you? How can I do this without you? I need you here with me.”

In that moment, everything hits you at once.

Your husband is dead. The love of your life is dead. Suguru is dead.

Today, you buried him. You stood next to your husband’s best friend, both of you holding each other’s hands as tight as possible as they lowered him into the dirt; hanging on to the other because if you let go, one of you is going down there with him. You’d buried your best friend, your lover, your everything.

You’d never see him again after this.

Inhaling deeply, you press Suguru’s sweater to your face and let out a piercing wail. You do it over…and over…and over, the smothered sound also drowned out by the thunder and rain outside.

It goes on like this for who knows how long. You keep screaming, crying, begging for Suguru until you curl up on the couch and drift asleep.

..........

Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you until you can feel a hard, warm body against your back.

You hum contentedly when you feel a kiss to the top of your head.

“Morning, baby,” a raspy, sleepy voice whispers.

“Hi, Sugu,” you groan, stretching as much as you can as he squeezes you tighter.

You peek at the window and see the sun is barely beginning to rise, the sky all shades of pinks and yellows and oranges.

“You’re up so early,” you tell him and he snuggles even closer, kissing along your bare shoulder. He loosens his hold on you, sliding a hand down your waist, over your hip, to your thigh where he squeezes the soft flesh. He quietly moans into your ear, his hips rolling forward to press against your ass and you can feel the way his cock hardens against you.

“You know I have an early day at work. I couldn’t wait for you to get up,” he brings his mouth up to your ear and runs his tongue along the shell. “I want you so bad right now.”

“Ugh, it’s so early, babe,” you let out a whine that quickly turns into a moan when you feel Suguru slip his hands under the waistband of your shorts, his fingers going straight to your clit. 

“Please,” he groans, pressing himself against your ass insistently.

You spread your legs for him, and his fingers press against the sensitive bud, rubbing tight circles. Any drowsiness you previously felt is gone when his fingers circle just right and a lightning bolt of pleasure shoots straight up your spine.

“Ah- fuck, Sugu. Right there,” you sigh, your hand finding Suguru’s wrist and holding tight.

“You like that, baby?”

You nod, moaning once more when Suguru rolls his hips against your ass again and again.

He grunts behind you. “Fuck, baby,” he grinds against you again. “Gonna get you nice and wet for me. Need you to take my cock so fucking good like you always do, okay?”

You nod again, your breathing picking up as Suguru works your clit with his fingers. You can feel your slick pooling in Suguru’s hand, his motions becoming messier, more slippery.Suguru presses his lips to the side of your head, hips rolling against your ass faster and harder, his breaths coming rapidly as his digits continue to rub your clit.

“Soooo fucking wet already,” he breathes against you. “You’re so ready for me. You want this dick, baby?”

You nod, unable to speak as the sensation of your orgasm builds and builds. Suguru chuckles against you.

“Use your words, love.”

“Yes, Suguru. I want it. I need it.”

It’s all he needs to hear. He stops playing with your clit and you’re grateful for the break so you can catch your breath. But he doesn’t give you much time. With his free hand, he tugs your shorts off, then reaches into his own shorts and pulls his cock out with a groan.

“Shit,” he mutters, pressing his throbbing erection against your ass. It’s so fucking hot, burning against you the second it touches your skin. The tip is sticky with his dripping precum and it’s so fucking sexy, you can’t help the whimper that leaves your lips when you feel his bare skin against yours.

Suguru’s free hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek and turning your head to him so he can crush his lips into yours. He nips at your bottom lip, pressing himself against you harder when you gasp into his mouth. He holds you there, kissing you, your lips fitting together perfectly the way they always have.

He finally lets you go, breaking the kiss and bringing his hand back down to your thigh to lift your leg.

“Keep your leg up for me,” he says and you do as you're told, ignoring how your leg shakes in anticipation.

Suguru reaches down, gripping his length in his hand and bringing it down to sit right at the entrance of your aching pussy. He rubs himself through your wet folds before smacking his cock against your clit, making you jump right before you let out a loud moan.

“Suguru, stop teasing,” you whine and he listens, chuckling as he lines his cock up with your entrance.

“So needy,” he chides, pushing into you with a moan. “So – ngh – fucking tight. So fucking wet.” 

Your back arches, Suguru kissing down the side of your head, your neck, your shoulder as he slowly slides into you. When your ass meets his hips, he grits out a raspy “fuuuuuck” into your ear. He fills you so deliciously, so completely. He moans as he presses as deep into you as he can, a shudder wracking through his body as your walls squeeze down on him. 

Suguru’s free hand grabs onto your hip, holding tight as he wastes no time fucking into you at a relentless pace.

“I’ve been waiting for hours for you to get up. I can’t wait to fuck this pretty little pussy anymore,” he grunts, into the crook of your neck.

The lewd smacking sounds of your ass meeting his hips fills the room. The bed shakes and creaks with every thrust of Suguru’s hips. He hooks his hand underneath your thigh, lifting your leg higher, spreading you open wider for him.

His balls slap hard against your clit and you keen into the darkness of your bedroom, feeling the hot coil in your belly tighten when Suguru’s arm around your waist pulls you even closer to him. 

“I love you, baby. I never wanna leave this pussy,” Suguru rambles as he pounds into you. “I never wanna leave you.”

“I love you, Suguru. I love you so fucking much,” you whimper, your walls beginning to flutter as Suguru whispers his sweet words to you.

“You’re my everything,” he breathes into your ear. “My one and only. The love of my life. I fucking love you.”

You’re panting, your hands balling into fists as you grip onto the sheets while Suguru keeps up his brutal pace. You feel your walls begin to flutter around Suguru’s cock and he knows it because he kisses your head, whispering a raspy “cum for me” into your ear. 

You lean forward, hiding your face in the mattress as your orgasm rips through you. You’re screaming Suguru’s name into the sheets Suguru presses his face into the crook of your neck from behind and thrusts himself into you one, two, three times before his own release has his hips stuttering, grunting as he paints your walls white with his cum.

“I fucking love you, baby. I love you. I love you,” Suguru whines against you, thrusting slowly in and out of you.

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. You clear your throat and try again, but there’s no sound. You turn around to look at Suguru only to find yourself in the center of a cold room surrounded by metal walls.

It feels familiar, like you’ve been there before, but you can’t quite place your finger on it. The walls are covered in what you can only describe as refrigerator-like doors. 

“Mrs. Geto?” A woman’s voice calls out to you. “Mrs. Geto.”

You shake your head, turning to see a beautiful brunette woman standing before you. She’s clearly a doctor, her white coat being the dead giveaway. She looks tired and overworked and you can just barely smell the stench of cigarettes wafting off of her over the smell of…you really can’t tell…in the room.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You ask the doctor.

“I said I’m Dr. Ieiri. I’ll be assisting you with identification this evening.”

You notice then you’re standing in a pair of Suguru’s sweatpants and his sweater, arms wrapped tight around your body. It’s so fucking cold in this room.

“Identification…right.”

“I’ll pull back the sheet and if you can take a look and let me know, we can make this process quick for you.”

You nod only now seeing the metal table in front of you. There’s a large mass on it, almost like a giant doll covered with a thin white sheet. You wonder momentarily why you’re here.

Then Dr. Ieiri pulls the sheet back and you see him, lying on the table peacefully, almost as if he’s asleep.

You snort, a laugh bubbling up in your chest and bursting from your mouth before you can stop it…Because this has to be a joke, right? It can’t be real. Your husband was just being silly.

“Suguru, get up. You’re so stupid,” you laugh as you move closer to the table.

He doesn’t move.

“Get up, Suguru. Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t move.

Your eyes roam over his face, drinking in his perfectly unblemished skin, his chocolate hair spilled around his shoulders, his lips –usually pink – now a dull gray.

“Suguru,” you whisper, pleading, “ Suguru, get up.”

He doesn’t move.

“Suguru–”

“Mrs. Geto–”

“Shut up!" You screech.

“Suguru, this is not fucking funny. GET UP!” You scream, voice echoing through the room that now feels ten degrees colder. You want to shake him, slap him, anything to make this cruel joke stop.

Your body shakes, your head is pounding as you wait for Suguru to sit up, kiss you and tell you he’s sorry for being so mean. 

He doesn’t move.

The door to the morgue flies open and you hear a shaky “oh my god. Suguru” behind you, but your eyes are glued to your husband’s body lying on the table.

He’s sleeping. You’re convinced he’s sleeping. You just saw him this morning. You know what he looks like when he’s asleep. You try to convince yourself he’s simply napping, though as each second ticks by, the color seems to drain from him.

The voice behind you calls your name. It’s Satoru. He puts a hand on your shoulder, shaking you out of your thoughts. You look up at him, his cheeks blotchy and red, eyes bloodshot. He tells you he’s sorry, though you’re not sure what for. Then he pulls you into a tight hug, holding you for dear life as his body is wracked with sobs.

You wrap your arms around Satoru, patting his back as you turn your head to look back at Suguru, still lying motionless on the table.

The doctor steps forward, grabbing the sheet and covering him again.

“Satoru, what’s going on? Is this some kind of sick prank you and Suguru are pulling?” You ask quietly.

He pulls back, sniffling loudly. His expression is that of shock, looking at you as if you’d lost your mind. “What? We would never do something like this to you,” he assures you. He chokes back a sob as he says your name. “We’ll get through this.”

“Get through what?”

Satoru pulls you back into his arms. “Suguru’s dea–”

..........

You jolt awake with a loud gasp, shooting up on the couch. It’s morning now and the rain still hasn’t subsided. It beats hard against your windows as you observe your surroundings.

You’re home, you’re safe, and you’re still alone.

You’ve been reliving the day Suguru died since you received the call to identify his body. Ever since then, you dread going to sleep. It’s why you drink until you blackout – to decrease the chances of having to experience that day all over again. It’s a never-ending nightmare.

You slip Suguru’s sweater on, ignoring the way the motion makes your head pound, and you head to the kitchen. The headache has become a normal part of your everyday routine. Usually, you were wasted when you went to bed, waking up with a hangover the next day. At this point, the headache was the only thing keeping you company everyday. The only thing greeting you every morning.

As you make your way to the kitchen, you can already smell the coffee. You’re grateful, but you hate yourself a little for never thanking Suguru for setting up the auto brew feature on the coffee machine for you. Reaching into the cabinet, you grab a mug and pour yourself a cup to drink, sighing when the caffeine kicks in and helps to alleviate a bit of the pain in your head.

There’s not much on your schedule today. You’ve taken bereavement leave from work and you’re avidly avoiding your friends and family. You don’t plan on leaving your apartment today due to the rain, not that you’d leave if the weather was perfect. So it’s just you, something you’ll need to get used to. Because you don’t have a choice in the matter anymore.

You sip your coffee again, opting to skip out on making breakfast and grabbing a shower instead. Maybe washing away yesterday’s sadness will make you feel better about today’s sadness that has yet to set in.

As you exit the kitchen to go to your bedroom, you hear a soft knock at your door. You want to ignore it. It’s probably another flower delivery that you don’t want. You’re about to resume your trip to the bathroom when another knock comes from the door. This time, there’s a nagging feeling that you should answer it. So you head to the front door and unlock it, ignoring the way your stomach tightens for some reason. Maybe the hangover nausea is setting in? Or maybe it’s the coffee you nervously sip as you reach for the doorknob.

You turn the knob in your hand and pull the door open slowly. It’s only when the door is nearly open that you wonder why the hell you didn’t just look through the peephole. But then you would think your mind was playing tricks on you...The same way you think it’s playing tricks on you when the door fully opens and you see none other than your dead husband standing in the doorway, smiling down at you.

The mug of coffee in your hand shatters as it hits the floor, the hot liquid splashing across your feet. You can’t even register the pain, your mind damn near shutting down in shock.

He’s standing before you, tall and handsome like you remember him being. His long black hair is tied in his signature half up, half down hairstyle. He’s grinning that catlike grin you were so familiar with, the same one that made you fall in love with him. Suguru looks…like Suguru. Except there’s something new – a long, thin line of stitches across his forehead, right underneath his hairline.

He opens his mouth to speak and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Hi baby,” he purrs. His eyes slowly roam down your body, drinking you in from top to bottom. “That sweater looks good on you.”

TAGS: @Sacvh @suguju @pink4lili @watyousayin @nothisispatrick300

[sandcobangevent]

sea salt and cologne

a miscommunication and some bad wording leads to the obvious. (according to sherlock, at least.)

🐝

“To fifteen-year-old Nadine from Manchester, thank you for your email. I will make sure to give Archie a treat on your behalf. Erm… Oh! To John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry,” he cleared his throat. “To the listeners, I’m not shouting myself out, obviously, this is another fellow John that listens to the podcast! Isn’t that cool? Well, John-that’s-not-me, thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy your holiday in Brum! It’s.. an interesting place. Ah- no, that’s.. Let’s not say that,” he muttered, pausing the recording with a huff and unconsciously reaching for the mug of tea that was made for him.

He didn’t know how, but on the rare occasions that he decided to, Sherlock consistently made the most impeccable cups of tea. Without fail. John couldn’t even get his own cups of tea right let alone someone else’s.

After taking a large gulp, he leaned back in his swivel chair and gazed at the laptop screen in front of him.

The past forty minutes had consisted of scrolling through fan mail in his bedroom and attempting to complete this week’s shoutouts. There was an overwhelming list of unread emails and he felt awful having to blindly pick out who to respond to. He played the recording back.

“Oh! To John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry-”

“Ugh,” he scrunched up his face. “Why do I-”

He played it again.

“-John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny b-”

And again.

“Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry–”

“How’s it going?”

He hastily paused the recording and glanced back at the head that had popped in through the gap in the door. “Hey, Mariana,” he dragged, lamely attempting to exit the tab as she peered in.

Having heard the recording, she frowned quizzically.

“Are you.. giving yourself a shoutout?”

“Yeah, that- No, no, I’m..” he shook his head excitedly. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“There’s another John listening to the podcast! Isn’t that awesome? He sent an email. Said he was going to Brum for the summer.”

“Oh, wow,” she stepped into the room, running a hand through her slicked-back curls. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at the screen. “I wonder if there’s another Mariana listening somewhere in the world.”

“Yeah, I guess there is! Isn’t that cool?”

Another head of dark curls popped in through the door. “Doubt it.”

“Oi!” he turned to Mariana with an apologetic gaze. “Don’t listen to him, I’m sure there’s loads of Marianas out there.”

“Doubt it.”

He huffed, leaning further back into his chair to see. “And why’s that?”

Sherlock stepped in calmly, bringing his fingers together. His hair was damp against his head, and he carried in a fresh scent of shower gel along with him. “Because no one here is named Mariana, so no one listening to the podcast would feel the need to highlight it should that be their name.”

They rolled their eyes in unison.

He carried on with a sharp intake of air through his teeth, his eyes occasionally glancing at the agonisingly bright laptop screen. “But, taking yourself as an example, I’m almost certain there are at least six other Johns in the vicinity of Baker Street. You’ve a painfully common name,” he finished matter-of-factly.

“Oh thanks, mate,” John ignored the sly smile that tugged at Mariana’s lips. “Well, I apologise for not having a- a rich and pompous name like Sherlock. Yeah, how ridiculous of me. Anything else about me that’s painfully common?”

“Actually, yes. In my free time, I’ve written an essay on both your idiosyncratic and conformate behaviours. Would you like to read it?”

“Well–”

“Hang on, Sherlock, you’ve.. Written an essay about John?” Mariana asked, resting a fist on the back of John’s chair.

“Of course I have,” the detective frowned, absently brushing away a stray curl that fell into and obscured his line of view (John). “In the past year that he and I have been flat-sharing, I’ve come to.. Collect data, if you will.”

“That’s really sweet,” she raised her brows amusedly, fluffy curls bouncing on her shoulder as she tilted her head. “So.. Have you written one about me?”

“Actually, it’s totally reliant on observation and the facts,” he responded sharply, diverting his gaze. “I wouldn’t consider it sweet at all. And no. I have not written one about you.”

“Aw, that’s a shame.”

John pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, well, considering he just called me painfully common, I wouldn’t call that a shame.”

“It wasn’t an insult, Watson, it was a fact - yet another inherent trait of yours.”

“What?”

“Taking everything personally.”

“Oi-!”

“See?”

“Mate, we’ve been together for almost a year and all you can say about me is that I’m painfully common?!”

Sherlock shrugged. “We balance each other out. Like..” he scrunched up his face in thought. “Ying a-and..”

“Yin and Yang.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, mate. So I’m the brawn to your brain.”

“Yes, exactly.” He paused. “What?”

“Oh, because you’re- you’re so uncommon, aren’t y- Well, you know what, you are.”

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, yeah, of course you do. How’s this for a compliment? You can’t even–”

“Hey!” Mariana put her hands between them in a feeble attempt to soften the tension. “I think we’re all getting a bit worked up. John, why don’t you finish.. Whatever you’re doing–”

“Shoutouts,” he sighed, rubbing his face annoyedly. “I was just trying to do the bloody shoutouts.”

“Right,” then she glanced sternly at Sherlock. “And why don’t you get back to your experiment?”

The detective straightened himself, pulling his gaze away from John with a frown. “Which one? I currently have four ongoing experiments.”

“I don’t know, how about the one that required you to use all my conditioner? You owe me, by the way. My hair feels like straw now, feel it,” she tilted her hair forward.

“No.”

“But I see you’ve managed to condition your lovely, lovely locks,” she carried on sarcastically, gesturing to his wet hair and damp skin.

"Thank you,” he replied. “It’s a new one.”

"Yeah, I- I noticed. It’s nice,” said John. His eyes widened. “It smells nice. Obviously. I don’t.. Feel your hair during the night, that’d be weird.”

Sherlock eyes narrowed amusedly. “Is that a fact.”

For God’s sake, John thought to himself. He just called you painfully common and you’re still acting like some fan. He rolled his lips with a stony resolve, forcing himself to keep eye contact.

Sherlock faltered slightly.

Mariana watched. “Hello.”

The detective calmly tore his eyes away at the sound of her voice. “Besides. That.. That experiment was boring. I finished it. Would you like to know the results?”

She glared at him. “Does it have anything to do with human remains?”

“Well. Yes.”

“Then no.” She turned to John. “I thought we could go for a drink. You know, to remind you two why you’re still living together.”

He sat up straight, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he thrummed his fingers against the desk. “Er, yeah, sure, once I finish these shoutouts.”

“Okay, great. We’ll leave in ten minutes. Sherlock, are you coming?”

The detective seemed to debate this offer intensely - his thick brows furrowing, tanned cheeks hollowing and grey eyes slightly narrowing until he finally said, “Of course I would.”

“Perfect,” she replied light-heartedly. “Let’s go.”

As Mariana began to leave the room, Sherlock followed cautiously, still deep in thought. “I can’t strongly recommend this line of work to you if you are unable to converse about human remains, Mrs Hudson.”

“Hey!” she held open the door with her foot and gestured for him to leave first. “My job is to answer emails, help pay the rent and send out the merch. Not to look at, or talk about, human remains..”

Her voice faded as they left the room and the door creaked shut.

John let out a gentle sigh and swivelled back to face his laptop. “Right, let’s see…” he opened up the tab that he had previously tried to hide from Mariana. He frowned. “Hang on. Why’s the footage so long– Oh, shit, I’ve been recording this entire time!”

*

The pub was relatively busy with a constant metronome of the door languidly swaying open and shut and the gentle hum of others’ conversations - cushioned only by the soothing tang of refills that glided down their throats in an attempt to ground.

In the search for a small table, Mariana had left the men upfront to order the drinks.

“Two pints of bitter and a gin and tonic, please,” called John as he leaned over the bar with a squint to tune out the overly repetitive pop music.

“Yeah alright, mate. Be a bit because it’s just me today.”

“No worries. Ta,” he scratched the top of his head and settled back into the stool.

Sherlock wasn’t sitting. In fact, he rather awkwardly stood beside John as they waited for their drinks - his posture perfect, his stance unnervingly still. There was a grim (and awfully heavy) twist in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had somehow, in some way, upset John, but he couldn’t put a finger on why. He gazed at the doctor as he thrummed his fingers against the countertop, the reflective surface and soft lights casting a warm glow against his skin.

“Well..” he began, his deep voice cutting through the obnoxious music.

John glanced at him. “What?”

Ah, thought Sherlock. He’s still upset. (Angry? Flattered?) “It’s incomplete, but would you like to read it?”

“Do I want to read an essay about how I’m painfully common? Erm, let me think,” he tilted his head sarcastically. “No, I’m alright mate. Besides, if it’s about me, what more could I possibly want to know?”

“Actually, I’m positive that I know more about you than you do.”

“Yeah, you probably do- What? No,” he shook his head annoyedly. “Forget it. I don’t want to read your bloody essay that’s about how I’m- I’m so painfully common.”

Sherlock’s face scrunched up. “Why are you so obsessed over that phrasing?”

“Because-!” John stopped himself. His lips pursed into a thin line and his eyes softened.

He frowned. The detective tried to use all his innate and learned deductive reasoning to try to understand - he even attempted to reflect on the ‘social etiquette’ intervention he had been forced to have with Mrs Hudson last week. But it was all too much: the torturous music (to which he regretted not having brought his ear defenders), John’s uncharacteristic indifference, his lack of knowledge.

Their intense gaze seemed to make John freeze up, his navy eyes unable to pull away, unable to portray the anger his voice lamely attempted to convey. The warm, soft lights reflected into his eyes, illuminating them into a brighter, saturated tone that made Sherlock forget about the (god-awful) twist in his stomach. They were beautiful, Sherlock thought simply. (He was beautiful.)

“It’s-” he leaned his elbows on the countertop and ran his hands over his flushed face. “It’s fine. Seriously, just forget it, it’s fine.”

Sherlock cautiously opened his mouth to speak. “You don’t–”

“Here you guys go,” the bartender slid forward the three drinks.

“Thanks,” said John politely, juggling the three glasses into his hands without asking for help from the detective, who was watching him with a concerned brow etched deep into his skin. “Sherlock. It’s fine, mate.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he watched John carefully walk through the maze of tables until he found Mariana sitting at the back on her phone. After four seconds of debating with himself, Sherlock turned slightly, pulled out his wallet, silently paid for the drinks and sauntered to the table. (Ignored the churning in his stomach.)

     *

An icy wind had been the final push out of Autumn - it had blown away the rusty coloured leaves until the pavements on Baker Street bore nothing but a thin layer of frost.

It had been five days since Sherlock had (mistakenly) revealed the existence of his essay about John and, according to his knowledge, not much had improved in 221B. The doctor was often tucked away in his room, with the excuse of ‘editing the podcast’ slowly fraying and eventually dissolving into just ‘being tired’. Mariana had taken it upon herself to become an intermediary; she waded through the flood of emotions that had drowned both of the men by attempting to speak to them both privately and also sweetening some (rather bitter) messages that they had for one another before delivering them. Sherlock had, of course, seen right through her considerate attempts at cushioning John’s colourful insults, but he didn’t say anything no matter how uncharacteristic her edits were. (He sometimes wanted to tell her to read the essay he wrote about John so that she could learn how to properly speak on his behalf but, in case he accidentally offended her, he kept those thoughts to himself.)

However, when the orders for the podcast’s merchandise started piling up, Mariana had no choice but to plant her focus on packaging and sending them away. And when that happened, his (dreadful) stomach ache had gotten worse.

The silence was killing him. (John was killing him.)

By midday, Sherlock had curled up into the sofa, his legs tucked close and arms wrapped around his chest with his fingertips pressing against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His eyes were shut and his face was uncomfortably pressed against a pillow, but he didn’t move. (If he did, the texture of the pillow would send a cold shower of shivers through his body.) Instead he resorted to taking deep, levelled breaths - unconsciously counting his heart’s BPM. (Always calculating, moving. Even when he didn’t want to.)

He had successfully managed to tune everyone and everything that made even the slightest of noise. He had been idle like that since 9.17am, so disturbingly still that, after the first hour, Mariana had to check if he was still breathing. He was.

During the forty-second round of unconsciously monitoring his heart’s BPM, an aggressive vibration had interrupted his counting. Sherlock opened his eyes and, for a moment, he stopped breathing.

Tried to ignore it.

Couldn’t.

(Always subconsciously craving the thrill of possibility.)

He unfolded his limbs, pulled his head away from the pillow with a shiver and sat up. His phone vibrated again.

Sherlock leaned over to the coffee table and picked it up.

Lestrade Says You Weren’t Answering Your Phone. Apparently There’s Something You’d Want To See At NSY

Interested?

It was John. (Oh God, John.)

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Are you?

There was a pause. (Suddenly his BPM was significantly higher than it was 16 seconds ago.)

Maybe

Sherlock was used to the quiet. Most of the time he craved it. A flattened wavelength was his ideal; it opened doors to his thoughts, germinated possibilities and carefully constructed intricate experiments. But this was entirely different:

John never said ‘maybe’ to the possibility of getting to play audience and watch his consulting detective work, to record the perfect material for his podcast and prepare for a rush of adrenaline at any given moment. He never (never) said ‘maybe’ to the idea of working with Sherlock.

The detective switched off his phone, stood up and straightened his jumper.

A gentle string of footsteps told Sherlock that Mariana had walked in. The familiar, .2-second high-pitched creak of a door also told him that she had just left John’s room.

“I assume you were talking about me,” he began plainly, entirely avoiding eye-contact as he strode over to the desk by the window and picked up his ear defenders.

“Why do you assume that?” she lightly asked, setting down a pack of diet Cokes on the kitchen table before beginning to gather her fluffy curls up into a high ponytail.

“What else would you talk about?”

“I..” Mariana hummed unconvincingly, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. “We talk about lots of things.”

He grabbed his coat from his armchair and shrugged it on. “Like?”

“Hm?”

“What sort of things do you talk about?”

She glanced down and wrapped her cardigan around herself comfortingly. “Like.. Beer. And Archie. Oh! And lots of podcast stuff, which we know you don’t really enjoy, so–”

“Scotland Yard has called. There’s something that they’d like me to see.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Yeah, that’s great! You’ve been wanting a case for a while.”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s eyes wandered anywhere but in the direction of Mariana. “Will John be accompanying me? For the podcast stuff. ”

“Er, yeah.”

The voice came from behind Mariana. She took a step to the side to reveal John stepping into the living room with one shoe on his (left) foot and the other in his (right) hand. He bent down and slipped the other one on calmly, his face void of any indifference he had been holding against the detective for the last few days. “Got my mic all charged up,” he patted the small clip-on attached to his shirt. “Just in case.”

Sherlock eyed him carefully. “That’s good.”

It was silent. (His stomach churned.)

“Let us leave,” he said plainly, brushing straight past Mariana and John and ignoring the way their eyes met.

After he left, John sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “See?” he whispered.

Mariana shook her head. “Remember what I said, just–”

“Try again, yeah, I know,” he paused. “Sorry, Mariana- No, yeah, you’re right.”

“I hope so,” she placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him out the living room. “Now go, before he thinks we’re talking about him.”

“Again.”

***

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Mariana?”

“Yep, it’s me,” she poked her head through with a smile. “Sherlock’s still sleeping on the couch. How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” John sat up on his bed as she walked in. He politely turned off his phone and focused on her. “What’s up?”

“Three things. One, we’re out of diet Coke.”

“Ah,” John clambered off his bed and pulled open his wardrobe doors. He reached to the bottom, pulled out a pack and handed it to Mariana.

“You keep packs of mini diet Cokes in your wardrobe?” she asked quizzically.

“Don’t tell Sherlock.”

Intrigued, she peered into his wardrobe. “What else do you keep in there?”

“Pop tarts. Only the good ones, though.”

“Huh, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m locked in the flat by myself,” she joked.

“What was the second thing?”

“Oh, yeah, you know the ‘thank you’ cards for the merch that spelled your name wrong?”

“How could I. Jonk is a pretty big mistake to make,” he deadpanned. “I mean, whose name could possibly be Jonk?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I have finally used them all up in our orders!”

“Finally. But now that means that fifty of our fans have a card that says, ‘Thanks again! From Sherlock, Mariana, Archie and Jonk’.”

“Well, I’ve just ordered another one-hundred cards with the correct spelling of your name.”

“Thanks, Mariana. Honestly though, the guy on the phone was ridiculous, I even spelled my name out for him! Y’know, the same, painfully common name that everyone knows. ”

She glared at him. “John.”

He sighed, running his hands over his face. “I know,” he mumbled. He looked up. “I know.”

“Seriously,” she lowered her voice to a gentle tone. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

“I-” he sighed, closing his wardrobe and trying to change the subject. “What.. Was the third thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

“It was about you still not talking to Sherlock!”

“Ah.”

“So?” she asked firmly.

There was a certainty, an air to Mariana that John had admired since they first crossed paths - always headstrong in her resolutions and cautious enough to ground the men’s often impulsive and derelict decisions. She also always saw right through him. (Both of them.)

John sat down on the edge of his bed. Mariana leaned her back flat against the wall as a nod for him to talk.

“I don’t know, okay? Yes. What he said upset me.”

“He always makes those kinds of comments, though. I mean, to me, as well. You’ve never really reacted this way before,” she commented, hugging the pack of drinks close. “Did he.. Perhaps say something else to you? At the pub?”

“No,” he shook his head. “That’s just the worst bit, isn’t it. That is all he said - painfully common and I just.. Lost it. Like some- Some bloody, stupid.. Stupid child. I don’t know why I did, he’s right, but. What he says means something to me, Mariana. What he thinks. I mean, what makes me different from the other six Johns in the vicinity?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t actually think there are six Johns in Baker Street. We’d definitely know.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it,” he replied gently. “He’s such a cocky git that you can’t tell if he means half the stuff he says.”

“And yet…”

“And yet.. I still believe him anyway. Always. Why do I do that, Mariana?”

There was a glint in her eyes as she watched the doctor debate with himself. “Are you still ghosting him online?”

“No. Well, yes, I have been. But I texted him today. Lestrade says there’s something she wants us to see, and I haven’t had much content for the podcast in a while, so…”

“You’re going to go with him.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause.

Mariana stood up straight. “You need to talk to him, John. He needs you, no matter what he says. Your silence won’t help him understand. Give him another chance.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Mariana.”

They shared a soft, genuine smile and she began to leave the room, only pausing for a moment. “Oh, John.”

He glanced back. “Yeah?”

She seemed to construct her next words carefully. “Try telling him how you feel. I think that’s what he needs. What both of you need.”

John gazed at her, contemplating what she said with a soft frown. He eventually nodded.

***

He kept fiddling with the microphone. He couldn’t help it, the silence was killing him. It had been his intention to heed Mariana’s advice and try to talk to Sherlock but, between the cab ride to NSY and the new case presented to them by DI Lestrade, John hadn’t managed to build the confidence to do so. (He was also still a bit annoyed.)

In the cab back to Baker Street, Sherlock had taken the manilla file of information with him from the station and kept it tucked under his arm the entire ride. 

John didn’t say anything whilst clipping on his seatbelt; instead, he subtly gazed at the muscles in Sherlock’s neck as he craned his head to stare out the window, the tanned skin that pulled taut over a layer of muscle that John never expected him to have. His dark curls were just about matted on one side because of all the time he spent still on the sofa in the morning. His eyes (oh God, his eyes) reflected the murky-green from the park that they drove by, but John knew that Sherlock’s eyes were naturally grey. He knew that from all the times he snuck a glance.

Sherlock’s muscles were naturally sleeping beneath slender limbs, his hair was naturally difficult to tame and his eyes were naturally grey. (He was naturally beautiful.)

Despite the detective’s indifference and now with a profound sense of hope, John bravely clicked on his microphone and swallowed the horrid tang in his mouth (which he decided to blame on the cabbie’s driving). “So,” he began awkwardly. “Do you think Sadelyn Sawyer was right? That her brother hired someone to kill her boyfriend?”

Sherlock didn’t respond.

“I mean, the bloke was totally sideways,” he carried on, ignoring the pang in his stomach. “Er, to the listeners, Sadelyn had shown us a few pictures of her half-brother, Frank Sawyer, at the station, and.. Well, just off-vibes straight away. Isn’t it, Sherlock?”

The consulting detective hadn’t pulled his eyes away from the window for even a second.

John cleared his throat annoyedly. “Sorry, guys, Sherlock seems to be in a strange mood today.”

“Stop the cab,” the detective said suddenly, only focused on catching the cabbie’s attention. “Would you stop the cab, please. ”

“Wha-” he watched as they rolled up to the curb of St Barts Hospital. “Sherlock.”

“It’s for the case. Will your fans want to listen?”

John’s eyes darkened. He pressed his tongue into his cheek. “No, they won’t, actually. I’m going back to the flat.” Bubbling with a fresh mixture of anger and hurt, John heard the words leave his mouth before he could properly register them as Sherlock stepped out of the cab. “Yeah. Maybe you’ll find another John, in the hospital, that’ll be a better replacement for you, mate.”

Sherlock didn’t respond. Instead, he calmly handed the cabbie a few folds of cash before walking away into the hospital.

John turned off his microphone soon after.

The faint, lingering scent of a fresh, musky cologne suffocated him and made his heart beat faster until he couldn’t breathe. He leaned forward.

"Could you, er-” his voice cracked. “Can you roll down the windows, please?”

“Too cold, mate.”

“I need to breathe a bit. Can you open mine a little? Please.”

The cabbie glanced up at him through the rearview mirror and sighed. He opened the window.

The rest of the ride was silent.

*

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, your bloke accidentally gave me too much for the hospital. He’s paid for your ride.”

Your bloke.

He took a deep breath and closed his wallet. “Thanks, then,” he said awkwardly.

“No worries.”

Carefully avoiding the ice creeping up on the curb, he watched the cab drive off Baker Street, let the crisp air fill his lungs and bitter wind nip at his cheeks before entering 221B.

The flat was empty. On the kitchen table, Mariana had left a single mini can of diet Coke at Sherlock’s chair, and a small USB at his. John tread to his chair at the table and picked up the USB. He flipped it around in his fingers until he realised what it was.

The essay.

He wondered how Mariana got it. He thought about reading it but, at the very pit of his stomach, he could still feel the anger and hurt bubbling. So he pushed the USB into his pocket and sat on the sofa. Sank in the silence. (Stuck with the sour tang of guilt in his mouth.)

He unclipped his microphone and placed it on the coffee table before settling back into the sofa. There was a single pillow at the end from where Sherlock had been laying. John ran his hand over it, knowing the texture was something that Sherlock despised. He wished he hadn’t been so stubborn so that he could have helped and replaced the pillow with his own. Replace the sofa with his own bed. (Replace the silence with his own presence.) John pressed a firm fist into the pillow before slowly lowering his head on it. He inhaled the faint scent of sea salt and cologne that had clung onto the pillow after all those hours. He closed his eyes and released a breath that had been holding him hostage.

This silence was a little more bearable.

A few beats could have passed. It might have even been over an hour since he closed his eyes, he couldn’t tell. But a harsh vibration jolted John awake.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his fingers narrowly missing the USB. The notification was a message from Sherlock. The last week had made it instinct for him to swipe away at the message before even reading it.

So he did.

He blew out a breath and let his head fall back on the pillow. Closed his eyes.

His phone vibrated again.

This time, he didn’t need to look to know who it was. The bitter tang in his mouth worsened. Sherlock never texted twice, not if he could help it, he never cared for it.

Tried to ignore it.

Couldn’t.

(Always subconsciously craving the thrill of possibility.)

He unfolded his limbs, pulled his head away from the pillow with a shiver and sat up. With all his might, he wanted to be angry - to swipe away Sherlock’s texts without reading them and curl back into the sofa. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He picked up the phone and read the texts.

On my way back to the flat

We will clear the air.

He couldn’t exactly decipher what the last message meant but, by the wording, Sherlock seemed overly confident (as always) that their issue would be resolved when he returned.

As he thought about a reply, his eyes travelled to the laptop sitting on the coffee table. His fingers reached for his pocket. Mariana somehow secretly getting ahold of the essay had once again instilled a fear in John that reminded him she was much more cunning than she let on.

He wondered if she had read it or if she didn’t think it was her place to, only exporting it with nothing but good intentions. He wondered if he wanted to read it. “You’re gonna regret it,” he muttered.

Regardless, he shoved the USB into the laptop and began reading before he could change his mind.

Since it was brought up, John could only assume that the sixteen pages would consist of his common behaviours and uninteresting traits that had been meticulously studied over the last year.

And it was that. It was exactly that.

Except it was also the complete opposite; with every painfully common fact about John, Sherlock had countered it with a carefully-constructed, intricate antipode of his genericism. (Compliments.) There wasn’t a single sentence in the essay that made John feel common at all - not even the paragraphs that described why he placed his toothbrush on the left side of the sink and not the right, or how he stashed food in his wardrobe despite his flatmates having boundaries. In fact, above all the confusion, he felt like the most unique person in the world. Sherlock was right - he did know more about John than he did himself. (He could even make John’s tea better.)

Suddenly he felt awful for saying the things he did.

Sherlock was (undoubtedly) the most luminous soul he had ever met - his confidence unwavering and thoughtfulness so subtly imbedded. The observations he made about the people he cared for were endlessly detailed and never burdening. He did it because he cared. Because he wanted them to know that he had noticed what no else could. John had spent almost a year shamelessly praising his detective’s brilliant mind whenever he overcame an obstacle that everyone else deemed too high - rescuing people, saving innocent lives, preventing overtime bills at Scotland Yard. John never stopped to realise how much he meant to Sherlock.

His mind travelled back to the conversation he had with Mariana.

And yet .. I still believe him anyway. Always. Why do I do that, Mariana?

Now he knew why.

“I woke you up.”

John turned to find the deep voice belonging to Sherlock hovering at the doorway, his eyes glancing at the pillow on the sofa.

“No, it’s, erm-” he turned off the laptop quickly and cleared his throat. “I wasn’t really planning on sleeping, anyway- It’s fine, you.. You didn’t wake me up, Sherlock.”

His eyes were still fixed on the sofa. “It is an awful pillow,” he said plainly.

John glanced at it. “Yeah- erm. Yeah, I don’t know how you did it for so long. It’s terrible to sleep on.” (He’d do it a thousand times again if it meant he’d be wrapped in that scent of sea salt and cologne.)

It was quiet.

“Did you, er, find what you needed? At the hospital.”

Sherlock stepped forward, ignoring him completely and struggling to find his words. “I fear that I may be…” His face was gently scrunched up and facing the floor. He hadn’t bothered to take off his coat since he came in and so, with every pace, the bitter cold wind from outside surrounded him like an armour. John could feel it every time he neared. “John, I am lost.”

“Sherlock–”

“Let me talk,” he met John’s gaze. The harsh, irritated red of his waterline clashed with the tint of blue in his eyes. “Would you give me a moment. Please.”

But the doctor couldn’t watch Sherlock struggle with himself for any longer, the anxiety that emanated from his icy coat getting stronger with every step. “Sherlock, can you- Mate, stop it. It’s okay, I- I…” John pulled the USB out of the laptop and held it up. “I know,” he said softly.

He stopped pacing.

“Mariana gave it to me.”

The detective didn’t move. He didn’t respond. His eyes were fixated on the USB.

John realised.

“Christ, no, Sherlock, I-I’m not angry- I’m not upset. The essay is.. It’s really incredible. Seriously, I don’t know how you do it. And it’s incomplete. How is it possibly incomplete, I mean, you’ve pretty much got all that there is about me on there, mate. I think I’ve learnt something about myself after reading that.”

“It’ll remain incomplete for as long as we’re together,” he finally replied, the irritation in his eyes subduing into a calmer gaze. “Of course, except…”

“It’s.. This is my fault. I- I took what you said and blew it out of proportion, and I’m sorry. Really.”

“I apologise, too.”

It was quiet again.

John could hear Mariana in the back of his mind, shouting at him to confess his feelings, telling him that this was the perfect moment to do so. But his stomach still ached and he still couldn’t get rid of the guilt sitting on his tongue. He wanted to speak, desperately. He just didn’t know how to start.

But it seemed that Sherlock had decidedly done that for him.

“The website said that couples may require some space before talking again,” he continued.

“Yeah,” John nodded.

Then he paused.

“Hang on, what? What do you mean, couples? ”

Sherlock eyed him curiously. “I wouldn’t have done this otherwise.” He stood up straight. “That is also why I said you were perfect for me–”

“-You quite literally said the opposite–”

“And we balanced each other out. Like yang and yin.”

“Yin and yang.”

“That’s what I said.”

”You said it yourself; we’ve been together for almost a year,” he recited plainly.

John’s heart was failing. (It must have been.) He couldn’t properly compute what Sherlock was casually insinuating as he stood towering over him. But the detective didn’t seem to realise the weight of his words and so, after shrugging off his coat, he carried on.

“And I make you tea,” he said matter-of-factly.

John blinked. “You-” he gently cleared his throat. “You make them for Mariana as well.”

“No, I don’t. I make them for you.” He paused. “Who’s Mariana?”

“Sherlock!”

It was silent again. But this time, the air wasn’t filled with anger or hurt or guilt.

John pursed his lips and lowered his voice. “Did you really search up what to do?”

“Well. I do admit that this area of sentimentality is a plane I am foreign to and, in an attempt to correct that, I did some research.”

There was a pause. John narrowed his eyes.

“Is that why you made my bed the other day?”

“Yes.” He brought his hands together. “But also because you kept tucking the ends in at the wrong angle and it was annoying me.”

There it was again, thought John. He was a fool for regarding Sherlock’s hypervigilance as a brag. There was nothing he could do but smile. He dipped his head knowingly. “You didn’t accidentally give the cabbie extra money today, did you.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I had calculated the precise amount beforehand. Cared for and simultaneously granted you space. That’s what couples do.”

“Yes, but,” he tried to word his thoughts politely. “You can’t just assume you’re in a relationship with someone just because you balance each other out. I mean I agree, thank you. Really, I’m flattered, mate, but.. I think we could have avoided a lot of.. Bad feelings if we just spoke about it, don’t you think? Like I thought you calling me painfully common was because you didn’t hold me any differently than you would a stranger. That leaving me in the cab was because you didn’t care. That- That upset me, I suppose, because I wanted you to care the same way I do. And you do,” he waved the USB. “You really do. Just.. differently than what I’m used to. Which is also my fault and I’m sorry. Mariana sort of put me in my place today.”

Sherlock watched him for a moment. He lowered his voice and softened his brow. “I am lost in you.”

John stood up. He stepped up to Sherlock and held out the USB. “I’d really like for you to finish writing it,” he said gently.

“Finish writing it,” Sherlock repeated, staring deep into his eyes with caution. Then, when he realised what John was trying to say, his eyebrows relaxed. “I’ll get to finish it.”

He nodded. “Yeah. For as long as we’re together. And maybe tonight, you can switch out that awful pillow for mine.”

Sherlock tilted his head.

“It’s a ‘couples’ thing.”

For the first time in a week, the corner of his lips lifted.

“It is a rather awful pillow, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, I think Mariana bought it.”

“Is that the person who lived here before us?”

“Wh.. No. Mariana.”

“Yeah?” A soft voice entered the living room, soon followed by a dog’s tired huffs of air. She walked in wearing a thick, yellow woollen scarf and a leather jacket. She lowered her shopping bags down to the floor and carefully unclipped Archie from his leash. “Are you guys okay?”

John glanced up at Sherlock.

He gave a small, affirmative nod.

“Yeah, we are, Mariana.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unconsciously leaning into the detective.

“So.. You’re talking to each other again?” she asked excitedly as she unwrapped her scarf.

“Yes, we…” he scratched his head in embarrassment, her wording making him feel as if he were a teenager with silly school drama. “Actually, we.. We have some news. Good news, obviously.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah…” he glanced up at the detective. “Yeah. Sherlock and I.. We- We’re, erm—“

“We have cleared the air and are continuing our healthy relationship,” he interrupted casually, throwing them both off guard. He turned his head to John. “Did I say that right?”

“I- You said it perfectly, mate.”

The same glint that John had seen earlier in Mariana’s eyes was back again. (She had always known.) “I’m so happy for the two of you! Congratulations,” she grinned.

“You knew,” he said.

“Only a little bit.” She tilted her head. “Okay, yes. But it was so obvious!”

Sherlock raised his brows at him. “See. Even Mrs Hudson knew it.”

For once, John wasn’t in the slightest bit upset. He let a smile adorn his face and lovingly pressed his arms into the detective’s. The scent of his cologne rubbing against his clothes satiated the bubbling in his stomach and made the (god-awful) tang of guilt in his mouth subside. “Guess I was just too painfully common to see it.”

It went silent.

Mariana hesitated. Sherlock stiffened.

John alarmingly stood up straight. “That- God, that was a joke. Don’t worry.”

He could feel Sherlock’s muscles relaxing and hear Mariana’s sigh of relief. Her smile had come back. “Oh, we should totally go for drinks. To celebrate.”

“Aw, that’s a great idea, Mariana. Yeah, we’ll do that. Sherlock, you okay with that?”

They both glanced at the consulting detective, whose brows were furrowed deep. “But we already did that,” he began plainly.

He turned. “What? When?”

“Last week. When Mrs Hudson took us to the pub to remind us why we were still together.”

“Oh, for God’s—“

🐝

give it up for the brilliant and incredibly talented samuel for being my other half in this project; his artwork was perfect down to the T and i couldn’t have asked for a better and funnier partner. (also, try finding the sh&co logo in the picture! it’s such a good detail.)

thank you to eardefenders for creating this flashbang event! it was lots of fun.

[anotherkindofloveletters]

The most wonderful time of the year

Daniel’s story

christmas prompt: mistletoe (requests are open) summary: Y/n works has been working as a event organizer in Monaco for quite a while now and as always the most important event of the year was the Christmas Benefic Party that her organization always threw. tw: none just pure christmas fluff

The amount of calls and e-mails y/n was receiving this first week of December really made her realize how little time did she have to finishing up with the Christmas Gala planning, her days were most definetly non-stop and she would be rushing around the office at all time. “y/n are you okay, do you need a break?” Marie asks, she was not only one of her collegues, but also one of her closest friends “You perfectly know that I cannot.” y/n sighs hearing her phone ringing yet again “I swear if I’ll get to the 14th alive , I’ll just thank the whole gods, universe and whatver is up there.” Marie giggles at those words before going back to work again. “I just have to go again, please can you just tell the others that I’m heading to talk to the catering, they forgot all the allergies buffet.” says y/n rolling her eyes before grabbing her long coat and scarf and greeting Marie with a smile.

The days before the party looked like they would never end, but eventually they did and it was the Gala day. Y/n spent all morning working and touchin up all the details and talking to clients who requied last minutes information, but in the early afternoon she managed to be free to go home and glammed up a bit before the hardest part of all this work: the party itself. The temptation to just throw herself on the bed and calling in sick was so present in her mind, but she reminded herself that she very much needed to eat, so she throws herself in the shower and try to relax a bit there. For the party she chose to wear a dark green suede dress that really looked amazing with her skin color, with matching gold and green earrings, she looked festive and elegant at the same time and she was happy with it.

Apparently even the guests were mesmerised by her presence as they started joining the party and complimenting the young lady. Part of y/n’s job was welcoming all the guest inside then proceed to that everything would go smoothly all night, it was tiring, but it was the last thing she’d do before her long winter break after this. “Good evening, welcome to the party. I’m y/n and if you need something feel free to let me know. Enjoy.” she feels like she has repeted it almost one thousand time already and not all the guests were there yet. “Hi, thank you.” a wide happy smile looking at her, it was a different one from the ones she had seen before, it looked… honest? That was not common at this kind of event “You’re welcome.” she finds herself blushing a bit responding to that, focusing on who she was talking to: none other than Daniel Ricciardo. Of course living in Monaco she has always been a fan of Formula 1 and of course she perfectly knew who the driver was, so she feels a bit flustered after that sweet greeting, but tries to focus once again and letting the professionalism kick back in.

Eventually the infinite list of more relevant guests arrived and she managed to enjoy a bit more the party, the food, the drinks, the music, everything looked okay and she breathing a sigh of relief at last. “May I have a Moscow Mule please?” she asks kindly to one of the bartenders, feeling some eyes on her. “Can I offer you that?” a happy grin looking at her “Thank you, it’s so generous of you to buy me a free drink.” she answers a bit incredule that Daniel was actually talking to her and not just to say hello. They both laugh at y/n’s sentence “I figured out you would need that after introducing yourself and the party to so many people” the guy looked stunning all suited up, it was unsual to see him dressed like that and y/n really noticed “It’s the better part of the job being at the party” she giggles back at him “I imagine the rest of it then.” he passes her the drink the bartender just prepared “Thank you” she almost whispers blushing at him before taking a sip. “So are you allowed to dance or do something fun?” she shakes her head in response “No, someone could see me and I’d most definetly get shouted at. Oh I’m sorry they’re calling me, thank you for the drink” she winks at him before heading towards the old couple of clients calling for her.

Those words really rang a bell in Daniel’s mind. He managed to talk to her and would not waste that occasion. Since he saw her at the entrance he was unable to concentrate on anything or anybody else, how could he has not noticed her before that moment? Daniel was a regular at these kind of events in Monaco even though nothing fun would ever happen, but this time it felt different to him. After a bit of mingling to try and get new sponsors for his driving team, he tries to look for y/n finding her when she has just finished to talk to someone “Y/n!” he calls for her, she smiles hearing his voice again and walks towards him being stopped a few times by other people on the way “It really feels you’re the star of this show” she laughs at those words “I wouldn’t define myself that, but thank you I guess. Can I help with something?” she asks politely “You said that the problem was being seen no?” y/n’s eyes widen at those words “Daniel, I’m flattered but-” “Oh my, I can’t believe my ears. Is Ms. y/n refusing to attend a guest?” he fakes being offended by it and she can’t help but feel a bit guilty remembering her place there and that either if was taking advantage of it or not she really had to make him happy “I’m sorry, you were saying?” she says looking at him trying not to roll her eyes so hard and smiling “I really wish to visit the wonderful rooftop of this building, is that possible?” Daniel’s look where really challenging her, mostly because she would feel very conflicted, she really wanted to go, but she couldn’t, but at the same time she had to. “Of course follow me.”. In that moment, climbing up the stairs to the rooftop, the only thing she can think about is the fact that she should have known that joking around with Ricciardo would lead to trouble, he wouldn’t stop giggling at them two sneaking out as if they were teenagers at prom. “Wow, it looks kinda amazing here.” he says as soon as his eyes lay on the amazing view in front of them “Is amazing, isn’t it?” she says feeling the sting of the cold hair on her rosy cheeks and the lights of the city brighten her face. “I guess you could give me just one dance here?” his hand leaning towards y/n, she almost feel completely defeated and hold his hand officially giving up “Do you always get what you want?” he shrugs his shoulder, starting to dance close to y/n to the muffled music coming from downstairs. It felt pretty unreal, being in Daniel Ricciardos’ arms dancing to christmas jazzy music on a rooftop in Monaco. He looks at her smiling and she feels something that really make her forget she was in full work mode and shouldn’t be doing this at all “It’s chilly isn’t it?” she comments trying to shift her mind away from her feelings “I’m sorry I didn’t even let you grab your coat.” he pulls her closer to him, erasing any distance that was present between their bodies. Y/n’s heart reaches her throath at that gesture and instinctively glance at him, catching his eyes looking at hers.

Magic is not long-lasting at all and the two of them are interrupted by y/n’s boss calling her on her phone “Oh no, I really put you in trouble.” Daniel tries so hard not to laugh “I knew you were trouble when you walked in. C’mon let’s go inside.” she giggles shaking her head before picking up her phone and finding excuses for not being where she sould be. Daniel spent the whole night following her with his gaze, with y/n sometimes noticing and exchanging some smiles with the aussie, that would some time teases her as well about some weird situations happening at the party.

The night went on much faster than anticpiated and as everyone started finally to leave, y/n finally felt relief after that very long period of stress. As she finished up saying to by to the last collegues that still were there, she looked around a bit disappointed at Daniel already leaving the party, but it was obvious, what was she thinking? It was fun while it lasted and unfortunately that was brief.

After taking her coat and get all covered up she leaves the building, seeing someone looking at her from the other side of the road, near a blue Mclaren. It couldn’t be, but it was. Daniel standing there trying to warm himself up and waiting for y/n to come out of the building. He waves at her trying to catch her attention, afraid that she would leave without noticing. “What are you still doing here?” she asks him, once reached him next to his very noticeable car “Well, we’ve been interrupted and I don’t really like that.” he smiles almost shyly at her “Yes, I don’t like that either. I am sorry.” she apologies “Would you like to see another special secret place?” “Can’t wait for the adventure”. They both giggle and Daniel begins to follow y/n entering back the building from the back. The building was one of those fancy mall that also had an event ballroom, but during the holidays also held a winter wonderland small village inside.

“Wow, it’s so different coming here where there’s nobody around.” Daniel’s eyes sparkling as if he just saw something magical “You know, being recognizable is not easy to come to places like this even if you’d want to.” he explains to her as they’re walking around the cute christmas scenarios “I figured this out, yes” she nods “Being always so busy organising the gala, I never enjoy the holidays as I did when I was younger.” it was so easy to open up to each other that they found theirselves sitting on a small bench under a fake tree filled with fairy lights talking for hours about their lives.

“I feel like you owe me a proper dance” says Daniel getting up “We don’t really have the music” “that’s not going to be a problem” in a matter of moments the australian man takes out his phone typing online – christmas romantic atmoshpere music – finding the perfect chilly slow music to dance on “Mademoiselle” he said offering his hand to her-ì. After getting rid of her coat, y/n takes his hand giggling before starting to dance close with him. They stay quite like this for a little while, swaying to the rhythm of that jazzy playlist that Daniel found, until he starts making them dance towards the left area of the room little by little.

“Oh no, look at this!” he says pointing at a small mistletoe attached to the ceiling of the room “It would be such a waste, wouldn’t it?” she answers to him following his small gesture and noticing the small adornment “Totally.” says Daniel before getting closer to y/n and slowly resting his lips over y/n's slightly red ones, closing his eyes and savouring the moment he had waited for since the first time he had danced with her on that rooftop.

“I think I liked this year’s party a lot more.”.

[taffybuns]

Hi Taffybuns! Thank you for being you and artist that has passion to make. My brother told me that he bought two shirts out of it and he loved it, i was surprised you were the artist drew design! (the pokemon ones!)

Though I am curious and i hope you'll able to respond, do you have advice to make my art for merchandise in the future? I don't mind if you want to simplified explaination, a tumblr posts, or dropping a youtube link video; since you're busy with conventions.

I'm picky when it comes youtube art videos that are always give me the vibes of elitism, clickbait videos or others. You're the first artist I wanted to ask, so i hope it's fine if you can reply or not.

Sending my best regards to you. Take care and love your art as always. (I hope i can buy your pokemon hawaiin shirt!)

hello! thanks so much for the sweet message!!

apologies for the confusion, though! the pokemon shirts arent mine! i share a joint storefront with my friend and tablemate, you can view all his designs here! we have our store bio set to say we are two artists, but it's hard to see on the shopee site format, haha. i'll pass this message along to him, and i hope you can buy his shirts in the future too, they're very well made! i'm glad your brother enjoys them!

(if anyone is reading this, he also has them listed internationally on Etsy! my items aren't here though, sorry!!)

i assume you're PH based aswell if your brother got our shirts, so i'm gonna link some resources and basic advice under the cut-

i'd be glad to help where i can, though my basic advice is to just start.. i began selling merch with dann (friend who made the pokemon shirts) when we were just classmates in college, and we started at small anime events selling small prints with our table falling apart hahajkfghjk.. but even back then everyone was so friendly, so it was very encouraging !! the art community is very sweet and there is a lot of support for you !!

first, you'll want to find your market! this will determine what conventions you want to apply to and what kind of merch you want to make. do you want to make fanart, or original art? are you doing mostly stickers, tote bags, or anime merch? or do you just want to sell online?

second, what is your budget for merch production? starting out is expensive, personally my funds always circulate between profit and spending on restocks again. this will determine what kind of merch you can make, and then you expand later! i started out with only stickers and art prints, then keychains, and then bags and t-shirts later on!

if you're into original art, some events i recommend for beginners are Patrons of the Arts, Buzzart, Komiket. they have regular events throughout the year. if you're into stickers, there's Stickercon and Sticky Expo!

if you're into fan art, you can try ozinefest (sales are slower but table cost is cheaper), or if you have enough money, split for cosplay ph events

of course these aren't the only events, though they're the ones i regularly attend! if you have a more specialized market, there are dedicated cons like philifur, the grand lason, pokecon, etc. for all of these events you'll either have to keep your eyes peeled for table openings on their pages (rare), or email them to be added to their mailing list so you'll be told when they're open

if you don't have any suppliers yet, you can apply to join Artist Alley Group Order on facebook ! people regularly post about suppliers for all kinds of merchandise that you can look up. if you want any recommendations you can message me off-anon!

as for the merchandise itself, this varies person to person. my market is more obscure fanart that other people don't sell, and cutesy original art! i sell big illustrations as prints, though other people report on having a hard time selling prints. it depends on the content and art style. you'll have to experiment and see, or look around other shops to see what sells! visiting art markets yourself is also a huge help, to see the market, make friends in the artph community, and support artists!

i'd recommend starting out with stickers and prints- they're the cheapest to produce, and people often buy stickers because of their low price at cons. when you get more familiar with the market you can try going onto more expensive things to reproduce!

again if you want details, let me know! this is very vague and general advice, if u have any specific questions i'll do my best if i'm not busy! don't be afraid to surf thru some videos too, a lot are very helpful n not too elitist!

gl and take care aswell anon!

[marilynthornhilllover]

Don't be shy little one pt 4 : final

Gwendoline christie x fem! Fan reader

Warning: fluff, angst, comfort, hurting, pillow fight,crying, indecent language, heart break, sad ending, divorce, flashbacks, memories.

A/n: Don't cry just enjoy :) :(

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You remember it all. The way your heart ached, the way your life changed in a heartbeat.

You remember the love she gaved you:

You and gwen laid in bed naked. You were already falling asleep. Her hand rubbed small circles on your back as she kissed your forehead.

" I love you y/n " she whispered pulling your sleeping body closer to her.

" beyond stars" were the last words you were able to catch as sleep killed you.

The way she always protected you:

A paparazzi grabbed your hand and tossed you around to face him. You whinced in pain.

" just one picture mrs.christie please" he shouted grabbing your arm again.

" let go of me" you shouted, you voice broke, showing that you were scared and hurt. Something that made Gwen's heart ache.

" she said let go you idiot" gwen said as she punched the guy in the face.

There was so much white noise going on. You covered your ears like a kid as you watched gwen beat up the guy brutally making, his colleagues run away.

Gwen held you firmly and walk you out of the airport. After you were out safe she lectured her bodyguards for not paying better attention to you.

" thank you" you said hugging her tightly.

" of course my little angel, I'll do anything to protect you. I wasn't gonna let that asshole touch you like that, never in a million years will I let someone abuse you like that baby" she whispered as she coverd your face in kisses.

The way she was never had a problem with spending money on you:

" hey gwen" you called out, from the shoe isle.

" yeah?" You heard her faintly respond.

" can you come here please" you replied softly, gwen almost melted at your baby voice. She came into the isle and slowly approached you.

" I wanted theses moon boots but look at the price" you said sadly, gwen bent down a little and took a look at the white paper that had the price of the shoes written on it.

Price: 3,000

" what color do you want baby?" She asked standing back up straight.

You looked at her with confusion.

" I wanted 2 actually a white and maybe red" you said, but the price, the damn price.

" put them in the cart" she said looking at some leather jackets.

" you'd actually buy then for me?" You asked slightly shocked.

She turned to face you again. She placed a soft kiss on your lip.

" I'd buy you then world if it was possible, my princess" she said nodding at you, you quickly remembered that shoes and picked them up.

On the drive home you couldn't stop looking at her and smiling.

" you know i can feel you staring at me right?" She asked slightly chuckling.

You smiled softly at her.

" who did I get so lucky?" She smiled and took her eyes off the road for a second to look at you. You had heart shaped eyes.

" I should be the one asking that question y/n" she said kissing your cheek.

The way she was always worried about you:

All you heard was this massive explosion. You spring awoke and rubbed your eyes.

You looked at the sight before you.

Gwen had broke down the bedroom door.

You looked at the clock on the wall.

2am.

She had just came off set from acting.

" what the actual fuck gwen we just got this house" you shouted, your voice all raspy and cute from sleep.

" I'm so sorry babe, it's just that I've been calling you and you didn't pick up, I thought something bad had happened" she spoke softly, clearly scared.

You picked up your phone from the dresser and checked your call logs.

67 missed calls

17 voice mails

2 missed FaceTime calls

10 unread messages

You smiled softly and placed your phone back down on to charge.

" I'm fine, didn't know my wife worked for the FBI, how many kicks did it take?" You asked as she crawled onto the bed to hug you.

" 1" she said, you giggled. She pulled you closer to her chest and kissed your forehead.

" and i'd do it again" she whispered.

" yeah I don't think so ms. hulk, do you know how much it will take to fix back that door" you said, snuggling closer to her.

Soon you fell asleep again. And you felt safe.

Gwen was your everything, your safe place, your home, your companion, your comfort, your sunshine, your success, your friend, your wife she meant the world to you.

You remembered when you first met her. You were just a young fan at one of her red carpet events who just wanted their favorite celebrity to sign their autograph.

But she saw something special in you. You were the first person in 24 years to actually understand her.

You still remember the day gwen asked you to be her girlfriend. In Paris at a very fancy restaurant called " la Gabriel"

And then day she asked to be her wife at the Maldives.

She always made you feel special and loved something you never felt.

Gwen and you had an unbreakable bond.

That was until you both announced your relationship on social media, things went downhill.

Your marriage went south and no matter how many times you both tried to save it. Nothing seemed to work.

Gwen was always at work, busy with work. You didn't slaughter her for that because so were you.

You both always argued over stupid stuff.

She truly loved you and so did you.

You both were planning to have a family together but life had other plans.

The day that broke you the most was the day you and gwen got divorced, well sign your divorce papers.

You couldn't look at her. You felt guilty.

You've been crying for days. Your eyes were puffy, you were always sniffing.

You were a sun glasses to hide your tears but gwen saw right through your fake barrier.

" y/l/n it's time to sign the papers then gwen" the lawyer said. You took off the glasses and took in a deep breath and let out a shaky one.

Your eyes met her gaze.

Right then and there every good moment you both had with each other came flooding back.

You fell to the floor and broke down.

" I- I can't I'm sorry" you mumbled, as you sniffed. You sobbed and sobbed.

How could you divorce the only person that loved you. Truly loved you...

" I- I withdraw" you whimpered, as you dry your tears.

" Well gwendoline what's your response?" The lawyer asked. Gwendoline couldn't take her eyes off you.

She stayed silent. Her heart broke into a million pieces.

She wanted to hug you so bad. She hated seeing you sad. It made her heart break.

You both were given a month to figure things out then come back in and sign the papers. That's if gwen also withdraws.

What ever both your fates may be. Your heart will go on.......

[rea-grimm]

Ghosts of Crimson peak - 3

One grey afternoon when you took the day off, Thomas sought you out. He wanted to show you something. You wondered if it was another memory or scene from the past.

But he had already warned you that it would not be as bad as before. At least that's what he kept telling you as he led you into the living room, where all the furniture had been moved to the side and there was now enough plaza to dance on.

You had no idea what he wanted to show you that needed so much space. But before you could ask what he wanted to show you, a pleasant golden light flooded the place.

Instead of a living room, you found yourself in a large room that was definitely meant for more people. It was far too large and rather empty for the two of you. The room was lit by dim side lights and the main light provided a chandelier dotted with candles.

You glanced around the dance floor as you looked at Thomas, who was standing next to you, giving you a look that made your heart melt. 

"Could I ask you to accompany me to the ball?" He asked you with a smile. 

"I'm not sure. I don't even have a dress..." you replied, unsure of the right way to respond. You hadn't been to a ball before. You weren't much for that sort of thing and there were too many people there for you in the first place.

"That's not a problem," he replied, and before you knew it, you were wearing a beautiful, long dress appropriate for its time. It was an amazing illusion. When you touched them with your hands, they felt nice to the touch, though it was confusing how your normal clothes still felt on you.

"These are beautiful," you breathed, twirling around in them.

"They suit you," he smiled, bowing and offering you his hand before continuing, "May I ask the prettiest lady at this ball to dance?" He asked. 

"I don't even know how to dance," you replied in surprise.

"I assure you, it's not that hard. Just let me lead," he didn't let up. Finally, you nodded in agreement and took his hand. 

His touch was slightly cold but incredibly real. Thomas pulled you lightly against him, his other arm around your waist. At that moment, music filled the room and you began to dance.

You could see he was a great dancer and he led you around the floor like nothing. You were quite thankful that he was a ghost, as you felt like you stepped on his foot every other step.

"Don't think about it. Just enjoy it," he said, seeing your concern and looking you in the eye. You nodded in agreement and as the dance continued, you slowly stopped thinking about it.

Once the music stopped you stopped, Thomas bowed before kissing your hand.

"You're a breathtaking dancer," he replied before leaning closer to you, taking your chin lightly and kissing you. His lips were cool and when he pulled away, your lips began to warm. It was like winter, when a snowflake landed on your skin. 

When he pulled away, you noticed that the ballroom had melted away and you were in the living room again. Your dress had also disappeared and you were back in your original clothes. You were afraid that Thomas would also disappear, but he was still standing in front of you, looking at you lovingly. 

When you finally released all the footage that covered the seven days you spent here and more. Fans cheering you on and giving you all kinds of advice on how to deal with the ghosts. Plus they had a lot of questions about the place and even more about the ghost baronet. 

Have you thought about doing a Q&A video with Thomas Sharpe. You tried pitching it to him, but even though he was intrigued by your work and the new technology in general, he turned you down. He wasn't sure he wanted the whole world to know about his crimes. You understood and you didn't force him into anything.

A few days later, when you were looking through the fan mail, you noticed a familiar envelope. Again, you found a letter sealed with a wax seal. You broke it open and pulled out the stack of papers inside. 

The first thing you read was an anonymous letter in which the person in question explained that, you met all the conditions, you were given ownership of the entire property. After the letter, you looked at the rest of the papers. These were gift deeds and all the documents indicated that the whole property belonged to you. 

You again sent these documents to your friend who confirmed that everything was in order and it really belonged to you. However, even from these documents he did not find out who the previous owner was and who actually gave it to you. 

You wanted to inform the Baronet of this news and so you automatically headed to his workshop with the documents, where his presence used to be strongest. 

"Thomas?" you called to him, looking around. You flinched as the ghost appeared next to you. 

"Is something wrong?" he asked, concerned, trying to figure out what had you so excited.

"Looks like I'm the new owner here," you smiled at him and showed him the papers. Thomas took them from you and looked them over. 

"Are you staying here?" He asked as he looked up from the papers and handed them back to you.

"I think I will. I've grown quite fond of this place. Although it's going to be a lot of work getting this place together," you shrugged. You meant what you said. This place really grew on you. 

After this you officially moved into Allerdale Hall and even got the necessary things done for permanent residency in England. You immediately set about a plan to clear the house of ghosts. 

Over the course of those few days, you found several ways to get rid of the worst of the ghosts. Now all that was left were the ghosts of the victims and the Baronet himself. 

With the baronet's cooperation, you managed to properly bury the bodies of the victims that the police hadn't found and that were still haunting the place. But before the ghosts of the victims disappeared, Thomas asked for their forgiveness. He was already prepared for the worst and didn't expect anyone to be able to forgive him. 

Slowly, you managed to exorcise all the ghosts, leaving the Baronet as the last one.

No matter how hard you tried, you had no idea what exactly to do to keep him moving on. You tried all sorts of methods, but you still felt it had something to do with forgiveness. 

"You should forgive yourself, too. Everyone else has already forgiven you," you said one evening. You took his hand and looked into his eyes. Although he had been quite happy lately, his face was now tormented by sadness.

"I can't do that," he replied, looking to the side. 

"But you can. Your previous wives have forgiven you. Now it's your turn," you said gently. "Or do you want to torture yourself for the rest of your life over this?"

"I don't want to leave you," he said weakly, finally looking you in the eye. This stung your heart.

"I don't want to leave you either, but wouldn't it be better to move on?" You asked him. Truthfully, you didn't want to lose him either, but you didn't want him to endlessly eat himself 

"Do you think I deserve this?" He asked you hesitantly. 

"From the very beginning," you replied determinedly. 

Thomas leaned closer to you and stroked your cheek. Automatically, you leaned towards him and hugged him. You had the feeling that this was your last reunion. 

"Thank you," he murmured before kissing you. You returned the kiss, feeling that it was much shorter than you would have liked. You wanted to be strong, but when you pulled away, you could feel tears forming in your eyes. You were still holding him when you began to feel his body slowly fading away.

"Don't shed a tear for me," he said gently, wiping away the tear that was streaming down your cheek. "'Smile suits you much better,' he smiled weakly at you. "You have filled my world with light. I love you with all my heart..." he said before completely melting away. 

There was nothing you could say in response. You didn't trust your voice and let the tears flow freely. The purple hill was unusually quiet now, and the only sound was your sobbing. As much as you wished for him, you had no idea it would be so hard for you.

1, 2, 3, 4

[heich0e]

if you've sent in an ask lately that i didn't respond to, it may be answered under the cut! i'll be dividing these posts up by general subject matter so no one has to scroll for too long to find any asks they may have sent. feel free to block the tag #liv got mail if you don't like seeing posts like this. i'm sorry to have kept you waiting, and p.s. i love you very much <3

part four: fic stuff, etc. ✉

✉ Anonymous asked: liv no one writes suna like you how am i supposed to go on when you hate him (affectionately)

u should try hating on him too it's very liberating and he's an easy target <3

✉ Anonymous asked: not a day goes by when I don't think about pollute I deeply thank you for making it 🩷😔🙏

ahhhh yes... polluted.... my gang-num opus.... thank u for enjoying one of the nastiest things i have ever written we are in this together now!!

✉ @just-jordie-things asked: hello here like everyone else to make sure you get so much love for your mini series with megumi 🤗🤭 (and also i just binged the rest of your work too 😭 😂) i love your writing style it’s so addicting i feel so involved in your stories. and i just loooove how you write megumi !! excellent work i hope you had fun with it!! have a great day/night 🫶

HI JORDIE!! u are SO KIND!! i am so happy you enjoyed the series (and hopefully whatever else you read!!) and i really really really REALLLLY appreciate you taking a moment to share these sweet words w me. sending u love and endless gratitude!! <3

✉ Anonymous asked: Hey Liv, just wanted to reach out to you

Hopefully you don't feel overwhelmed or something like that regarding your last series and everything that came along with it (also your last asks were... Let's say bizarre), so I just wanted to remind you that while I think you're an amazing writer and love what you post, I do not simply follow you for the content you put out: in fact I've become more an more interested in your persona, I think you're hilarious and witty and kind and I find myself looking forward to even you reblogging art and your keysmashes in the tags

Thank you for being so special Liv!!♥️🤩

this really ought to have gone in the love letter section because it's so incredibly sweet of you to say. u might have questionable taste in girlbloggers but omg your heart is so beautiful and kind :') thank YOU for making me FEEL so special, and for taking the time out of your life to do so. i adore u more than i could ever say and i am sending u roughly 92 MILLION kisses. love u so big.

✉ Anonymous asked: hi liv! whenever u see this i just wanted to say that im sorry u felt like u couldnt continue posting smth u created and had fun making onto ur little corner of the internet that we all have the privilege of sharing w u 🖤 it rlly does hurt when smth we make and are excited to share with others isnt met w the same kind of enthusiasm. even tho it's understandable why some ppl weren't huge fans of ur mini megumi series, im sure it was still a bit hurtful. i just wanted to say that everything you create, no matter who likes or dislikes it, is beautiful and deserving of love and recognition for the effort, time and emotions you put into making it. i hope ur break is relaxing and lovely, and i cant wait to continue supporting u and ur creativity when u get back 🖤🖤🖤

thank u little guy. i appreciate you and these words very very much <3

✉ Anonymous asked: just read the Megumi drabble series and saw your prev asks answering the continuation of it, and let me just say that (a) i LOVED the series it's absolutely adorable and also angsty and (b) i completely understand if you decide not to continue!!!! i just wanted to show some support ❤️❤️ your writing's incredible ❤️❤️ regardless of if it'll continue or not, it was an amazing read!

thank you for reading and enjoying it!! you are so sweet!! sending u a big tight squeeze

✉ Anonymous asked: LOVE YOUR LATEST MEGUMI FIC!!! I know it’s easier said than done but I hope you become more comfortable with posting whatever you want in you little corner of the internet!!!

ahhhhhh i hope so too!! and i am so grateful you enjoyed it!! thank you friend <3

✉ Anonymous asked: I loved the recent series of veterinarian Megumi and his son so much, I loved your writing. I understand you're not going to continue, but I appreciate you writing it anyway.💓

and i appreciate u reading it!!!! and enjoying it!! it means so much to me!! blowing u a big kiss rn

✉ Anonymous asked: hi hi Liv ❤️ I just wanted to say I respect your choice to not post more of your oopsy baby series to prevent others from becoming uncomfortable, and I just hope it doesn’t diminish your own joy for writing and creating.

I think it’s totally fair to acknowledge that you hadn’t included a warning or anything about the kid (almost definitely) being Megumi and reader’s, cuz that happens sometimes! Things slip through! But at the same time people don’t have to keep reading if they get to a point they’re not enjoying it.

I think I speak for a lot of people when I say I just want you to be happy in your space, so whatever way you choose to achieve that is of course the best choice for you ❤️❤️

hi hi FRIEND!! thank you for such sweet words and for being so understanding and kind. LOVE UUUUUU

✉ Anonymous asked: just wanna compliment you cause its honestly so impressive that you managed to write and outline multiple stories in the past two weeks. you never fail to amaze me with your creativity keep up with the amazing stuff and take care of yourself :)

i feel so SO lucky to have an outlet to dump all my silly little ideas into when they strike, and to have people (like you!!) who are there to enjoy them along with me!! hope you're well sweet thing!!

✉ Anonymous asked: PLEASE GOD YOUR WRITING IS IMMACULATE. LIKE DOWNRIGHT SWEEPING ME OFF MY FEET IN HAPPINESS WHEN I SEE YOU POST IMMACULATE.

write whatever makes you comfortable, parenthood or not because after all, YOU are the one who is writing it and everyone has their own responsibility to scroll if they dont like your comment. anyway, sending lots of love, YOU DESERVE IT ALL!!

WAHHH u are so kind!! sending u a big squish and so much love right back <3 and thank you for such a lovely bit of reassurance i appreciate u!!

[one last note: there were some other asks about the mini megumi series that i wasn't sure if i should include. i never want to post or share anything that someone might interpret as targeted, or alienating, or sensitizing in any way—and i'm ready to move on and not rehash any old wounds. i know they all came from a very kind place, and i am so truly and sincerely appreciative of anyone who reached out to check on me, or support me, or tell me that they enjoyed the series. love u always and tremendously, liv. xx]

[redheadedbrunette]

yay!! i’m so glad the email went well! my biggest worry was that he’d come off passive aggressive but!! he did not 😌(would u mind providing a summary of the email and his response?) but yea high five bestie ✋🏻✋🏻 -t1sb

Okay bullet points:

Very impressed at the length and depth of the email

Flattered that I enjoyed the series (for the most part) and cared about it as much as I have for as long as I have

Hopes that I won't have to stop caring (that was the ultimate question of the email, and I put it in there explicitly because I wanted to make it clear I knew he wasn't going to change the series for me)

There are plans for Zoe's development in SS11!!!! The reason she was like that in this book was because he needed to get her wheels spinning emotionally

He's sorry I didn't like the direction she's taken, and hopes that I'll like what happens next, though obviously he can't guarantee that

As a counterpoint, because he needed to focus more on Zoe to make subsequent installments work, he couldn't really focus on Trixie

Once again expressed hope that I would enjoy subsequent installments

He didn't address my points about Erica, which was a pretty sizeable chunk of the email, or about the relationship between Joshua and Erica, which concerns me a little bit, but I also understand that he's a busy man who has to get to other fan Mail in his inbox and doesn't have infinite time to respond to 14 page emails from silly women (me).