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#a little angst

Fandom: Several Shades of Sadism

Pairing: Mei Tarantino x MC  

Prompt: MC hugs Mein in her sleep and mumbles Mei… I love… you.

Warning: Unrequited Love, jealousy

Word Count: 835

Requested by: @sagaralisa @ikemen-discord-writers

Author: @kiarigirl-blog

Summary: Mei realizes he is in love with his concierge and that, that love comes at a price.  Will his love ever be returned or is he destined to lose the woman he loves?

A / N: I wrote this while listening to Die A Happy Man and Drunk on You when I wrote this.

She looked like a vision in her peach and mauve dress.  The way she had pulled her hair back, leaving twin curls framing her face, made my lips stretch wide.  I couldn’t tear my eyes from her.  She turned to face me and I could see a sparkle in her emerald eyes.  Her brows lifted questioning me about how she looked.

“You’re passable, I guess.”  I couldn’t tell her how I really felt.  

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So, I was going to write a short fic of a touch-starved Deceit, but it turned into a huge idea with the sides all renting a place.

It also got a little longer than I originally had planned so there might be Multiple parts or a few chapters.

So, here’s a bullet story for you.

Links!
Part 2 | Masterlist

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[1:31, a.m]

Everyone was pushing her to feel something she’s not capable of. Like him, they said. He’s a nice guy, they said with a smile on their faces. He’s smart, they said. You’d make a good pair. Give him a chance.

She feel pushed, trapped. They expected her to do the almost impossible, open up her heart to someone, open up her soul to someone, who’s as broken and needs to be fixed as her. Maybe she could fix him. But how she can fix someone when she is need to be fixed too? A broken soul cannot heal another broken soul. That thought was hurt her and what was her reaction?

Running away. She’s the best at it.

People’s expectations are always feels suffocating. The need to be utterly perfect was still there as Damocles’ Sword upon her head, she still hear the voices of doubt, demand and anger.

You have to be perfect, no one’s gonna love you.

You need to be commited for that person. You need to subordinate to balance your relationship.

You.

Need.

To.

Be.

Perfect.

Perfect.

PERFECT.

When she think about that, she remember the seven-year-old herself who believed her father was gone cause he hadn’t loved her enough. She wasn’t perfect for him. She didn’t deserve his love. She did someting bad.

And that’s why she’s escaping from those feelings. If you can’t be perfect, why do you need love?, she thinks.

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Originally posted by johnlockhappiness

And by “complete,” I mean that I’ve rounded out the arc and am finished with the story :-)  Real life got in the way, and I did not get to every prompt, but man–I did love this challenge so much!  It made me get back into the discipline of writing, and I think I ended up with a collection of connected stories that I actually like. 

Thank you so much to @missdaviswrites for organizing all of this and letting us play in your sandbox.  

Happy New Year, everyone!

You can read my collection over at AO3.

Total Words:  5,516

Total Works:  3

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An alternate reality. Halloween-ish companion piece to The Familiar Stranger…

***

Old Hallows Eve…

BART”S MORGUE

The body was laid out on the table, all the instruments lined up ready. She could delay the inevitable no longer.

Taking a deep breath, Molly Hooper pressed record. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Caucasian male. Age, thirty-eight. Height, six-foot, three inches…”

*

The preliminaries were completed in a matter of minutes.

Molly mentally squared her shoulders as she now turned to the instruments that were integral to performing an autopsy. As she reached for the scalpel she closed her eyes, reminding herself over and over, ‘You can do this, you can do this, you can…’

The sound of a sharp, strangled inhalation of breath had her spinning around, the scalpel slipping from her grasp to drop unnoticed to the floor.

The pathologists wide brown eyes collided with the unmistakable blue-green ones of the dead consulting detective.

***

ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – JUST OUTSIDE LONDON – 2 HOURS EARLIER

“This will never work.”

“It will work, but only as long as we play our parts convincingly,” Sherlock assured the man who had taken the name Wallace.

“You’re certain they’re not like you?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently. And here he thought The Watcher’s knew all there was to know about immortals. Or maybe it was simply that his distant relation hadn’t paid enough attention after he’d been recruited by the secretive organisation.

“If they were like me I’d be able to sense them, and I haven’t felt any other immortals in the area”

“You’re sure he doesn’t know what you are?“

“As I’ve told you before very few people know we exist. As a rule we tend to tell only those we know we can trust. As that usually means friends and loved ones, I’ve not had to tell many. And then there’s The Watcher’s…”

Wallace frowned as a worrying scenario occurred to him. In recent years a militant offshoot of The Watcher’s, driven by fear that the eventual victor of The Prize would take control of the world, had broken their sacred vows, and had started interfering in the events of The Game. With their knowledge of Immortals, and the only way they could be killed permanently, they had taken things into their own hands. With immortals unable to sense them, a number had been taken by surprise by the unexpected attacks, and had paid with their lives.

“What if it’s The Hunters?”

“It’s a risk we’re going to have to take,” Sherlock replied, indicating something over Wallace’s shoulder with a slight nod of his head. A car had pulled up a short distance away. “We don’t have a choice now, our audience has arrived.“

Wallace gave a sigh of resignation. “I really hate this plan…”

*

From his ill-concealed vantage point, Moriarty’s lieutenant, and chief partner-in-crime, Sebastian Moran watched the confrontation between the meddlesome consulting detective and the hit-man he’d hired to bring the annoying investigator to a permanent end.

Moran didn’t dare get too near, so he wasn’t able to hear what was said. But as far as he was concerned, actions were far more effective than words.

And so:

The two men stood facing each other.

The hit-man pulled out his gun.

The detective attempted to talk his way out of the situation.

The hit-man fired his gun.

The bullet hit the detective in the chest, and he dropped to the ground, dead.

Problem solved…

Satisfied Moran got back into his car and drove off.

***

BART’S MORGUE

“So how long have you been…?” Molly indicated Sherlock’s hastily sheet wrapped undead state with a vague wave of her hand.

“Since 1895 wasn’t it? That’s the family legend anyway,” Wallace supplied as he re-entered the morgue.

Sherlock glared at his distant relation, and Watcher. “What are you doing back here?” he snapped.

“Forgot to return this,” Wallace replied, as he handed Sherlock his sword. “Best not to go round unprotected, never know who’s likely to turn up.”

Sherlock nodded his head in thanks as he took hold of his katana. It was a foolish immortal indeed who went around without their sword to defend themselves.

“And just when were you intending to tell me?”

Wallace knew that tone, and smirked as he watched the usually confident consulting detective genuinely quail in light of his pathologist’s obvious wrath.

 But before he could enjoy the moment, Wallace found that same displeasure turned on him.

“What are you smiling about?” Molly demanded as she rounded on the Watcher.

It was then Sherlock read the undeniable hurt in her expressive eyes, and he felt like a prize heel as he realised that Molly believed his decision to not tell her was an unspoken admission that he didn’t trust her.  When in actuality, nothing could be further from the truth.

 “Molly,” Sherlock said softly, his tone conciliatory as he gently took hold of her shoulders, bending his head a little bit so that they were at the same eyelevel.

The pathologist returned his gaze, the fire that had fuelled her annoyance with the two men gone, to be replaced with wounded uncertainty.

Sherlock pulled her in for a brief hug, before moving to cup her face in his hands.

“I’ve wanted to tell you about my…situation, condition…whatever you want to call it,” he began. “Just how to go about it has always been the problem. I’ve rarely taken anyone outside of the family into my confidence. Not because I haven’t felt I could trust anyone else, but because there hasn’t been anyone else that I’ve cared enough about to tell. It’s only been over the last few years that I’ve made friends with people that I’ve felt could accept the responsibility, and keep the secret of what I am. And yet I’ve still remained silent, worried about the burden of that knowledge…on you, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, John and Mary…”

Sherlock paused briefly, trying unsuccessfully to gauge how Molly was taking what he was telling her. In an attempt to add a little levity to his explanation, he added.  “And I felt it would be easier if you actually saw it for yourself.”

After what felt like an eternity, Molly gave a resigned shake of her head. But when she returned his gaze Sherlock was relieved to see an impish smile on her lips.

“Always dramatics with you,” she acknowledged.

Sherlock raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “So, does this mean I’m forgiven then?” his tone hopeful.

In response Molly lunged forward, sliding her fingers through his sinfully soft curls as she pulled his head down, kissing him firmly on the lips.

Sherlock responded in kind, pulling her into his arms.

The detective and his pathologist were too engrossed with each other to notice the precarious nature of the sheet wrapped around Sherlock’s hips, as it unravelled.

The Watcher however had.

“And that would be my cue to leave,” Wallace said as he quietly backed out of the room, leaving the couple in peace.

***

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Day 5: Soulmates AU

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.
A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.” 

Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

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“They’ve been running tests on me.” (Wisdomsword - Critias)

Maha cupped his partners face in his hands. He was bruised and spattered with blood as he fought his way to this room, to find the knight. His eyes were dark, haunted with the things he had seen, the things he had done to get here. Things that went against his very nature, but he had very little choice.

But he wasn’t going to think about it right now. No, right now he was going to ease Critias onto his feet as he checked him over, healing what he could before they would have to move.

“It’s okay now,” he managed to say. “I’m here, and no one will touch you again.”

His vow to never killed had been broken once before, by others forcing his hand. That vow was broken once more now, but this time by his own choice.

But that happens when you have someone to protect.

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Chapter 37: Commiseration

 “I think I’m in love with him.” Mila said finally, looking down into her cup.

 Yuri raised a single golden eyebrow in shock. Mila had never uttered those words about a man before, not seriously. She’d say she loved their eyes, or their smile, or their ass, but never them as an entire person. This was new territory for her. Yuri couldn’t help but grin.

 “Really? When did you figure it out?”

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(A/N: A request from an anon. I hope you enjoy, sweetheart)

  • When Archer sees his s/o injured he freezes at first, but then it’s like an adrenaline rush. He instantly takes his coat off and runs to s/o to dress their wounds with it.
  • Then he takes his blades and tries to stay near s/o, ready to protect them, not to avenge. His main goal is rather to fight the enemy off and pave the way for his Master to retreat.
  • If Master of the enemy takes a part in that battle, then it’s a double trouble, but EMIYA tries to fight them both and instantly intervenes if one of them gets too close to his s/o by shielding the loved one with Rho Aias. However, keeping the shield on makes him unable to use one of his arms, so he just quickly attacks the opponent and pushes them back.
  • If it’s needed, Archer covers s/o with his own body, but even injured he doesn’t stop the battle.
  • He throws a glance at his Master and sees the hope and terror in their eyes. He realizes that he can never give up, what helps him to rally and fight back with even more power.
  • When he finally injures his enemy and the battle stops for a moment, he immediately picks his s/o up and runs away as quickly as it’s possible.
  • Finally, they come back to safe place, but it’s not over. EMIYA puts s/o on a couch and nervously seeks for a first-aid kit in the bathroom, probably throwing some things off the shelf or the drawer.
  • With shaking hands he tries to clean the wound and dress it with bandage, bumbling about taking s/o to hospital after he gets some rest.
  • When it’s finished and Master’s life isn’t in danger anymore, he allows himself to finally sit and calm down. He remains silent for few minutes, but then starts apologizing for not being able to keep them safe.
  • With tears in his eyes he confesses that he was never ever so afraid in his entire life and afterlife.
  • He starts crying when his s/o puts a hand on his head and gently caresses him, trying to comfort him. They are a little shocked, because they never saw that generally calm and impassive soldier crying before, but most importantly they are worried and it hurts to see EMIYA being a mess.
  • Archer finally calms down and wipes his eyes, and decides to take s/o to hospital.
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