#jane ives fluff

[narislvr]

HEY THERE, SUBW4Y GIRL

one-last-stop au ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ | e.williams x fem!reader

cws? reader wears glasses and is on the bigger side (not mentioned yet but we need more love for chubby readers!!) reader is a college student working at a diner, ellie is a blip in time but reader doesn't know that yet, love at first sight trope but you're both awkward 🧍‍♂️, no use of y/n for reader, this blurb is moreso an intro to the world so not much ellie yet (might be a series if it dies well!!) Spoilers for the book, and will have some direct quotes.

m.list [๋࣭🪻] part 2 [ 🌆 ] palestine-resources & daily click

"Her eyes are bright and teasing and warm, warm forever-and-ever brown, and august doesn’t know how she could possibly do anything but whatever this girl says." pg 20

You weren't going to cry.

you weren't going to cry over the shitty smell of pancake batter and honey that wouldn't wash off despite your half hour shower ── the smell bonding to you after working too many late hour shifts at the diner ── and you definitely weren't going to cry over the scorching feeling of the coffee cup leaking small droplets of what you were considering your only energy source onto your hand.

you were already running late for your first morning class of the semester, but if you found your right train on time ── which you've already memorized out of fear of this exact situation ── then you'd still make it before it became too noticeable you were late.

sure, things were already going far worse than you'd hoped for, from having to pick up a late shift the night before at the 24/7 diner you work at, leaving you with four hours to sleep before having to get up and get ready for class, to dealing with a rude barista in the coffee shop above the metro station who couldn't even bother to tighten the lid of your cup.

things were not going great, but you were determined to make things better.

to your dismay however, determination alone wouldn't be enough to turn your luck.

amidst your attempt of carefully closing the lid of your coffee cup, you don't notice the group of teenage kids running your direction until one of them bumped into you with a grunt. the coffee, which had been one source of your annoyance this morning, spills across your top staining the once white fabric of your long-sleeveed shirt an opaque shade of brown, and to add to your already shitty morning, you hear the sound of your phone hit the pavement with a loud crack.

The teenager gives you a quick look up and down, their expression contorting into one of horror as they look at the stain on your top and the state of your phone on the floor behind you. ──if that's the way they look at you, then maybe you shouldn't even try looking at yourself── deciding that you wouldn't fight a fourteen year old, not that you would've anyways, you bend down to pick your phone off the ground, your lips forming a tight frown as you look over at all the various cracks on the screen of the phone you had worked so hard to afford.

despite the feeling of a knot tightening further in the back of your throat, you stayed true to your promise.

You weren't going to cry.

Your train pulls up only a few moments later, and you quickly blink back the tears before stepping aboard. to your luck ──if you even want to risk calling it that── the car wasn't as full as you though it'd be. usually it would be a great thing, not being crowded by people, but right now as you stood holding the handlebar, it really hit you just how disheveled you must look to others. Your hair was frizzy, your eyes were teary, coffee soaked your shirt, and now you smelled like a mixture of coffee, pancakes, and faintly of vanilla body spray.

You were a wreck.

you feel someone move to your side and you cringe slightly, your shoulders stiffening as you kept your gaze on the floor. you hear the unzip of a bag, presumably the person beside you getting something out, and you shift your gaze to sneak a glance at the stranger at your side expecting, but hoping it wasn't, a creep ──it's a subway, you never know what could happen in a 15 minute ride── but to your surprise, you're met with sun bleached black converse and baggy jeans next to your own white converse. Slowly your gaze moves upward, noting the way the person's foot tapped rythmicly the floor beneath it before you get a better look at them.

And fuck do you get a good look at them.

The person who you expected to be some lanky guy, perhaps some skater boy, perhaps a creep ──again, can never be too cautious── was actually... a girl. Round cheeks, with a softly scrunched and freckled nose, a girl so pretty you thought you were hallucinating. Her hair was a dark shade of auburn, half her hair up in a small ponytail while the rest fell a little over her nape. On her head were a pair of old looking headphones connected to a Walkman that stuck out the front pocket of her messenger bag as she searched for something down at the bottom with a small smirk. Did she know you were looking? What was she looking for that had her looking like that?

don't be a creep, you thought to yourself, trying to tear your gaze from her right arm. The sleeves of her faded blue flannel were rolled up just above her elbow, exposing the intricate design of ferns and a ──still in the works── moth on her forearm. don't be a creep, you repeated to yourself in your mind as you look away from the beautiful stranger at your side. Why'd she have to appear exactly when you looked your worst?

"Yikes," She finally says, her smirk still ever present on her face as she looks up to face you now.

The hottest girl you've ever seen just took a look at you and said "Yikes." What the fuck.

You were dumbfounded ──inwardly horrified── and she can't help but chuckle as she finally finds what she was looking for in her bag. It wasn't a mocking chuckle. no. it wasn't something lighthearted, curious, and you swear the temperature had risen in the subway car.

"Here," the girl says, pulling out a burgundy colored scarf and holding it out to you. "You look like you're going somewhere important, so," She gestures vaguely at her neck, "keep it."

You blink once, processing her offer before coming out of your trance and shaking your head, "You─ oh my God, I can't take your scarf."

The girl shrugs. "I'll get another one."

"But it's cold."

"Yeah," She says and her smirk shifts into something unreadable for a split second before your attention is caught by the dimples that had formed on her freckled cheeks. "But I don't go outside much."

You stare for a moment and she does as well.

"Look," She starts, her hands fidgeting slightly with the ends of the scarf, "You can take it, or i can leave it in the seat next to you, and it can get absorbed into the subway ecosystem forever."

She drags out the end of her sentence with a playful lilt, her smirk softening into a grin and in that moment her eyes are bright and teasing and warm. warm forever-and-ever a hazey green, and you don't know how you could possibly do anything but whatever this girl says.

A moment later you give in to her offer and reluctantly take the scarf from her hands. The wool is soft and light in your touch, and when your fingertips brush against the ends where the girl had been fidgeting with it earlier, you feel a pop of electricity. The girl, who had been watching you carefully, laughs under her breath, the sound airy as she reaches out to help you wrap it around your neck in a tender motion. She steps back after a moment, and gives you a look, the same teasing smile as before as she raises a brow at you.

"Anyone ever tell you you smell like pancakes?"

Before you can respond, the train plunges into a tunnel. The car shudders on the tracks, and the girl lets out a small yelp as she almost loses her balance and reaches for the hand rail over your head. It all happened suddenly but the last thing you see of her is an unreadable purse of her lips and the beginning of another tattoo on her left arm as she lifts it before the fluorescent lights flicker out.

The darkness lasted a second, two at most, but when the lights came back on, the girl was gone.

[sapphiredraco]

By Queensimia. 💙

I found this on Pinterest, and take no credit in any shape or form for the art. Please do not throw hands with me.

[norrizzandpia]

So American (OB38)

Summary: To the song So American by Olivia Rodrigo. In which a Brit and an American fall so deeply in love with each other.

Warnings: suggestive scenes, language, so much fluff omg, reader is from America (specifically California), reader wants to be a writer and loves Jane Austen, reader loves London, idk if you can tell yet but this is HEAVILY indulgent, reader goes to University of San Francisco (that part is not self indulgent lol)

Note: I couldn’t help myself ive had this idea for too long, my debut Ollie Bearman fic! I hope you like it because i do 🤭

Eighteen and baby-faced, Y/n thought her trip to London with her best friends would be fun and outrageous. She expected when they touched down in Heathrow that the trip would bring countless amounts of unique memories. It was part of their celebration of completion in their first year in college, a week-long trip to one of their favorite places to welcome the desperately needed summer.

None of them expected for Y/n to slam into a tall body when they were running to a musical before the doors closed and none of them expected that tall body to be that of another eighteen year old who found the short, American girl too cute to tear his eyes away from.

Ollie hadn’t been expecting much when he decided to take a day trip into London, wanting to spend the day wandering around one of his favorite cities. Though, when his eyes graced him the vision of y/h/c hair and a flushed girl frazzled in front of him, he knew it would be one to remember.

She was short, almost too short as his neck craned down to meet her eyes and the two murmured out apologies as he knelt down to pick up her bag that had dropped when they both rounded the same corner too fast.

Her ID slipped out, California’s name in bold letters right at the top and made Ollie laugh.

”American?” He smiled as Y/n’s friends glanced at each other from the side.

Y/n grinned, “Yep, American.”

Part of him knew getting into business with someone who lived on another continent couldn’t be smart, but he couldn’t bear to think of not seeing her again. Her beauty struck him and there were no thoughts in his mind when he asked for her number when she mumbled something about having to leave.

Y/n’s wide eyes turned around to meet his once more, “My number?”

Ollie nodded, his hand in his pocket and clutching his phone, “Your number.”

Her friends behind her giggled before shoving her toward the British boy who they had no idea was not your average or normal eighteen year old. Y/n took his phone lightly and pressed the correct digits. When she returned it, her name staring back at him, he blushed, “Y/n. That’s cute.”

Her cheeks warmed just like his as her friends began tugging on her hand and yelling about making the showtime, “What’s your name?!” She yelled as they dragged her away.

He waved with a beam, “Ollie!”

Ollie. That’s cute.

—

That summer, Y/n never went back to California. The moment she began talking with Ollie and he began taking her out on dates before she was supposed to leave, she knew there would be no way she could leave him. She canceled her flight back after Ollie had begged her to stay, and told her friends they needed to go back without her, that there was something more she needed to explore in London.

The girls had anticipated it, honestly. When they had seen the dazed grin on their friend’s face every time she came back from seeing the boy, they knew there was not enough willpower to hold her back from changing plans.

She would come back for the next school year, but it was clear if things went well, which they seemed they would be, she would stay for the summer.

And that she did.

Ollie forced her around all of England, showing her his favorite nooks and crannies of the country he grew up in. They would spend hours in his car as he drove her around, to the end of the country and back, just so she could experience his favorite view too. Their moments spent together forced the two to get to know each other wholly. Y/n found out about his racing career, gaped at him when he mentioned his Formula 1 race, and Ollie found out about her mundane life as a student at University of San Francisco. Honestly, he loved how regular she was. He craved her stories of college parties and nights spent up until three AM trying to turn in a paper. He loved her life stories. She loved his. They made for a good duo.

When the end of the two months drew near, tears were shed and words of distance were stressed. As they stood at the entrance to Heathrow, Ollie held Y/n in his arms and promised to find another time for her to come visit him, or one where he would come visit her. He was insistent and while they wouldn’t say it then, they were already in love.

That proved true a few months later, after calls and texts back and forth, when Y/n turned up at Heathrow once more. She was on Christmas break, one that granted her time to see her boyfriend, and while her family had been supportive of her skipping the holiday to go see someone that clearly made her so happy, she still felt a bit guilty to cancel. Though, that feeling diminished when she descended down the escalator and found Ollie holding a large sign with her name on it in pinks and greens, a large smile on his face as she yelped out and sprinted toward him.

“OLLIE!” Her bags dropped and she flew into his arms as he yelled her name back, the sign he had worked so hard on thrown to the floor the moment she got close.

He kissed her cheek and the two were looked upon adoringly by bystanders in the airport as he gently set her down on the ground, kissing her softly and whispering how much he had missed her.

When he led her out of the doors, all her belongings in his hands, they smiled brightly at each other as if to confirm how much they would make this month worth their while.

—

Drivin’ on the right-side road, he says I’m pretty wearin’ his clothes. And he's got hands that make hell seem cold. Feet on the dashboard, he’s like a poem I wish I wrote. I wish I wrote.

Ollie clutched Y/n’s thigh as he drove to their favorite spot, one he had shown her during the summer. Her head lulled to the side, staring at him lightly and lovingly right when he glanced at her, his eyes roaming over her body.

Her eyebrows pulled together, “What?”

He smirked, “You look pretty wearing my clothes.” His fingers traced up her stomach to tug on his sweatshirt that adorned her upper body. The way it draped largely over her made his heart warm and how she had the hood pulled up over her messy hair made him want to pull the car over and kiss her silly.

She looked cozy. Cozy enough that his hand traveled under the material to rest around her waist. His warm hands made her feel more sleepy, the clock in the car reading a time too early, as she cuddled further into herself. Ollie noticed the yawn that drew from her and smiled to himself, his eyes averting back to the lonely road they were on.

“Can I put my feet on the dash?” She murmured, eyes closing and head tucking further into his sweatshirt.

Ollie patted her leg, “Sure, baby. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.”

He turned the music down enough for her to find sleep again and when her phone pinged beside him, he glanced down randomly. His head had snapped back up before he could genuinely realize the notification he had seen. When it dawned on him what he might’ve seen, his eyes drifted down once more and tapped the screen to see it again.

A notification from In-n-Out stayed put on her screen and he stifled a laugh before whispering, “Oh, she’s so American.”

—

And he laughs at all my jokes and he says I’m so American. Oh God, it’s just not fair of him to make me feel this much. I’ll go anywhere he goes and he says I’m so American. Oh God, I’m gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up. I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love.

Ollie howled from laughter as Y/n giggled, her joke going over better than she expected. She knew it was funny, but she didn’t think the red in his face from not breathing was necessary. Still, she admired the way he admired her and went along with his hysterics. When his breathing regulated and his hunched over position came back to a seated one on the cold bench in Hyde Park, her stares were finally noticed by him.

”What?” He asked, arm wrapping around her shoulder as he shoved a piece of croissant in his mouth. He offered the last piece to Y/n and she took it, murmuring before putting it in her mouth, “Nothing. You just think I’m funny.”

Ollie’s eyebrows rose and he blew out a breath, “I think you’re hilarious.”

”I wonder how much you’ll laugh with me when you’re wasted.” Y/n’s head cocked to the side as she lost herself to thoughts.

Ollie giggled, “Probably an annoying amount when I’m pissed.”

Y/n’s jaw dropped in horror, “Not when you’re pissed! Don’t pee yourself!”

The couple turned to each other in confusion, Ollie fully taken aback, “Who said anything about peeing themselves?!”

Y/n jabbed a finger into his chest, “You did!”

Ollie pushed her softly, his hand on her waist drawing her back to him, “No, I didn’t!”

Her head fell into his chest in a fit of laughter, “Yes! I was talking about getting drunk and then you just brought up pissing yourself!”

In a moment of realization, Ollie found himself howling with laughter again. His hands clutched her frozen ones in the midst of winter before he got out, “It means the same thing! Wasted and pissed! Drunk!”

Her mouth fell open as she began to understand. Then, she pulled a face, “Why would you British people say pissed? That’s weird.”

Ollie gasped with a smile, “Hey! Don’t be rude.”

She crossed her arms, “You’re the one that insinuated peeing yourself.”

Ollie groaned and scrambled from the seat, running away from her with loud laughter, “Get away from me, American!”

She got up, rushing after him, with strangers giving them questionable looks as they began running through the bushes and trees of Hyde Park,

As she followed after him, his smile getting caught in her mind, she realized she had never felt this way about anyone. Sure, she had had guys in the past, but none of them compared to Ollie. The time they spent together, whether over the phone or in the actual presence of the other, always left her with a fuzzy feeling. A fuzzy feeling she always wanted to feel. The idea of forever was premature, but she was beginning to believe she was in love with the boy running away from her and jokingly berating her for being American. If she was in love, why not entertain the idea of marriage in her daydreams?

When she reached him, falling into his arms roughly with continued giggles, he leaned in and kissed her softly. The look in Ollie’s eyes when he pulled back made her think he might just be in love with her too.

Maybe they could entertain the idea of marriage in their daydreams together.

—

God, I’m so boring and I’m so rude. Can’t have a conversation if it’s not all about you; the way you dress and the books you read. I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he’s with me, when he’s with me.

Y/n brushed her teeth in the white of Ollie’s bathroom, his parents having generously let her stay in their home during her stay for Christmas. Her best friend, Charlotte, stared back at her from the phone. Their FaceTime had just started and Y/n hadn’t waited to say any greetings before jumping into rambling about Ollie.

”Charlotte, I’m so obsessed with him. I think it’s unhealthy.” She laughed, Charlotte laughing with her. Ollie eavesdropped on the other side of the door. “He’s so sweet and attentive. He remembers all the little things and even suggests things he thinks I’ll love. Which I always do. The other day, we were walking around Sussex and he saw this small book in a window and forced me into the shop. Turns out he had found a Jane Austen Pride and Prejudice First Edition. He told me he remembered how much I loved that movie and that storyline. He even referenced exact sentences that I had said in the midst of my rant about how much I love Jane Austen books. I looked at the price tag, holy shit, Char, it was so expensive. I made him leave the store immediately because the look on his face told me he needed no convincing in buying it for me. I thought I was in the clear, but apparently he’s friends with the owner of that store, so he went in early the morning after, while I was still asleep, and bought it for me. He surprised me with it along with breakfast in bed. I almost cried, Char. He’s even started reading it with me because he knows how much I love it.”

Charlotte’s eyes twinkled at the look on her friend’s face. Charlotte loved Ollie for the way he treated Y/n. “That is fucking insane. This man is in love with you, Y/n.”

Ollie’s heart exploded in his chest from the other side of the door. He had been caught.

Y/n’s whispering was loud enough for him to hear, “I think I’m in love with him too. I can’t get over his smile and his favorite pair of shoes that he most definitely needs to repurchase. I love his humor and how much he wants to make me happy. I love how he makes me feel so wanted and important. I love everything about him from his ratty Ferrari sweatshirt to the moles on his cheek.”

Ollie almost started giggling, jumping up and down like a schoolgirl, at her confession. He was ecstatic. This feeling was better than when he scored points in his first Formula 1 race. Yet, he didn’t want to let her know he knew yet. He wanted to plan something, something big that would show how serious he was about her.

The two friends hung up the phone after Y/n realized what time it was and rattled off to Charlotte about Ollie waiting for her in bed. Charlotte tried not to point out the suggestive nature of her statement, but she failed. “Use protection!” She yelped just as the phone hung up. Y/n stood in the threshold to Ollie’s bedroom, him staring back at her as the two took in Charlotte’s warning.

Ollie flopped down into the sheets, Y/n falling right into his arms. He kissed her neck and whispered, “She doesn’t need to worry. We will.”

They wouldn’t end up falling asleep until far into the night.

—

I apologize if it’s a little too much, just a little too soon, but if the conversation ever were to come up I don’t want to assume this stuff. But, ain’t it love? I think I’m in love.

Ollie couldn’t wait to tell her. Let her know that he felt the same way. And Y/n couldn’t wait to tell him about her most favorite idea, one she had come up in the wake of telling her best friend how much she loved her boyfriend. Neither of them knew the other had something so serious to discuss as they drove down the quiet street. Ollie had shoved her in the car, telling her he was taking her to a picnic under the stars. He threw his coat over her, taking his other for himself, and drove the few minutes before arriving at the open grass area near his house. He helped her out of the car, leading her to the trunk to get the box of food his mother had helped him make in preparation for this, and found a perfect spot with the clearest view of the sky.

The cold, winter air made them curl into each other, creating the perfect amount of warmth to stay. Y/n didn’t know how to breach her topic as they popped spoonfuls of soup into their mouths. Ollie beat her to it.

“Can I tell you something?” He whispered, finding her soft eyes.

She nodded, “Of course, baby.”

He sighed, putting his soup off to the side and trying to rid his body of unnecessary nerves. He knew she felt the same. Still, his hands shook slightly, not from the cold, “You have completely wrecked my life. You were so unexpected and not something I was ever anticipating, but I am so happy you fell into my life, Y/n. I will always look back on that moment at that random corner in London with so much love because…” He took a deep breath, “I love you and that was the start of you and me.”

Y/n’s face beamed and she set her soup down, throwing herself into Ollie. He fell backward, the two falling into a heap of limbs on the blanket below them. She kissed his face all over with sloppy, lovesick kisses, “Ollie! I love you too!”

He would never get over how her voice sounded whenever she said his name. Sure, she had said it in annoyed manners before when he had ticked her off, but, even then, he loved the way her accent sounded around the syllables. Never did he think he would be putting American accents first before British ones on his list of most beloved accents. Though, he was beginning to find that her smiling face was getting him to do a lot of crazy things lately. Like, buying a book worth thousands of dollars and reading it along with her. Chilling.

She tapped the back of his palms before tugging lightly on his fingers, “I have something to run past you.”

He nodded, pulling her between his legs and stroking her back. She let her legs wrap around his waist as they continued to sit on the blanket, “You know how much I want to be a writer? The reason why I’m studying English and everything?”

Ollie continued nodding, tilting his head as to tell her he had no clue where this was going.

She cleared it up quickly, however, when she nervously rambled, “What if I transferred to a UK university?”

Ollie’s heart almost flew from his chest, “Like, move here?”

She gave a small smile, “Yeah. I mean, I’ve always wanted to move here and study here. I love it here. But, now,” She kissed his lips, “I have more of a reason to. Would that be something you’d be okay with?”

He scoffed, “Would that be something I’d be okay with?! Fuck, yeah! Oh my God, Y/n, please move here. Holy shit, move here.” He begged with the cheekiest grin on his face.

She laughed, “Okay, okay. I still have to be accepted, but I have good chances with my grades and everything.”

Ollie shook her body lightly, “No, you’ll be accepted. If I start a manifestation journal specifically for this, would you judge me?”

Y/n cackled, “No, go right ahead. Tap into that spiritual force, Bearman.”

He kissed her hard, happy it seemed to work out for them. God, he wanted it to work out for them so bad.

—

And he laughs at all my jokes and he says I’m so American. Oh God, it’s just not fair of him to make me feel this much. I’ll go anywhere he goes and he says I’m so American. Oh God, I’m gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up. I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love.

ONE YEAR LATER

Y/n walked down the street to her dorm, a quizzical look etched into her face as she rounded the corner and ran into a hard body. Her eyes found his familiar ones from her position below him and his smile welcomed her home after a long day.

Ollie laughed, “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

She tucked herself under his arm as they began walking, “You just need to stop walking so fast.”

He laughed at her comment before leaning down and kissing her cheek, “How was your day?”

She groaned, “So long. English in a UK university is much more in depth than I was expecting. It puts American colleges to shame. Plus, for lunch, the waiter screwed up my order.”

Ollie frowned, “Oh, no. What’d they mess up?”

Y/n gave him a sad smile, “I asked for chips with my sandwich and they gave me French fries.”

There was silence before Ollie shook his head with a soft smile, “Baby, French fries are chips here.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, “What do you mean?”

He playfully rolled his eyes, “No one says French fries here. If you want that, it’s chips.”

She stood in front of him in a stance that suggested this was an outrage. He chuckled at her, “Then, what do I say if I want chips?!”

He pushed her hair away from her face lovingly, “Crisps, love.”

She huffed and turned away, walking down the sidewalk before he quickly caught up with her. She grumbled from under his arm, “You need to teach me these crazy discrepancies.”

Ollie nodded and kissed her hair, “It’s not my fault you’re so American, but sure, I will. We can start now.”

Apparently, that sufficed for her as she let out an agreeing noise, “Yeah, so where are we going for this date.”

He put his finger to his lips and shushed her, “No, it’s a surprise.”

Her mind loved the fact that he was so obsessed with planning their outings by himself. She loved how much he initiated everything. She had never felt so taken care of. She always envied the girls loved wholly by their boyfriends and now she had that for herself. There would be no day that would come that she took advantage of the boy she fell in love with two summers ago.

She shrugged, “You better be happy I trust you so much, I’d follow you into a dark cave without any questions.”

Ollie squeezed her, “I mean, I follow you anywhere you go, so if you’re not going into that cave, I’m not either.”

He pulled her down the stairs to the Tube as he slipped her backpack off her body and onto his. She kissed him in appreciation, “So, it’s settled. No dark caves.”

Ollie shook his head and led her to the place they needed to be. He held her hand tightly as they weaved through the crowds, his head flicking behind him to check on her frequently before just pushing her in front of him, his hands around her waist as he steered her.

When they got to their platform, he added his last thought to their conversation, “We need to get married first before wandering into dangerous caves.”

He said it so nonchalantly, it made her fall in love with him more. And when he met her eyes after he was met with silence, he found overwhelming joy within them.

He kissed her in the midst of the chaos underground, his hands cradling her face and hers loosely around his waist. They were a sight for sore eyes, but no one saw them in the midst of their special moment.

It was just for themselves and would be referred back to in the coming years as the moment where their forever really started.

Bloody hell, they were so in love.

[l4long-winded]

s e r i e s m a s t e r l i s t

r e a d o n a o 3

summary: your upstairs neighbor is a pain to deal with for several reasons. not only does he annoyingly play his violin at all hours of the day, but he's also rude and patronizing. what makes matters worse is how he soon requires your help in a case he's working on. or, in other words, the five times sherlock holmes deduced you and the one time he was wrong (cavill!sherlock x fem!reader)

warnings: enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, condescending!sherlock, seamstress!reader, denial of feelings, close proximity, reader has a nickname, arguments, murder mystery, sexual tension, miscommunication, original characters, offscreen character deaths, alcohol consumption, cursing, overthinking, longwinded descriptions, kissing, flirting, suggestive language, a slight slowburn, dirty talk, praise, vaginal penetration, vaginal fingering, grief, angst, fluff, victorian era, smut (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 50,000+

t a b l e o f c o n t e n t s

i. a sleep deprived meeting

your upstairs neighbor plays the violin often. so much so that it's distracting you from your work. you decide it's time to confront him.

ii. consequences and a lead

sherlock doesn't usually regret things, but he's regretting how he spoke to you. it's not out of the goodness of his heart, however.

iii. mr. wright and jane austen

sherlock observes you from afar and learns things against his own whim. that's what he'll keep telling himself.

iv. the distraction of rising temperature

now that you and sherlock are at a friendlier standing, it's time to explore more of your friendship. or whatever it is.

v. concealed feelings and abstract attitudes

the morning after your drunken fiasco is not any less awkward than you could have guessed. there seems to be a strain on your relationship with sherlock that seeps into the trips you go on together for his investigation. you don't know why he's acting the way he is, you just know that it's angering you.

vi. the puzzling case of clara grace and intricate, convoluted emotions

there are a few ways that you and sherlock reconcile. one involves a bed, the other involves a carriage, a dance, and then there's the matter of the revolver. what was once unclear begins to be disclosed, but it can only be unveiled to a willing, open, and observant eye. you're going to find what's there as well as what you want to be there.

[hearts4golbach]

Hi! can u write a Johnnie x fem reader fluff where they get high and confess their feelings

Heaven.

pairing:

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

a/n:

wrote this high for that effect 🙏👅👻 (future update: I DONT REMEMBER WRITING THIS. AT ALL. THIS HAS BEEN DONE FOR A MONTH.)

not proofread.

warnings:

smoking that mary jane!!

word count:

0.6k

you took a long, deep hit off of the joint you had just received from Carrington. you held back a cough as you complimented his rolling skills before passing it to Johnnie. "fucking hell," he choked.

you agreed, taking a sip of water. "i think i might be good after like 2 more hits." you turned to Johnnie with a soft smile. "you okay?"

"yeah, shit just burns my throat." he cleared his throat. his bright blue eyes met yours, making your heart beat faster. he flashed you a smile before taking another hit off the joint. you hated loving him from afar, but you were scared of losing your friendship.

the blunt rotation with Carrington was quick, considering both you and Johnnie had a decently low tolerance. you and Johnnie trudged up to his room with a few different snacks in hand. you stumbled over your feet as you walked into his room, causing you both to giggle.

you flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "it's been so long since i've smoked weed." you admitted. "i feel like i could do anything. sorry if that's cringe."

he laughed and laid next to you. he turned his head to look at the peaceful smile on your face. you both went silent. johnnie couldn't stop thinking about what he wanted to say to you. you were the same.

"What do you really think you could do right now?" he asked.

"That's a stupid question." You rolled over to face him. "I could do anything, Johnnie. like.." You trailed off.

"Like what?" his voice was just above a whisper. his gaze never left yours.

"Confess... some things?" You shrugged, getting flustered. you looked away. "Never mind, that's scary." You laughed awkwardly.

"y/n," his hand moved to your cheek. he turned your face gently so you were looking at him once more. "ive been so fucking scared to tell you. you mean so much to me."

"You mean a lot to me, Johnnie. there's nothing to be scared of." Your stomach was doing backflips as you waited for what he was going to admit.

"ive liked you for so, so fucking long." he pursed his lips together. "and if you don't like me back, I don't want this to ruin our friendship."

you stared at him in shock. never in a million years would you have guessed he actually felt the same way. his lips were so tempting that you couldn't resist. you leaned in, gently pressing your lips against his. he wrapped one arm around you, the other resting on your cheek.

you moved closer to Johnnie. you savored the taste of his lips. his lips glided with yours as you kissed. that kiss was everything he had ever dreamed about.

you pulled away, looking into his eyes. his gaze was soft as he looked at you with nothing but love.

"does that tell you how I feel?" you teased, resting your head on his chest. he wrapped his arms around you tighter.

"maybe," he giggled.

"i've liked you for a while now, too. i've been hoping this moment would happen," you admitted, tracing the exposed tattoos on his chest.

his hand rubbed your lower back softly. his touch felt like heaven, you had been waiting for it for so long. being with Johnnie was heaven.

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-08-06

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite Loki Odinson stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

Legend: 〔E〕 ⇢ Erotic/Steamy | 〔F〕 ⇢ Fluff | 〔A〕 ⇢ Angst/Hurt 〔M〕 ⇢ Minor Angst/Hurt | 〔C〕 ⇢ Comfort | ♥︎ ⇢ Established Relationship | 𑁍 ⇢ Pregnancy/Children | 🚫 ⇢ Content Warning

✑ Cool Me Down￨Prt II￨Prt III￨Prt IV by sserpente • 18+ • 〔F〕 •

Summary: Tony invites you all to spend a relaxing week in Greece. You insist that Loki joins you and after some agitated convincing on your behalf, he does. Sounds like a promising vacation, no?

✑ Asgardian Summer￨Prt II by sserpente • 18+ • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Imagine convincing Loki to go skinny dipping with you" then "Loki taking you to celebrate midsummer on Asgard... it certainly is a first that you see him drunk singing karaoke"

✑ Bora Bora by sserpente • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Imagine Tony taking you all on a vacation to Bora Bora for three weeks. Even Loki gets invited, making you all the more excited..."

✑ Call You Mine by sarahscribbles • 18+ • 〔E᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "It's your third anniversary with the love of your life, and Tony [gives] you a very thoughtful gift."

✑ Dancing with the Devil￨Prt. II by sarahscribbles • 18+ • 〔E᜶F᜶A〕 •

Summary: "You've burned for him for centuries, but you know he sees you as nothing more than a prize to claim. Still, you play his game of teasing and innuendo, but never give in to how badly you crave him. That is until an innocent smell of a flower on Midsummer leaves you with no other choice."

✑ Forage by mochie85 • 〔F〕 •

Summary: When circumstance requires you and Loki to take refuge in a safe house without modern conveniences you discover a new side to the God of Mischief and you must admit you like it.

✑ Happy at Last by holdmytesseract • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "The God of Mischief had finally found his true glorious purpose—in the shape of [you and your children]."

✑ Heatstroke by mochie85 • 〔E᜶A᜶C〕 •

Summary: "…"

✑ Midsummer Pinning by mochie85 • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Summary: "It's summer in Asgard and you and your brother, Hogun, have come to stay with the royal family for the season before you are presented to society."

✑ Pranking the Odinsons by lokisgoodgirl • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "You and Jane Foster hatch a plan involving a beach, Loki, Thor and two pairs of dissolvable swimming shorts."

✑ Sundress Season by lokisgoodgirl • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "You wear a sundress. Loki likes this very much."

✑ All Mine by michelleleewise • 16+ • 〔E᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ By the Sea Shore by oliwrites • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Casual by lokisgoodgirl • 〔E〕 •

✑ Coca-Cola by gaitwae • 〔F〕 •

✑ Cool Down by michelleleewise • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Loki Vs. Puppies by that-little-zebunny • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Refreshments by asgardwinter • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Teddy "Bear," the by lokisgoodgirl • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

See Also: Navigation || Loki Master Index

Authors: @asgardwinter || @gaitwae || @holdmytesseract || @lokisgoodgirl || @michelleleewise || @mochie85 || @oliwrites || @sarahscribbles || @sserpente || @that-little-zebunny ||

[askinkiskarma]

Illicit Affairs | Chapter IV: Evermore

Pairing: Neteyam x Human/Avatar!Reader

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X

Synopsis: You and Neteyam both have to navigate a lot of painful memories on your first day in a new body

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, descriptions of ptsd flashbacks, cursing

Word Count: 6,2k words

A/N: Chapter 4 is the longest chapter I have written so far. There's definitely some fluff in there and some light hearted, beautiful moments, but it's also the darkest chapter I have written so far. There's some heavy stuff in there, so please read with caution! I wanted my characters to be well rounded and for there to be a good reason for every action they take; why the reader is a recluse, why Neteyam behaves the way he does, and why he left. There's layers to their story that will be unveiled through memories from both the main characters, so I hope you stick around to see where I plan to take this story <3 I never expected people to like it so much, and I hope you guys like what I have planned!

"I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone Trying to find the one where I went wrong And I couldn't be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar That this pain would be for Evermore"

“Am I allowed to be here?” Neteyam says, carefully taking in the new environment that he’s never wondered through before. It was small and dark, his eyes needing a second to adjust to the contrast from the bright neon orbs that illuminated the hallways. His nose scrunched up, trying to assimilate the smell, and realised it just smells like you. 

“Who is going to stop you?” you laugh, and the sounds reverberates through his body and settles deep in his soul. He’s heard this sounds countless times in the 14 years he’s known you. It never ceased to amaze him. 

You take off your Converse shoes and throw them carelessly to the side, jump on the bed and reach for the light on the other side of it, sitting on the bedside table. The lamp turns on and Neteyam finds himself having to adjust to the brightness once more. He settles on the chair that was accompanying a small messy desk, filled with papers, books and electronic tablets that had something you called a graph on it. The words “cell viability” were written on top of it, but Neteyam didn’t know what that meant, so he turned his attention to the many, many books that were displayed on the shelves above the desk. 

He’s seen some of them before, some of them multiple times, as you did seem to have your favourites. He picked one up he recognised. It was called Pride and Prejudice and Neteyam assumed it was written by a person named Jane Austen. He knew you loved this book, but he’s never asked why.

“I love that one…” you started.

“I know” he says in Na’vi. “I just don’t know why.”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you. My mum read me paragraphs from it growing up, and it’s just a book that brings me comfort. I’ve read it so many times, I’ve memorised it, so it’s like a blanket. It makes me feel safe.”

“What is it about?” Neteyam probed further.

You thought about it for a second. 

“It’s a story about two people who come from different worlds, and their journey of understanding each other and overcoming their feelings of, you guessed it, pride and prejudice towards one another and towards each other’s world.”  

He sat with this new information for a while. “So like us?” 

“Mmm, I don’t think it’s like us at all. I think it’s more about my mum and dad, or at least I think my mum thought of her and dad when reading it.”

Your words upset him, he realises in slight surprise. He looks at your figure sprawled over the bed looking up at the ceiling above you in contemplation and feels a pang of hurt as he considers the fact you didn’t think of him when reading a book so close to your heart.

“I have a quote from another book that reminds me of you, though.” Almost as if you read his mind, you turned your head towards him with a smirk and raised an eyebrow.

He didn’t look at you, a small pout erupting from his lips without meaning to. You laugh at him and smile endearingly, softly shaking your head. 

You jump from the bed, slightly wincing when your left leg registers the action, and click your tongue at him so he can move from where he was sat. He obliged and found another spot on the bed, which was now emanating the warmth of your body, and he slowly touched the blanket as if trying to commit the feeling to memory. You climbed on the chair with another small wince and found a book on the uppermost shelf. You jumped from the chair straight on to the bed and fell next to him. 

Patting the spot next to you, you signalled for him to lie down. He did, although his legs were completely off the bed, the tiny contraption barely able to accommodate his torso. You let out a small laugh, but seemed happy to have him so close. 

You placed your head on his chest, and he prayed you couldn’t hear the way his heart felt like it was trying to escape his ribcage at your proximity and warmth. You opened the book and looked for the quote. 

“Ah, there is it.” You cleared your throat, then continued. “He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” 

“Get the fuck out of my room, Neteyam.”

You had just finished washing the day off when you heard a small knock on the door. Still reeling from the fight, it was taking everything out of you to muster up the strength to open that door and deal with whatever was waiting on the other side. With a deep sigh, you did so anyway. It was surprising for you to find Jake peering at you from the other side of the open door, a curious look on his handsome face. 

“Hey kid. We’re going to get going now. I just wanted to talk to you for a second before hand. Can I come in?” 

You hesitated for a second, then moved so he could enter. 

“So..” He started awkwardly. “I don’t really know how to do this.” You saw his left hand reaching behind his head and scratching his scalp with a small laugh. 

His eyes drop to a little package he was holding, wrapped in the same sort of cloth as the other gifts had been. He didn’t look at you as he spoke.

“Your mum gave me this, a couple of weeks before she passed. She asked me to hold on to it and give it to your on your 18th birthday.”

Your breath stopped in your lungs. He peered at you with a sad look and handed you the little box. A small video camera, like the ones used to record the Avatar program video logs was now resting peacefully in between your hands. 

“I hope whatever’s on there will give you some peace of mind, kid. I know life’s not been kind to you, but it’s time… time to move on, you know?” 

He got up from his spot on the bed and silently made his way out of the room. “See you tomorrow?” 

With your back to him, you gave him a nod, and with that, he was gone, closing the door behind him.

You stood like that, in the same position, with the camera in your hand for a long enough time that your left leg was starting to ache, an ache that eventually overtook the one in your soul and with that, you took the camera and the bracelet you removed from Neteyam’s hands and shoved them both in the bottom drawer of your desk. “Pandora’s box.”, you thought to yourself, with a bitter chuckle. 

You woke up with a groan, and the meanest headache known to man. Yesterday felt like you did in fact have the biggest party this world has ever seen, and the hangover to match. You scrambled out of bed, still in the dark, and searched on top of your desk for the little bottle of Ibuprofen you keep for days just like this. Today’s the day…

Norm enters your room quietly, and is surprised to see you up already. “So nervous you couldn’t sleep?” He says with a tentative smile.

“Something like that.” 

“Hey…you’re happy about this, right? Tell me we haven’t done this for almost a decade for no reason, cause you know, we can’t just give someone else the Avatar.” he says, with an uncomfortable chuckle. 

“I’m happy, Norm. It’s just a lot to take in, you know? A lot is going to have to change, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t tend to do well with change.” you response, laughing to yourself.

“Yeah, me and Max worried about that, but, Ace… you have weathered every storm life’s thrown at you like a champ and I think beyond this great unknown lays a future so bright it will be able to make this planet shift on its axis.” 

You throw your head back and laugh loudly, “Wow, that’s a lot of trust right there. I’ll try not to disappoint.” 

If only Norm knew… knew how you have not been able to brave any storm, and how the storms, in time, turned to tornadoes and then hurricanes and then bigger hurricanes and all you’ve done your whole life is just move further in to the middle of the shelter hoping that someday they’ll just go away by themselves and when they do, there’s still some walls, any walls, surrounding you. 

You put some of Grace’s old workout clothes on and made your way to the Avatar room and properly looked at it, probably for the first time in your life. You used to love coming here as a kid, looking at the scientists in their link pods, at your mum in hers, sitting in Max’s lap and watching the brain activity, bombarding him with questions with answers you couldn’t’ possibly comprehend yet. You’ve moved away from that fascination in time. Now here you stood, about to get your own linkpod and your own brain activity analysed. You peered in the room next to it, where on a big flat metal table lay a blue body, and you couldn’t help yourself from moving closer until your breath was so close to the window in was fogging up the glass. You placed a hand on the cold glass and stared at the new you, and a small smile appeared on your face. It was beautiful, more so than you ever thought your human form to be. Your heart picked up pace in your chest and you were shocked at the realisation that the nerves that you thought only reflected fear and anxiety, also reflected excitement. 

“It’s time.” Max said from somewhere behind you.

You turned and made your way with timid steps towards the linkpod. You climbed on it and the feeling of the green malleable foam woke up a memory inside you, that you fought to push back to where it came from. Now’s not the time. It was cold on your arms and thighs as you lay in it, but weirdly comfortable, like what you would imagine water mattresses you saw in old Hollywood movies to feel. 

Max placed a metal frame of sorts on top on your own and spoke slowly. “Okay, you know the drill, Ace. You have to relax and let your mind go blank. You will be disoriented when you wake up, so take your time in there and don’t rush. Please don’t do a Jake.” 

You chuckled at the story you’ve heard one too many times, but never seemed to get tired of it. 

“We will have to run tests to make sure everything is in order. This is new territory for all of us, and we don’t know how the Avatar will behave yet, so we will take our time and do it right.” 

“Aye aye, Captain.”

You did as you were told and found it hard to relax and let your mind go blank when it was running a million miles an hour with so many emotions, so many thoughts and worries. Still, with all your might, you sat there, and cleared your mind for a split second. It was enough. 

You woke up like from a dream, feeling groggy and tired. Your muscles hurt, a lot. You winced slightly at the gentle touch of a hand, which felt like that time you touched the inside of an electrical socket and got slightly electrocuted. You felt clothes clinging to your body and hated the way the synthetic fabric felt against your skin. You took your first breath and your nose crinkled in disgust at the overbearing smell of alcohol and chloride. 

“Ace? C’mon kid, there you go, you can do it.” 

You finally opened your eyes and groaned at the intense light on the ceiling. Your eyes took a while to focus, but when they did, you saw Norm staring back at you with a smile.

“Hi.” you said, with a deep frown and groggy voice. This was overwhelming. 

“Hi back! Take it easy, alright? Me and Claire will runs some tests to make sure everything’s a-okay. It will take about an hour, I know this whole experience can be a bit strange in the beginning, so hopefully this will ease you into it.”

Norm was a man of his word, and after about an hour of wiggling every part of your body, touching your fingers to your nose, remembering names of objects and repeating it to them, among other things, you were ready to go. You realise to your surprise that you’re excited about going outside. You couldn’t stand the sensation overload that came with being in this lab, in this body. You stood up gently and removed the chords that were still attached to you. You turned around to look at the glass that was reflecting your new figure back at you, and found yourself at a loss for words for the millionth time in 24 hours. It was such a strange feeling, and you knew it would take you a while to get used to looking in the mirror and be met with this. You smiled and waved, knowing Max would be watching you from behind the glass, even though you couldn’t see it. 

Norm handed you a bag, and you peered inside to find a beige loincloth and the top Neytiri gifted you yesterday. “Go change, I think you’ll feel better in these.” 

You did as you were told. Removing the white hospital garb you had on, you looked at yourself fore the first time, properly looked. You were tall. Very tall. And skinny, very skinny. Lean was probably a better word for it, as you couldn’t see an ounce of fat anywhere on your body. You started poking your body in different spots and let out a small laugh at the feeling: it felt like touching soft metal. You were strong. The thought made you happy. You looked again in the mirror at your face. Big yellow eyes looked at you curiously. They traced your nose, and your plump lips and your white freckles, beautiful like the night sky. Your eyes settled on your hair, long and soft and dark and your arm reached behind you to bring your braid into focus. You lifted it and looked in awe at the queue and the way the tendrils were moving on their own accord. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins like water breaking apart mountains to make a canyon of your mind. 

Neteyam’s words suddenly broke through.  “You’re not going to make it.” 

Adrenaline turned into rage and you hated it, hated the boy in that moment. Hated the effect his words had on you, even after so much time. You dressed slowly and tried to make sense of the “top” Neytiri gave you. Once you put it on, you looked back in the mirror and loved the way it looked on you. You also had a newfound appreciation for the soft feel of the feathers and the beads, and took note of the contrast between it and the unnatural feeling hospital gown you were in a few minutes ago. If it wasn’t for your eyebrows and your five fingers and your soft, straight hair, you wondered if anyone could be fooled into thinking you are, in fact, Na’vi. 

“You know nothing about the real world.” 

Dropping the clothes in the bag provided, you took one last look at yourself and saw something in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Determination. The sick, stubborn determination that has always made you push out all reason as soon as someone tells you you can’t do something. 

“Tell Norm no.”

You left the room smiling. You will make him eat his words, and you will enjoy every minute of it.

You reached for the mask packs by the entrance and dropped your hand. You will never have to wear that damn mask again, you thought with satisfaction. As you stood outside, it felt again like emerging in your avatar body for the first time. So many sounds, colours, sensations flooded your being and you couldn’t even register the voice yelling your name until the person that spoke it took you by the shoulders. You hissed at the sudden contact and it shocked you. Where did that come from? 

“Angel, you there?” 

“Give her a second, Lo’ak. This is bound to overwhelm her and you yelling at her isn’t going to speed up the process.”

“I can’t believe she just hissed at me.” 

The world slowly seemed to settle around you, and you focused you sight on the boy in front of you… the boy who was now your height.

“Lo’ak?” 

“Hey, you.” The younger Sully boy gave you a big smile and eyed you intently up and down a few times. “Damn, you’re hot this way, too. This is unfair, you know? But also somehow makes me feel better that it turns out I’m not into a different species altogether, just one girl.” 

You laughed, really laughed. Lo’ak was a charmer, another one of the many many traits he inherited from his dad. 

“You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.” 

“Ouch.” You knew he wasn’t really offended, so you blew a kiss towards him and shifted your attention to the world, that you realise you have never seen before. Not properly. Its beauty left you speechless. You don’t know how you were supposed to function when all you wanted to do is just walk around, smelling the flowers. 

“We have to get going, you’re going to start your training today, and your new boss is not going to be happy if you’re late.”

“My new boss?”

“Yep. Neteyam has been given the tough job of taking your lab ass and turning it into a Na’vi warrior. I have to say, I don’t envy him,  and I definitely don’t envy you.” 

“Lo’ak, shut up.” 

Well, this is going to be fun… You had a hunch Neteyam would have to train you, as Lo’ak is too young and restless and cares about the rules too little, or not at all, to do it, but hearing it as a fact made you shudder. You haven’t spent a whole day with Neteyam in years, and you didn’t particularly care for this new-and-improved version of himself. You wondered silently how this was going to go. If the last two interactions are anything to go by, you were not in for a happy time.  

“Lo’ak should be here any second. I want you to start training her right away. Maybe start with the Pa’li first, and do bow training when that gets too much. You won’t really have to teach her the language, but try to make sure you talk in Na’vi more than in English, and this way you’ll see if there are any gaps in her knowledge and address them. Neteyam, are you listening?” 

The oldest Sully sibling was only half paying attention to what his dad was telling him. In truth, he was scared half to death. He didn’t want to do any of this. This is not how any of this was supposed to go. He couldn’t be around you. He didn’t want to be around you and he most definitely didn’t want to have to teach you the ways of the Na’vi and have to put his own training and responsibilities aside for this. He has already had to teach Lo’ak whenever his parents had better things to do and he was getting so fucking tired of being used as soon as it was convenient for other people. 

He pushed the bitter feelings aside. His parents relied on him for a reason, he tried to remember. They relied on him because they trusted him, and because he fought hard to be worthy of that trust. He had no right to complain, not when he knew how much worse it could be… for better or for worse, at least he had parents to rely on him. The thought made him sad, and he felt guilt at the words he spat at you yesterday. He knew they were for the greater good, but he also knew they crossed a line, a line that he might not be able to cross back from. 

He didn’t have time to think about the consequences of his actions, as he heard a yell that pulled him out of his thoughts and he knew it was time to come face to face with his worst nightmare. 

“We’re here!”, screamed Lo’ak, and Neteyam suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at his immature younger brother. 

He made his way outside of the tent, picking up his knife and placing it on the sheath resting beneath his chest. He took a deep breath, one that got lodged in his throat.

Next to Lo’ak was a girl. The most beautiful girl he has ever laid his eyes on. Her stripes were somehow more accentuated than normal, and they reminded him of his own. It was something he was insecure about growing up, the deep contrast something his friends and even family teased him about relentlessly, but now, looking at it on her, he realised they were blind - he was blind - to have ever hated them. Her eyes were now yellow, a big departure from her human eyes, and although it was strange, just like the rest of her, they still felt familiar to him. Like no matter what body she inhabited, her soul would always shine through, always calling out to him like a moth to a flame. He knew then he’d always feel like this about her, for the rest of his life, no matter what she looked like. Fuck.

“Look at you, kid! You look like you belong already!” 

Jake’s voice cut through the tension that you felt sitting here, being eyed at like you were a new cub at the zoo. The stares made you so uncomfortable you felt like you were going to explode, and could not wait until this was no longer a novelty to anyone, including yourself. 

“Thank you, Jake. For everything. I cannot express how grateful I am that you and Neytiri, and the tribe, are so willing to accept me in the village.” 

“No problem, kid. Anyway, we will have plenty of time to discuss everything tonight at dinner, but for now I think you and Neteyam should head off. There’s a lot to learn.”

“Right.” You turned around and gave a half-smile to Lo’ak, who looked at you like you were a deer in headlights. Maybe you did look how you felt. 

You bid a small goodbye to everyone and suddenly found yourself face to face with the only person you didn’t want to see. 

He started walking without saying a word, and you followed him. You refused to say anything to him, there was nothing to say to him after yesterday. Before yesterday, you might have demanded an explanation, you might have demanded he told you what happened to him in the year he abandoned you, what lead to him leaving without a single word, how dare he forget about what he meant to you and what you knew you meant to him, how could he just forsake you like you were nothing; you would have screamed at him and told him you hated him without meaning it and hoped he would just hug you and told you he’s sorry, that he was stupid and that he’ll never leave you again. None of that came out. You were past that. He crossed a line and you knew it in your mind that no explanation would be enough, no excuse would justify his behaviour enough to satisfy you and make you forget. Not anymore. 

His back was to you as he was leading you away from the Sully tent, and for the first time in your life, you saw him for what he was. A leader, a warrior. He was lean and muscular, and his physique reminded you a lot more of Jake than a Na’vi man’s. His shoulders were broader and his arms were bigger, leading to a more accentuated contrast between them and his waist, and you hated yourself for how it made you feel, how your mouth filled with saliva you had to force yourself to swallow and how your pulse increased so rapidly it almost made you dizzy. He was taller than you, taller than Lo’ak and you knew that even in this body, he would still tower over you. You definitely hated how that made you feel. 

He stopped at the entrance to a tent. He opened the flap of the entrance and motioned for you to enter. You obliged without a word. He followed you in and closed the flap behind him. You didn’t like being in such close proximity, but you knew you’d have to get used to it, so you let it go.

“This is now your tent. Mum and Dad thought you would feel more comfortable with your own space. They also thought you’d like my old training bow. There’s a pouch for your knife that you can put around your torso and I have the knife, but I won’t give it to you until I make sure you won’t kill me with it.” 

As far as an attempt to diffuse an awkward situation goes, this wasn’t half bad. Still, not nearly good enough to matter. He sighed at the lack of response.

“Right. I think we have to get a few things straight.”

Your eyebrow raised, but you let him go on.

“I know you’re mad. I know you’re so mad you’re probably thinking of ways of sticking needles in my eyes. But I don’t care. I was given a responsibility to take care of you and to teach you. I know you think you know everything, but you don’t. I know you think you know this world, but you don’t. Not in the way you need to, to survive. There’s a reason no scientist living on Pandora has ever become one of the people. You can’t see. As my grandma always says, “you cannot fill a cup which is already full”. I know you. Your cup is overflowing. From now on, you do what I say. Pretend you don’t know me, pretend we’re not you and me.” 

“I don’t know you, Neteyam.”

He winced inside at the words. “That’s enough!” He said, forcefully. 

“You answer to me from now on and I want to make sure you understand that. Dad will skin me alive if anything happens to you. You will listen and you will do as I say. Whatever issues you have, you’re going to have to deal with them in your own time.” 

Another blow below the belt, you thought, and reminded yourself that you were here for a reason, you were here to make him eat his words, and if he wanted to play his game this way, you were more than happy to beat him at it. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

You made your way out of the village and walked in silence through the woods. You were looking at the bow in your hand, and carefully traced every mark and scratch on its surface. You couldn’t help wonder about what events in Neteyam’s life lead to each and every one of them, and vowed to yourself that you would take care of this bow with your life, if not for anything else, for the still untarnished memory of that little boy you once loved so much. Once you reached a large clearing, with beautiful lush greenery and a majestic waterfall, you thought this was definitely a much better view for training than the reagent-filled benches of the lab. You saw about half a dozen Pa’li peacefully feeding off the sweet nectar of flowers in the distance, and smiled gently at the sight. You will never get used to it, you knew. 

“First step to being a Na’vi, learning to form Tsaheylu and learning to ride the Pa’li.” Neteyam spoke in Na’vi over the soothing sounds of the forest.

“OK.” You answered shortly.

“In Na’vi. We speak Na’vi from now on.”

“Kurkung (asshole).” Neteyam shoots you a dirty look and you can’t help but smirk. “What? That’s Na’vi. Perfect pronunciation, by the way.” 

His mouth tightened in a straight line and he left you, busying himself with a Pa’li he called over. He caressed it gently and held his hand next to his eye, whispering. 

“Tam tam, Tirea, tam tam.” 

“Get on.” He spoke to you still looking at the Pa’li. 

Even in this body, the direhorse was significantly taller than you, and you shot Neteyam an incredulous look. Regardless, you made your way to the animal and with all of your might, willed yourself to get on top of it. It took a couple of tries, but you eventually succeeded. You were stronger than you realised, and you were excited to discover exactly how strong you could become in time. 

Neteyam gently took the neural whip of the direhorse and guided it to you. You took it in your right hand and stared at it in amazement. You have heard so much about this, you have seen it firsthand with Neteyam’s Ikran, but to know you will now have to make your own Tsaheylu, experience this deep bond you knew everything and yet nothing about, it was terrifying. You left hand went behind your head and brought forward your own queue. This was it. Slowly, you brought the two together, and held tightly on to the Pa’li as the new sensation overwhelmed all of your senses. It felt like all of your neurons were firing at the same time. It felt like you were being electrocuted. As the feeling subsided, you felt a breath that was moving at the same time as your own, you felt a second heartbeat that was going much faster than yours possibly could, and you tried to calm yourself down as you knew the nervousness the animal felt was mirroring your own. Neteyam allowed you a second to experience this for yourself with no interruption, and you appreciated that. He trusted you enough to give you some space, and with everything, at least this hasn’t changed.

“This is Tsaheylu. The bond. Take some time to feel her, feel her heartbeat, her breath. Feel her strong legs. You can tell her what to do, inside your mind. Remember that as you can feel her, she can feel you, too. Your emotions impact her, your thoughts impact her, so you have to calm your mind.Easier said than done in your case, I fear.” 

You felt your anger pick up and the Pa’li let out a scream and rose on its hind legs, throwing you straight in the dirt. Neteyam laughed, but came to help you get up. As you were removing mud from your face and hair and cursing all manners of profanities under you breath, you came to the bitter realisation this was going to be harder than you thought, especially with him as your teacher. 

He still knew you too well. You slapped his hand away and got up by yourself, indignantly. You jumped back on the Pa’li and tried your very, very best, to calm yourself before making the bond. The horse didn’t react as violently as last time, so you figured you were off to a better start. You calmed your mind as much as you could, like you did in the linkpod, and imagined her slowly moving forward. You smiled when she did just that, no words needed. It was hard to be able to maintain your composure when you were LITERALLY mind controlling another living being, but despite it needing active continuous effort, you felt you were doing a good job. You managed to make her go, sprint, gallop and turn, and despite the direhorse’s best efforts, you were somehow still tightly attached to its back. 

After a couple of hours, Neteyam told you to get off. He told you to follow him, and he took off, not sparing you a second glance. You followed him the best you could for a while, desperately trying to overlook how uncomfortable being barefoot made you feel. You didn’t like it at all, and more and more, you felt your heartbeat picking up in your chest and your knees shaking. You felt beads of sweat getting in your eyes and they stung, so you stopped. Your laboured breath became shallow, and your hands were shaking uncontrollably as you raised them to wipe your forehead. You felt your knees collapse under you, and you knew what was about to happen and that it was too late to stop it. 

“Neteyam, wait up.” You called after the blue boy, slight panic in your voice.

“I thought we were supposed to be racing.” 

“You win, alright? Don’t leave me alone in the woods.” 

You saw Neteyam jogging back to where you stood with a guilty look on his face. “You know I’d never leave you alone.”

He picked you up and placed you on his back. “After 16 years, have I ever left you alone?” 

“Well, you’ve been training a lot recently and I barely get to see you anymore, so I would say yes, you leave me alone plenty, more than I can say I care for.” 

“Well, I want to be strong and capable so I can always protect you. I mean look at you, Tuk’s gonna be stronger than you soon.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” You pretended to ignore his first sentence and how it lit your entire body on fire. 

You walked like this for a while. You placed your head on his shoulder and peered up at the tall trees. Prolimuris were swinging on them, picking up fruits as they went along. You saw two infants following their mother and stopping on the same branch as her, where she passed them what you were sure was a tasty afternoon snack. You smiled contently at the scene, and at the feeling of warmth Neteyam provided. 

“Put me down, I want to walk! I came with you to exercise, not be carried like a tiny Pandoran baby.” 

He did as you asked, huffing at your forever mercurial temper. 

With your back still to him, you let out a laugh and started running. “Race you to the clearing in the distance?” 

He rolled his eyes, and with a laugh, stopped himself. He always gave you a head start. “Fine, but you can’t get mad when I beat you again!” 

You turned around to give him a smile as you were running and loved the feeling of the ground beneath your feet. The only place you could run around barefoot, the only time you still felt alive. 

You came to an abrupt halt when your foot touched something strange, something unnatural. You slowly looked at your feet and froze in place as the smooth pale object made your blood run cold. It couldn’t be. You stepped away from it, not leaving it from your view and slowly, deliberately knelt down next to it. You heard Neteyam coming to a halt behind you, but couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge his presence. Your hands started digging in the ground with morbid curiosity and the sounds around you became muffled as your erratic heartbeat was the only thing you could still hear. You removed the ground around it and tears formed in your eyes at the realisation that this was indeed what you feared it was: a human skull. A human skull you just stepped on. Before you knew it, your hands were reaching for a glimmer of silver shining in the shallow grave. You lifted it to your eye line and heard yourself scream, wail louder than you ever had before. The panic that overtook you was primal, but not unfamiliar and you threw the dog tag on the ground, with enough force you hoped would bury it further than anybody would ever be able to dig. You couldn’t see properly anymore, the tears and dizziness flooding your senses and you prayed you passed out, prayed to make this stop, prayed you were back in your room where your Xanax always lay by your bedside table. In a blind rage, you were clawing at your feet, trying to remove the dirt, remove the skin that stepped on your dad’s dead body like it was a gum wrapper on the pavement. Soon enough, you could taste the metal taste of blood that was lingering in the air and by the grace of whatever spirit was out there still looking after you, you felt yourself collapse in Neteyam’s arms. 

Tag list: @nuhteyam @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @mashiromochi

[lxmbr]

so ive written out a crap ton of fanfic ideas..for you to try

i genuinely don't know if I'm okay. wtf is wrong with me omg lmao

ALL OF THESE PEOPLE ARE BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL WRITERS GO LOOK AT THEIR BLOGS!!

these are all Nijisanji En, mainly the boys. If it has the checkmark it doesnt mean u cant do it! if you really like it i'd still love to see it.

‼️🩷THE LINKS OF THE FANFICS I PUT ARE NOT MINE. I TAKE ZERO CREDIT. THEYRE JUST THE VERSIONS AND FICS OTHER PEOPLE HAVE DONE. IF THEYRE YOUR FANFICS, PLEASE DM FOR REMOVAL I WILL 100% TAKE THEM DOWN!! 🩷‼️

I AM NOT WRITING SMUT!! im sorry i do not feel comfortable writing smut in detail, thats just me..of course i will write suggestive things but i will not be writing smut! please refrain from requesting the smutty stuff..understand that i will ignore it.

hear me out on a lot of these okay 🥹. ive been saving them up for like a month or so now. not all of these are for everyone. if you see one you dont like, ignore it. someone else will probably do it

TAKE CREATIVE LIBERTYY!!

🔞: nsfw/smut

☁️: sfw/fluff

⭐: crack/silly

💔: angst/sad

💭: headcannons/reactions

💌: one shots

✔️: been done/I've seen one like it 

‼️: in progress/im writing this!!

all gn reader and most are established relationship! and you can keep mysta, yugo, and nina in there! (although there won't be much NijiEn Girls)

⚠️IF YOU USE ANY OF THESE IDEAS, PLEASE TAG ME⚠️ not all of these are ones ive requested, again some ive just seen that happen to be similar to the idea

🔞💭Luxiem/Iluna/Noctyx seeing you in a cosplay of a character they really like/a sexy costume

☁️💭Luxiem hcs treating you on your period

 fanfix - not mine!

fanfic - not mine!

☁️🔞💭Luxiem reactions(?) to you dancing competitively (for ex: kpop dances) 

⭐💌☁️💭ike eveland reacting to you using some Swedish words he taught you in a sentence. (could be a curse word, a color, or a simple word to point out something. ex: balloon! or in Swedish, ballong!)

⭐☁️💌💭Noctyx hcs you crying over something silly (for ex: you lost your keys or the cat looked at you in a weird way)

☁️⭐💭💌NijiEn foreign: them reacting to you learning their native language! ‼️

☁️🔞💭Luxiems reaction to you proposing to them before they could to you

janes fanfic!

🔞💌Sitting on Vox's lap while he does his asmr steam

⭐☁️ 💌You and Ike eveland as geese (inspired by the untitled goose game stream)

☁️🔞💌When you meet meixul for the first time‼️

🔞💌💭Luxiem reacting to you touching yourself in their clothes 

🔞💭💌 NijiEn boys reacting to you dry humping them

💭💌☁️ Luxiem when you fall asleep on them

🔞💭☁️ Luxiem when you have baby fever ✔️

fanfic - not mine!

fanfic - not mine!

💌☁️⭐ Luxiem when you want to do their hair

💭🔞💌☁️ NijiEn Boys/Merryweather/Shxtou with their puppygirl ✔️

fanfic - not mine!

fanfic - not mine!

☁️💭💔 Luxiem comforting you after a fight with your parents/gaurdians

🔞💌 Luxiem's favorite dirty talk

🔞💌☁️💭 Luxiems wedding night with you ✔️

fanfic - not mine!

💌☁️⭐💭 Luxiem when shu accidentally turns you into a baby for a day ✔️

fanfic - not mine!

💭💌🔞 Luxiem when you wear lingerie for them

🔞💌☁️💭⭐ NijiEn (whoever) getting high🍃 with them!

💭☁️💌🔞 Luxiem/Noctyx when they're jealous

💌🔞☁️💭 Ike eveland, feeding into his yandere tendencies (for ex: offering him to put a tracking device on you. basically just a super willing reader that encourages his unhealthy actions and urges)

🔞💌💭 The names you call Luxiem/Noctyx/iluna in bed‼️

💭☁️💌⭐ When you're luxiems oshi/vtuber crush and you guys collab for the first time‼️

💌💭☁️🔞 Luxiem when the other members purposely flirt with you to piss the other member off (for ex: ike likes u/ur dating ike, and the other members purposefully flirt with you to make him mad. and so on for the other members) ‼️

⭐☁️💭💌🔞 Luxiem coming home to you and your child (or your young cousin or little sibling. like 5 yrs old or smn) to you listening/singing/rapping to their part in hope in the dark or jazz on the clock

☁️💭⭐💌🔞 Luxiem reacting to a partner loud in bed ✔️

fanfic - not mine!

💌☁️💭🔞 Luxiem reacting to the cliche porn situation - u getting stuck in something (for ex...the washing machine lmfao) ✔️

🔞💭☁️💌⭐ Luxiem reacting to calling them senpai

🔞💭☁️💌 Luxiem when their cat!girl purrs at their affection

💭💌☁️⭐ Luxiem reacting to you having lepidoptraphobia (self insert oop)

☁️⭐💭💌 when Luxiem tells you the latest gossip

🔞💭💌 Luxiem getting aroused at the sight of your blood

I'll be adding more just try to keep up! pls post your questions ill answer them, again pretty please tag me..id LOVE to see your takes on these. ill try to update as much as possible :)

do you guys think i should write some of my own? I'd be down to write a couple..pls let me know 🥹

[janeya]

favorite jane costume?? also, not sure if you’ve answered this before, but do you prefer janes with similar versions of the choir uniform or very different outfits?

ive done the first question but not the second!! im definitely partial to a combination of the two. i really like jane costumes where they clearly stand out, but i still want her to have a variation of a uniform. for example, i love it when the other girls have a skirt but she wears a jumper dress, etc. in my personal designs, the uniform colors are red white and gray. so while ocean and constance's costumes are both plaid red, jane's is plaid gray with bloomers underneath. i did a sketch of my concepts awhile ago but they arent great so dont judge!!!

so with my constance vs my jane design, jane's dress is shorter and fluffs out more with bloomers under. and its not super visible but her blouse is a different shape and lacy as well! also i didnt really draw the socks or shoes but constance and ocean have matching ones and jane's are different. if you wanna see the actual designs with pictures here are some

[str4wb3rry-m1lksh4k3s]

C4RN1V4L D4T3S

Hello once again! Ive recently had motivation for writing so.. here! Take some scenarios for RTC Kids on a Carnival Date with the reader! In this AU, the accident has not happened.

Also! My requests are always open, and any character is allowed, but if i feel uncomfortable with the request i will disregard it. Anyways, onto the writing!

TW // Heavy kissing for one of them, and a LOT of fluff.

Ocean O'Connell

- Ocean would take you on the bumper cars, but you'll be holding on TIGHT to the safety bar. She's a reckless driver.

- You'd play the balloon dart game and win her a stuffed animal and she just overall adores it more than anything. She holds it tight and refuses to go on any fast paced rides in fear of losing it.

- YOU. BOTH. GET. DEEP. FRIED. OREOS. If you're allergic to chocolate, or don't eat junk food, she'd definitely buy you both some healthier snacks like veggie straws and such.

- Walking around holding hands while she drags you around to whatever catches her eye! (I think she's adorable guys.)

-🎡-

Noel Gruber

- He definitely critiques the live bands and food. He'd have his arm around your waist as you guys walked around.

- He'd take you on the Ferris Wheel, and you both laugh and tell jokes to one another. Definitely gazing at him while he stares at the scenery!

- You'd have matching bracelets/henna tattoos too and he'd show the choir at the next meeting and brag about you to them. This guy adores his boyfriend/partner to no end.

- "Do you want to go check out the shops nearby?" "Hell yeah!"

-🎡-

Constance Blackwood

- She'd get you whatever you even show the slightest interest in. Rainbow cottan candy? In your hands, but you're sharing because she deserves it. A necklace from the vendors? Done deal!

- Definitely takes photos of you when you're playing games! She likes being able to look at the pictures when she's down, and it's with her significant other!

- You guys definitely had a sleepover after and watched some silly rom-coms. I feel like Constance would absolutely LOVE Adam Sandler films, and binge them with you.

- "Hey, I saw you look at the jewelry at the small shop in the corner and got you this!" "Awe, you're the best!"

-🎡-

Penny Lamb/Jane Doe

- She takes you on the "horror" themed rides, and you both love that thrill! Anything fast paced that gets your brain going is definitely something you two will do.

- You buy her anything and everything. As a play on her last name, you bought her a cutesy little lamb stuffed animal, and she laughed and kept it close to her the entire day.

- Expect little kisses on the cheek when it feels like it's nobody but you and her in the entire park (despite the obvious crowd). She's not big on PDA in my opinion, but will definitely let you know she loves you.

- "Do you like it?" "The lamb is going to stay with my doll. Thank you for it!" <3

-🎡-

Ricky Potts

- He was iffy to go at first, but you both went on the merry go round mainly, and would sit in the spots that don't move.

- You know sign language and order for him, but he ends up paying and you can't stop him. Well, you could, but it makes him happy to do something in return for you.

- You guys would sit on a bench and he'd explain his Fictional fantasy world, and you'd listen and encourage his creativeness! You don't think it's gross because it's quite sexual, but you do offer ideas for it!

- 'You don't find it weird?' "Of course not! I think it's fascinating!"

-🎡-

Mischa Bachinski

- You guys definitely made out in the corner sheilded away from the crowds. Lets just say you had to hide your neck with your school uniform collar the next day.

- You guys had a competition on who could win the most games, and of course he won. Loser had to do whatever the winner wanted, but there were limits of course!

- You bought him dinner, and he got you a giant stuffed animal from the 'athletic' games. Like hanging off the pole for a certain amount of time. It was a giant stuffed bear with a red bow!

- "I'll carry this for you коханий!" "Awe, thanks love!"

[miss-multi45]

Hello again, peeps.

I'm redoing my intro post.

Hello, I'm Cassiopeia, you can shorten that down to whatever is good for you.

I will write for these Harry Potter characters:

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Hermione Granger

Harry Potter

Ronald Weasley

Ginny Weasley

Luna Lovegood

Draco Malfoy

Cedric Diggory

I will write for these Creepypasta characters:

Jeff the Killer

Homicidal Liu and Sully

BEN_Drowned

Sally Williams

Lazari

Zalgo

Stripes

Lifeless Lucy

Ticci Toby

The Hooded Man/Hoodie

The Masked Man/Masky

X-Virus

Rouge/The Prowler and Wilson the Basher

Nurse Ann

Dr Pain

Dr Smiley

Eyeless Jack

KageKao

Jason the Toymaker

Candypop

Laughing Jack

Laughing Jill

Papa Grande de Magico

Nathan the Nobody

Clockwork

Nina the Killer

Jane Everlasting/Jane the Killer

Judge Angels

Bloody Painter

The Puppeteer

The Pianist

The Bartender 1941

Dark Link

Glitchy Red

The Cat Hunter

The Black Wolf

Frankie the Undead

The Chessmaster

Vine the Dollmaker

Kate the Chaser

Sam Williams

Zero

Emra

Suicide Sadie

The Roadwalker

Isaac Grossman

Candy Cane

April Fools

The Item Stealer

Lulu

Lily Kennent

Morivin

Drolsoir

I will write for these Call of Duty characters:

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

John 'Soap' Mactavish

John Price

König

Kim 'Horangi' Hong-jin

Alejandro Vargas

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parra

Valeria Garza

Keegan P. Russ

Phillip Graves

Kate Laswell

I will write for these Lockwood and Co. characters:

Anthony Lockwood

Lucy Carlyle

Quill Kipps

George Karim

I will write for these Ghost members:

Dewdrop/Sodomizer

Swiss Army Ghoul/ Swiss

Rain

Phantom

Aether

Mountain

Cirrus

Cumulus

Aurora

Sunshine

Omega

Alpha

Ifrit

Mist

Terzo

Cardinal Copia

Any Papas

And era 1 and 2 ghouls

I will write for these Sleep Token members:

Vessel

II

III

IV

The Vesselettes

Jujutsu Kaisen:

Satoru Gojo

Suguru Geto

Nanami Kento

Ino Takuma

Ryomen Sukuna

Toji Fushiguro

Shiu Kong

Uraume

Shoko Ieiri

Utahime

Maki Zenin

Nobara Kugisaki

Toge Inumaki

Noritoshi Kamo

Choso Kamo

Megumi Fushiguro

Yuuji Itadori

I will NOT write p*d*philia, zoophilia, rape, b**stiality. Or anything too gory, like, Black Christmas 2006 level gore or Terrifier level gore, because it makes me extremely uncomfortable. Any underage characters (Maki, Toge, Megumi, Yuuji, Nobara.) I will not write smut for. I headcanon BEN_DROWNED to be either 20 or 21.

I WILL write for angst, smut, fluff, crack (funny stuff), Incorrect Quotes, headcanons, scenarios, imagines (same as scenarios??), wholesome shit, and I will write matchups and create a scenario/headcanons with your oc as long as you describe them to me.

[the-s1lly-corner]

ATTENTION CREEPYPASTA FANS

hiiiiii i kinda wanna write some hcs/self insert stuff but im kinda stumped on who and what to write; especially since its been a while since ive written for these characters (a while = about a month?? give or take)

so! i'll be opening requests for creepypasta characters, a 'short' run down of my rules below + characters i write for + some info regarding how i write certain characters that may or may not be important

i apologize for any typos and mistakes for this post, im back to writing on my silly computer!! formatting may be a little whack as well, but that parts more so because idk how i wanna structure these side posts

it should be said right now that the way i write these characters leans very heavy on my own personal interpretation/au rather than ideas that the bulk of the fandom has (although, to be fair, i havent interacted much with the current state of the fandom, im kinda stuck in 2016 </3) so personalities or worldbuilding/common ideas may be different or totally absent in my writing

will not write;

this blog does not allow explicit nsfw material, at most there will be suggestive jokes or themes but it will likely never ever be the main theme of the post!

basic nono criteria, no gross stuff

personally i dont like writing prompts surrounded by cheating so most likely i wont write it

anything overly graphic (gorey), yes i understand that this is creepypasta but there are some things that i just simply wont write; however implied/minor gore is allowed to an extent

really asides from that im mostly chill with anything, but on the off chance you send in something that makes me uncomfy/a request i feel i cant fulfill, i will do my best to communicate that

ohoh also! unfortunately i do not take oc requests :(! no hate to oc x canon, esp since im part of that community, but i just dont trust myself to be able to do justice or your oc TToTT

if i turn down a request it is nothing against you or your wants, please do not take it personally ^^;

will write;

fluff and angst, along with specific scenarios! im fine with most angst but as said above, if a prompt cannot be done i will communicate that!

the reader by default is GN/is not referred to with pronouns outside of like. they/you/your, the POV i write in is kinda inconsistent tbh ,, but i am comfy with writing for specific genders + trans readers, although i admit im not sure how much pronouns or gendered things will come into play unless gender is the main point of the request

im fine with poly! though ive yet to actually. write poly

i dont just write romantic hcs! im down with platonic/familial ones as well!

again im not at all picky with things, and once again, i will communicate if something cant be done

added thing since im not sure where else to put it! by default i write short hcs and scenarios, short fics being very rare on this acc since im not confident in my writing; so !! yeah!! there isnt a real limit to how many characters you can ask for per request but it should be noted that the more characters there are, the shorter each section will likely be

list of characters i will write for!

if a character has a * by their name there will be added notes on how i write for them/special rules stated after the list

Slenderman

Trenderman

Splendorman

Masky/Tim*

Hoodie/Brian*

Laughing Jack

Eyeless Jack

Ticci Toby**

Jeff*

Jane*

Ben*

Nina*

Puppeteer*

Bloody Painter*

Zalgo*(?)

added character notes:

for characters that are minors in their source (jeff, jane, ben, and toby and nina) i will not be writing any romantic hcs; thats just a personal boundary of mine and while i dont think its particually gross or problematic depending on context, its not something i myself feel comfortable writing for! however i am more than willing to write platonic or family hcs for the characters stated above!

onto the proxies! im still figuring out how i wanna write them but i wanted to blend together the creepypasta take and the og marble hornets version into something new (mostly for my au) however due to my brain forgetting most the stuff that happens in MH (i gotta rewatch it, bad) it more so leans into the creepypasta take of these characters! i also by default write tim and masky as different characters, and the same for brian !!

main reason for puppeteer and bloody painter having the star is because im not too well versed in their lore but im willing to write them! though i am struggling to find a consistent source on helens age so ill be going off the fandom wiki (with a grain of salt) that hes in his 20s-

zalgo is a weird case because in my au he does indeed exist but also isnt?? okay so hes more so this untouchable being/mostly nontangible; like the dude is more so like a sentient force of nature bordering on something incomprehensible rather than being a person; more of a concept if anything... but because i want a challenge, and because i need to flesh him out in general im making him an available character!

but yeah i think thats mostly it! this post ended up being longer than i intended but i fully blame that on me being totally incapable of shortening things down 😭😭

[donttalktome-mp3]

HEYYY, so ive written some sparadic aramour fluff and i need ops..? Likey.? No likey..? Edits..? Im really new to this but its fun so 🤷‍♀️ anyways lmk requests or ideas ect xx

-note-

sorry if theres typos or smth doesnt make sense this is just gay mush from my brain-

Lina had been crushing on jane for weeks, no probably months, then it hit her.

As she re read the pages of her journal -she did this on occasion to remind herself, itll all work out- she realised. today was actually, the 2 year anniversary of her crush on jane seymour.

each day she could feel it worsen, to the point where even the thought of jane made her blush

_____________________________________________

it wasnt until she heard a splash that she noticed her glass of water was severely overfilled due to Linas excessive staring at jane as she watched tv with anne. 'shit fuck again..?' Her inner monologue recited. Just as she turned around to asess her situation, a very chirpy catherine parr swindled down the stairs, "seem to have dropped something, lina..?" Cathy said with a grimace

"Dont. Call. Me . Lina." The gold queen knew why the others did this, just to annoy her, but clearly thye would get their way.

This interaction caught the attention of the second and third queens who seemed to be deeply engrossed im some reality TV.

"hey babe, whats got you so chirpy.?" Anne questioned

"ohh nothing much" her girlfriend responded with a giggle before going over to the sofa to cuddle with anne.

oh how lina longed for a relationship like that, with jane.

Her eyes tracking the blonde, catalina closely watched as her beloved paused the tv and went upto her. " heyy, how'd you even manage that..?" seymour asked with a smile - picking up an old towel to dry the spilled water-

"O-oh uhm well uh haha i dont know" she offered her hand to take the towel

"nono dont worry ive got it!" Her smile triggered even more blush to crowd aragons face. Something about janes laugh, it just did something to lina.

oh shes so cute

standing back up, the third queen asked "fancy a snack..?" - as per usual aragon interpreted that, not how jane intended she was sure of it - .

trying to 'play it cool' lina just replied with "nahh im- im goood", almost spilling her water a second time.

there it was again that laugh.

[necroromantics]

🪦 . Guidelines and Such

[AN] Ive been getting a lot of asks/requests recently so Im just gonna post this to go over my boundaries

> I WILL WRITE . — ⚰️

Ticci Toby, Clockwork, Nina The Killer (not new version), Jane The Killer (both versions), Liu, Jeff The Killer, Eyeless Jack, Laughing Jack, Kate The Chaser, Tim/Masky, Brian/Hoodie, Slenderman, Zalgo, Ben Drowned, Sally, Nurse Ann, Zero, Lulu, X-Virus, Judge Angels, Bloody Painter, Rouge

Dark themes, gore/violence. Please be warned my content may go into dark, but not glorifying, territories with uncomfortable topics. Ill tag if needed

Relationship dynamics (with exceptions, read below)

Headcanons, prompts, one shots with my own spin/takes on them

> I WONT WRITE . 🪓

Any character not listed above

NSFW, smut, sexual themes

Jane x Male Character, Sally x Character, Toby or Clockwork x Character (personal thing. I will openly write for TicciWork though) (I WILL write x character for platonic ships, these are just no for romantic)

x reader

> CREEPEDVERSE .

I only write for Tobin and Tali on this account but if you request for other characters on the official account (@ creepedverse), we'll get to it there

I will write TalBin content, headcanons, AUs, angst, fluff, scenarios/one-shots with Tobin or Tali

I wont write NSFW at all, (other character) x Tobin/Tali, or oc interactions if I don't know you/your character

> AND FURTHERMORE . 🌲

I would like to do a mix of original content and answering asks, so I may take awhile to get to my inbox. I AM NOT IGNORING YOUR MESSAGE. I appreciate requests very much, I promise I will get to it eventually 🙏

I like to put my own spins on things, so I might not be the best person to go to if you want something written for you a certain way/with a certain plotline

If you’re unsure if I’ll write something, just ask anyways, I don’t bite :]

[l4long-winded]

iv. the distraction of rising temperature

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

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

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

word count: 10,023

previously: mr. wright and jane austen

( this work has been cross posted on ao3 )

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... She’s pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Technically? What’s technical about it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I?”

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

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

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

“Your pulse is—”

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

“Not bad, Lily,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’ll tell you tomorrow morning.

[beanscool-excellent]

some ride the crimeclone notes because people liked my tags about it on that one post

ride the crimeclone (or just crimeclone) is the production of rtc that i have planned out in my head that i will never be able to put on bc i have changed parts of the script and putting it on would be Wildly Illegal, hence the name crimeclone

i jumped around the show a lot making these in my sketchbook and im going around my sketchbook too so its a little all over the place but!!

jane has contacts that make it look like her eyes are buttons

she has the doll in her pocket the whole show but the stuffing is falling out of it so ocean trails behind her and cleans it up

"my song--(leans down to pick up fluff)--was a cautionary tale--(leans down)--of hubris.(leans down, shoves fluff into her pocket)"

before the new birthday song when everyone brings the outfit ricky brings jane her doll and jane hugs the doll and its a very sweet moment

janes makeup is done to look like she has a patch on her face

puppet motif in tbojd

all her movements look very choreographed until "and im asking why lord" and then she just goes apeshit. she is so fucking mad

like i said earlier it has the energy of sam pauly's all you wanna do

i genuinely dont know how to put this into words but the lights on the umbrellas like. circle?

you know those people who sync up their christmas lights to the radio and it looks like pieces of light are moving up the sidewalks? that but in a circle

ok enough jane talk

propaganda posters in wtwn !!

this kinda thing ^

theyre used kinda like the big posterboards that spell out ocean in mcc*rter's version

mischa snaps his in half in the scene after wtwn

the outfit ricky quick changes into during sabm is So Glittery its almost obnoxious

the shirt is partially unbuttoned too

the implication is that he didnt have time to rebutton it after the cat sex

i also think the cat sex is a pre recorded projection so that theres enough time for the quick change bc i still want ricky to come out on "for theyre at war with canine"

i think he has the electric guitar the whole last section too and i want it to be strapped to his cane

idk why i just think itd be fun

oh also we keep lets get real space babies and dont be a dick

and its the version where ricky is actually disabled but i think that goes without saying

and while were at it keep love conquers all it is a CRIME that they removed it

i think thats all i have to say for now so heres my costume design stuff

oh i should elaborate on the noels lament skirts huh

ok so the skirt for the uniform is long so it spins out a lot, think the talia dresses but more pleated and less flowy, and the underside is red so during noels lament they can pin it up to look shorter in the front,, it looks weird in the drawing and i think it sounds weird but ive done it with my big skirts irl and it looks cool so. yeah

ill reblog with more stuff eventually but im writing this out at midnight and im tired so no more right now