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saint-cichol-is-watching · 4 years

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Any headcanons on what everyone's Halloween costumes would be?

I had to think for a bit but I do have some ideas:

(they’re not in any particular order I wrote them when I had the time to and saved it in my drafts)

Mammon‘s costume absolutely depended on you. He just tried so hard to act cool around you (and did a terrible job at it) and find out what you were planning on wearing for Halloween to choose a matching one. When he did manage to pull it off he immediately acted like it was a mere and coincidence on his part and even showed the audacity to tell you that you could have just said it if you wanted matching costumes.

Beelzebub wore two costumes on the night of Halloween. The first one was a pizza and he looked so cute in it. Like he could barely move and he was stuck t-posing because of how huge the costume was. But of course, as you could have all expected from Beel stuck in food-themed costume, you just turned your back one second and when you turned back he just stood there in his underwear (still T-Posing), slurping on the last bit of fabric left. He was very sad about it so you had to find a new idea and quick, which lead you to cut holes in a sheet and throw it over his head to make him a ghost.

Belphegor was, out of pure laziness, also going to go as a ghost until absolutely everyone told him this was not how it should happen. Which lead him to decide he wanted a circus-related costume and more precisely a ringmaster one. He threw some fake blood and on it and called it a day. However, seeing how down Beel was after eating his own costume and being left under a white sheet as a ghost he went back to his room and cut two holes in a black sheet and threw it over his head just so they could match.

Solomon's costume was just like his cooking. Nobody truly knew what it was but everybody acknowledged that it so was absolutely terrifying, it brought in you all an irrational fear as if every phobia you ever had just suddenly rushed back to you.

Diavolo was probably the most excited about Halloween and since it was a human tradition he made a lot of research about it. Research that sooner rather than later brought him to our most iconic horror movies and more specifically horror movie villains. Which of course propelled him to disguise himself as one of those (I’m personally leaning more towards Jason from “Friday the 13th”)

Leviathan had already known for a long time that he would be spending Halloween disguised as the Lord of Shadows from TSL. Many tried to stop him from doing so of course (namely Lucifer) but he was the one in charge of doing the costumes so nobody opposed to it for too long.

Simeon’s costume totally depended on whether or not Luke would be there. If Luke was there then he and Simeon would probably wear matching costumes such as a shepherd and his lamb or something similar. If Luke wasn't there then Simeon might go a bit more suggestive, not downright sexy (I mean knowing him he would make it sexy by accident) just suggestive enough to make you think there is something naughty lying underneath. He might go as a shepherd but a sexy shepherd.

Nobody will be surprised as Asmodeus going as something sexy, sexy nurse, sexy firefighter, sexy prisoner you name it he would do it. He even probably asked you to match if you felt comfortable enough with that.

Barbatos was very simple in his thinking. A knife in his hand, some fake blood on his palms and face, well at least you thought it was fake, and some torn up clothes he would mend the next day and here he was standing as an evil murderous butler. Pretty clever really because he looked downright terrifying.

For Halloween, Lucifer also had a very simple way to think about costumes. He just used the skimmed through the most popular costume ideas in the human world and chose his favorite. Which lead him to attend the Halloween party as a vampire. The costume was actually very beautiful and he definitely pulled it off, but it was the aura that he emanated that really sealed the deal.

Satan had a really hard time choosing for a costume. He was torn between going as a cat or as a famous detective such as Sherlock Holmes. A bit like Mammon his ultimate choice really depended on you and the one you preferred. He even suggested that you matched for Halloween.

#obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #swd obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me Diavolo #obey me Barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon

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padfootagain · 4 years

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The King And You (VIII)

Part 8: Leave The Gun, Take the Cannoli

Here we go again for a new part of this series.

Caspian's modern adventures continue, and oh dear, the situation is just getting more ridiculously crazy by the minute hahahaha!! But it's not as sad as my two previous chapters. It's just fun, really. And starting to be all fluffy hihihihihi!!

I hope you like this new chapter!

Word Count: 3797

Your world was about brushes and colours. About beauty in the ordinary, and seeing masterpieces in clouds and bloody battles in the reddened sky. You painted because you could turn the world you felt uncomfortable in into your own. Yet, despite that form of imaginary scenery, there wasn't magic. No spells, no coloured sparks shot out of wooden wands, no future guessed in tea leaves, no unicorns. It wasn't the kind of magic you were ready to accept.

And yet, as you let your gaze wander off across the street outside your window, you remembered that the guy you had let sleep on your sofa for a night – and had knocked out unconscious with a hairdryer, let's not forget how it all began – was apparently from another world. He had apparently walked through a 'doorway' between your world and his… Narnia, he called it.

In your hands, your coffee was growing cold, but you didn't mind. You weren't hungry, and had decided to skip breakfast. Your mind was too busy to let you eat.

Narnia. Magic door between worlds… in your closet…

Of course…

And yet, you could not find another explanation for the whole thing. The way Agatha seemed to believe it all, and worse, to know about it! The way he acted, the whole story about his friends dying decades ago… Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Sherlock Holmes was quite right on that one, you guessed… but was Narnia to consider as improbable or impossible?

The sun was rising above New York, but its soft, shy rays were not shedding any light on this particular mystery. Instead, it simply turned the sky into a paler blue than usual.

It had been a week now since you had left Caspian at Agatha's house, and you had had no news. Which wasn't that surprising, considering that you barely knew Caspian in the first place. He was probably busy looking for a way to get a passport… or another one of his magic passages.

Or… he had gone home after his prank on you. Actually, that could be the proof you needed…

Ha! What better way to frame him and Agatha for their deception? Because it had to be a deception, obviously. There was no other explanation. Right?

It would put the Narnia issue into the impossible box, and your life would be back to normal.

Yes! It was decided! As you sprung to your feet, abandoning your coffee on your table to grow cold and hurried to the bathroom instead, ready to get dressed.

You would drive to Agatha's house and catch them red-handed! Or rather, not catch Caspian, and thus proving the whole ordeal was a mere fraud. No ground-breaking, earth-shattering story here.

Yes! That would surely work.

Right?

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Caspian, however, was still at Agatha's. She had given him some new clothes, and if he didn't find them as comfortable as his own, he did reckon that they were better suited for this world. Agatha had contacted her old friend, Roger, and a meeting was set for this very afternoon in New York, in a place called Central Park. Caspian was anxious, although excited as well. Agatha was willing to help, and she believed him. It was lovely talking about Narnia with her, about the stories they had to share about their two lives. He spoke for hours of tales he had lived with her family and on his own, she talked of her mother and the life she had here. She talked of her children and he told her about his love for the sea. There was such a level of understanding between them, two people speaking the same language in a world that seemed to be written in another tongue. It felt so good to be understood. It felt safe. If Caspian was still mourning his family, and scared of what the future may hold for his people if he couldn't come back quickly, he was less afraid now that he had an ally.

As he watched the bleeding leaves being carried by the wind while they fell from the maple trees, he found that there was something else weighing on his heart, and when he searched through his heart for the cause behind his worry, all he could see was your face.

Why did he miss you so? He didn't even know. He had not spent so much time with you, and yet he found himself now wishing for you to be near him again. If he felt safe in Agatha's care and was grateful for all her efforts to help him, he wished you could be here.

He thought about leaving this land for England. Agatha had showed him on a map where the two countries stood, and indeed, they were separated by an impressive distance. He would have thought that months would be needed to cross the ocean that tore the lands apart, but Agatha had assured him that it would merely take a day. So many miles that he would put between you and him. And then, if all worked out as he hoped it would, he would go back to Narnia, and never see you again. The thought of never hearing your voice again, never seeing your face, never listening to you talk about what you loved, and that stunned smile you gave him when he behaved strangely, and… oh… everything about you, really… the thought that he would never see you again was more painful than his fear of never going home. And he couldn't explain why. He felt that way, and that was all the truth he had for now.

"Here you go, drink some tea! It'll help!"

"I'm fine," Caspian lied as Agatha sat on the chair opposite him in the kitchen.

"You are troubled. And I am guessing you have many reasons to feel that way."

"Indeed," he nodded, accepting the tea with a grateful smile.

"Don't worry about this afternoon. I'm sure Roger can help us."

"I am very grateful, for everything you are doing for me."

"You're family," she brushed his remark away with a tender smile and a wave of her hand, simple gestures that made Caspian's heart hurt in a soft way.

But even Agatha's soothing tea could not push you out of his thoughts. And as it wandered off, his mind formed a question that he found torturing.

Would you remember him?

He would probably never see you again. And if you had met in what could certainly be described as an odd situation, you had spent so little time together compared to what a lifetime was. He would be merely a blink in your life. A weird adventure that would linger in your memory for a while. But for how long?

Somehow, he knew he would never forget you. Standing there in your towel after he stepped into your world, the look on your face at the police station, eating pizza with him, anger at your ex, doubt in your eyes at his story, sitting by his side as he cried, how you tried to wrap your mind around his and Agatha's explanations… he didn't think you believed him, even now. It did not change the fact that he believed in the kindness he had read in the way you looked at him, in the way you moved, in the smile you had offered him…

No, most definitely, he would never forget you. And it wasn't because of how you had met, at least, he wasn't sure it was the only reason.

But would you remember him?

He opened his mouth to ask his question out loud, without thinking, when he was interrupted by the doorbell. Agatha hurried to go open the door, and Caspian was left alone in the kitchen, staring down at his fuming tea, his questions unanswered.

"Oh! What a pleasure to see you!"

Agatha's voice rang through the house, and Caspian's attention was pulled to the present.

"Caspian! Come and see who's here!"

The King stood with a frown, walking to join Agatha until he could see who was on the threshold, and the sight got him frozen on the spot.

It was…

"You…"

He crossed the distance between him and the door at last, letting out a shaky breath while a smile made its way to his lips.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

"Y/N? What…" he stuttered, too stunned. "What are you doing here?"

And you were just as stunned as he was.

Because, by coming to Agatha's home, you expected him to be gone and to finally have the proof that none of their tales were true; but now you were standing before Caspian.

And also because… well, he was wearing normal clothes this time. A white shirt that fitted him a little too perfectly, and a dark pair of jeans. Your heart was skipping beats, for reasons you would have preferred to deny but truly, you couldn't hide this even to yourself. He looked gorgeous.

"Hi…" you let out in a breath. "Well, I… I just… wanted to know how you were. And…"

"And?" Caspian encouraged you as you didn't continue your sentence, but you shook your head.

If he was still here, then it could only mean that… or perhaps he just lived there, with Agatha?

Oh, but the look on his face… like he was so genuinely stunned and yet ecstatic to see you again. No one could fake that. Could they?

"Nevermind. How are you?" you answered.

"I'm well. What about you?"

"I'm okay."

"Come in, Y/N!" Agatha invited you in, but even her intervention could not completely bring the two of you back to earth. Your minds were still hovering somewhere up in the stratosphere.

"I… I just wanted to see how you two were," you answered shyly, your eyes never leaving Caspian's almost-black irises.

"Come on in!" Agatha insisted. "I've just made tea!"

"Please," Caspian nodded, and for some reason, you couldn't refuse him.

"Okay, but not too long."

"Brilliant! I'll make you a cuppa, just a sec!" Agatha hurried to the kitchen, while you stepped in the house.

Caspian took your jacket, and he stood maybe a little too close to you, but none of you were willing to put more distance between the two of you.

What the hell was going on between you two?

You couldn't deny that he was fairly attractive, but that couldn't be just what was going on here. You had come to break his whole tale into pieces, and instead you found yourself pulled towards him by invisible strings from which you couldn't cut yourself loose.

And he had wanted to see you again, but he wanted to talk to you not simply stare at you wide-eyed like he did now. Instead, he found himself pulled towards you like a comet changing its course next to a sun.

"I… I didn't think I would see you again," he let out in a breath, hoping you wouldn't notice how tight his throat had become.

"I just… I thought I would drop by. Have a chat… and I… to be completely honest, I was wondering if you would still be here."

"Well, I am. And I… I'm glad you came."

You exchanged a smile, before hearing Agatha calling for you in the kitchen, and you finally headed to join her.

"So… did you call your friend?" you asked your host as you sat around the table by Caspian's side.

"Yes! We're going to meet him this afternoon, actually! Central Park. The perfect occasion for a lovely walk."

"Have you explained anything to him already?"

"Not in detail. These aren't the kind of things you should talk about on the phone. But I told him that I needed a favour, and he was eager to help. I have no doubt he will get us all that we need."

"Great!"

"But… why don't you stay for lunch?" Agatha offered. "And you can come back to New York with us!"

"I… I have my own car."

"We would have taken the train, would you mind terribly to take us at least to the train station?"

You smiled, defeated already.

"I can take you to New York, it would be my pleasure."

"You don't have to, I'm sure you had things planned," Caspian added, quite uncomfortable, but you brushed his doubts with a laugh.

"It's okay."

"You could even come with us to see Roger!" Agatha went on.

You hesitated, but had to admit that you were very curious. Besides, the most plausible explanation for all this was still something between a magical land called Narnia and an elaborated con that for now had not given you much trouble.

So, why not investigate a little further?

"You know what? I'd love to meet him!" you answered.

"It won't bother you?" Caspian asked with hope badly hidden in his eyes.

"No, I want to."

You exchanged a bright smile.

And that was how you found yourself taking the two of them to Central Park…

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Caspian loved Central Park.

Red and orange hues against the vivid blue of the sky, green grass plunging into ponds, ducks running around, and for once, people who didn't seem to be hurrying anywhere. Time seemed slower in the park than in the rest of the city, and this slower, more human rhythm, fitted him much better. It was closer to the heartbeat of his kingdom.

A pair of squirrels chased each other across the path before them, as you came closer to the bench where Roger were to meet you.

And indeed, an elderly man, tall and undoubtedly strong was waiting on the bench, reading a newspaper, wearing a grey hat and a grey coat and all in all an ensemble of clothes that made him a perfect cliché of a leading role from a film noir.

He grinned at the sight of Agatha, and you were surprised to find them holding hands in a tender gesture as they met.

"Oh, Agatha. Still as beautiful as the morning sun."

"Oh, Roger! Don't start! You're such a charmer," Agatha blushed, but her whole frame shining now with joy.

"I'm so happy to see you again."

"Me too. It has been way too long."

"You haven't changed a bit."

"In years! Of course, I have!"

"Not to me."

You and Caspian exchanged a knowing look. So… that's why Roger was so eager to help… he was completely weak-in-the-knees under Agatha's charms.

You found the two of them adorable, to be honest…

"This is Caspian, the man I told you about. And this is Y/N, a friend," Agatha introduced you.

You shook hands with Roger, or well, he crushed your hand more than shook it, actually. Caspian though didn't seem to notice, and by the surprise on Roger's face, the king must have matched his vigour in his handshake.

"Nice to meet the two of you. So, you're the one who needs my help."

"I am indeed," Caspian nodded.

"He needs to travel to England," Agatha explained. "But for a very complicated reason, that I will not tell you, so no need to ask… he doesn't have a passport."

"And can't make one?"

"I'm afraid not. He has no papers."

"None?

"It's a long story. But I would be grateful if you could help."

"For you, Agatha, anything. But I'll still need to know what papers you need and why you need them. It will change the quality of the copies."

You started to walk together down the path again, keeping your voices low, but there was no one around. And you seemed to be the only one nervous in the company.

"He needs to go to England. That's all."

"Hmm… that can be tricky. It would help if he wasn't going alone. Will you two travel with him?"

"I'll go," Agatha nodded.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Roger, with a look on his face signalling that he was using every braincell he had to a point that you expected smoke to pop out of his ears, cut you off.

"Are you two together? It would make the trip safer if you went as a couple."

"What?!" both Caspian and you exclaimed.

"Trust me! In my experience, families and couples are less suspicious than a lone man. It'll help greatly passing the security."

"Y/N is not travelling with us," Caspian shook his head.

"Shame. It would have helped."

"Can you help us get the papers?" Agatha drew the conversation back on track.

"Sure. It'll take a couple of weeks though. Will need a picture of your friend. A few info. Name etc. But nothing I can't handle."

"For the price…"

"Oh, Agatha. Don't insult me. All I want in exchange is to take you to the opera, like we used to, back in the days."

She giggled, but nodded all the same, and you promised yourself to make her tell you everything about it.

"I reckon you're losing in that bargain, my dear Roger."

"Oh, no. I'm winning."

It's only when Agatha took his arm, shifting the material of his coat, that you noticed the holster he wore, and were reminded that he was, indeed, a member of the mafia.

"I'll contact you when it's ready. But let's take a walk for now, it's a lovely afternoon," he went on.

After a few minutes, he and Agatha were leading the way, a few meters before you, lost in a conversation of their own. By your side, Caspian was walking in silence, merely appreciating the beauty of the park, and the joy that coursed through his soul at the thought of having you near him for just a little while longer.

"Really, Roger makes me feel like I'm lost on the set of the Godfather," you broke the comfortable silence surrounding the two of you.

Caspian frowned.

"Is it a book? Or a… I believe you call them… movies?"

"You know what a movie is?" you asked, surprised, and your eyes narrowed as you thought that maybe he had trapped himself. But there was no lie in his eyes when he answered.

"Agatha explained them to me and showed me one on her… what is the black screen called again?"

"A television." You smiled. It sounded more like the Caspian you knew.

"Yes! She showed me… I believe it was the War of the Stars?"

"Star Wars?"

"Yes! Star Wars! I didn't understand much of it, to be honest."

You broke into laughter.

"Well, she sure started strong!"

"It was such a strange story," Caspian went on, shaking his head and frowning. "They were in the sky!"

"Yeah! Well, for now we're still stuck here. On earth. Or on the moon, but it's not such a nice place to spend your holidays, really."

Caspian looked at you with shock.

"The moon? What do you mean?"

"Armstrong? He… walked on the moon."

"What?!"

"Decades ago. We sent a group of people to walk on the moon."

He was stopped in his tracks.

"How?"

"We built a very big… ship. And we sent them up there. I have to admit that I can't help you on the technicalities, I'm no scientist."

"You can go to the moon?"

"Well, not personally, but… some of us have been to the moon, and back. Yes."

"The moon?"

"Yes, the moon."

You laughed. That was it, you had broken him.

"That is amazing! Can you go further? Beyond the moon?"

"Not for now. But that's already not that bad I reckon."

"Not that bad?! It's… unbelievable! Can you go to the moon if you want to?"

"Oh, no! No, it's very dangerous and expensive, you don't just go to the moon like that. We haven't sent anyone in years, actually. There has to be a scientific interest or something…"

"This is still unfathomable to me."

"More than travelling from a world to another?"

He let out a laugh.

"I guess that you have a point."

You walked for a few minutes more in silence, and you had to admit that it was nice. Walking down the path, sunlight piercing through the branches of tall trees, red and yellow skeleton leaves gathering at your feet with the wind, and Caspian by your side, who looked so amazed to see all that surrounded him. He didn't seem so scared nor worried anymore. He seemed almost happy, and for some reason, seeing him like this made you happy too.

"What will you do for the two weeks you'll have to wait through to get your passport?" you asked him, tearing his attention away from the children feeding the ducks on your right he was staring at, so he could look at you again.

"I… I don't know. I haven't thought about it," Caspian admitted.

"You should visit New York! I mean… if there's nothing else you can do anyway, why not seize the opportunity."

Caspian shrugged, burying his hands in the pockets of his long black coat.

"I wouldn't want to bother Agatha more than needed. She is already doing a lot for me."

You tried to bite your tongue. You really did. Because your head screamed at you to not say what you were about to say, and yet you just couldn't stop the words as they passed your lips.

"I could help."

Caspian couldn't refrain a grin.

"Really?"

"Sure," you nodded, mentally slapping yourself. "I mean, it could be fun!"

"Well, I would love to, if it doesn't bother you."

"It doesn't bother me at all, I want to show you around," you answered, and your words were too earnest to be stopped.

You guessed that was why you couldn't suppress the offer, the truth was, you wanted to see him again, no matter how crazy his story was, and how much mystery still surrounded him. There was just… something about him. Telling you that you could trust him, making you want to be close to him, even for just a moment longer. And as you looked in your heart for the truth, you found out that you were ready to take the risk to be betrayed in return for now.

"Then, I would love to visit the town with you," he answered with a bright smile that made your heart beat a little faster… or, well… a lot faster…

"What about I pick you up tomorrow after lunch? What would you like to see?"

"I'll leave it all to you. I trust you to choose our destination."

"Great! It'll be a surprise then!"

"A perfect one, I am sure."

You exchanged a smile, and for the first time since he had arrived, Caspian didn't think about going home.

#Caspian #Caspian X #caspian x reader #King Caspian #caspian fanfic #caspian imagine #caspian x fanfic #caspian x imagine #narnia #narnia fanfiction #narnia imagine #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 6 years

Text

October Holidays

Modern AU short.

Warnings: strong language.

Masterlist

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It felt like the same struggle every year. They would all get together as a group and argue over what they all were going to do for the holidays. This holiday was of course Halloween. Gathered in a local café they had taken over one of the massive booths in the corner and dragged an extra table next to it with more seats. Everyone in the group had their eyes turned on you. Oh, this is great seriously every damn time I have to play mediator or be the one to tip the scales on what we do?

“So, what will it be?” Nobunaga asked as blunt as ever with his direct way of talking. Thankfully after growing up with him and the rest of the group you were used to his little quirks and didn’t snap at him for being arrogant and domineering. Well you didn’t do it very often at least.

“I don’t know. Seriously I don’t mind what we do. Movie night sounds great. I have no issue if you all want to go to that house party that Masa’s friend is having or doing that other thing. What was it again Haunted…?” Your voice is lacking enthusiasm right now. You know it is but you are also on your second cup of coffee and not one of these guys was coming up with a definitive answer as to what they prefer as a group. It felt like organizing that trip back in high school all over again.

“Haunted Tours. You get to pick from three different locations and classic tales of horror and role play as you enjoy the evening.” Mitsunari smiled as he pushed a pamphlet towards you. It looked professional and respectable enough. Unfolding it you can see the photos of the three locations. Abandoned Hospital, Abandoned Mansion and an Abandoned Castle. ‘Come and enjoy the sights and sounds on this fright night spectacular. Meet the characters from your favourite classics: Frankenstein, Dracula and Sherlock Holmes. Be part of the story and experience it first hand as you traverse the well-worn plots till dawns early light. Will you survive till morning?’. There was no doubt about it, it was different.

“Ok well I guess I would be up for this one this year. We can do movie night at any point and Masa is always getting invited to house parties and things so maybe a little roleplaying would be a nice change of pace.” You nod towards the pamphlet as you give it a small push back to the centre allowing the others to take a closer look at it if they want to.

“To think you would suggest role playing little mouse how adventurous of you.” Mitsuhide smirked in his usual teasing manner as he leaned towards you. You were never able to avoid him and his gaze. As hard as you tried he always managed to find a gap in your armour and sneak in making you blush. Deciding to ignore him and his taunting you give him a withering look and roll your eyes back towards the rest of the group.

“Well I’m up for anything you know that Kitten and this looks like a hoot to me.” Masa flipped over the information smiling at it.

“You think everything is a ‘hoot’.” Ieyasu mumbled from his seat next to him.

“You need to get your head out of those medical textbooks more often and enjoy yourself more mate.” Masa laughed and slapped Ieyasu on the shoulder earning him an icy glare in response.

“My medical textbooks are a requirement to achieve my degree. You wish to tell someone to get there head out of a book and interact more with the world around them then tell that to Mr Bookworm over there.” At Ieyasu’s words we all looked at our resident bibliophile. He had gone back to his book once more and was totally oblivious to the world around him and us.

“Hey Mitsunari you need to finish drinking our tea.” Hideyoshi tried to garner a response but was unsuccessful. Instead he opted for the tried and tested method of just placing the cup in the man’s hand for him and waiting while the muscle memory kicked into auto play motion and he began to drink his tea.

“I can’t believe after all these years he still does that. How the Hell does he survive?” Yukimura spoke with part of a chocolate chip muffin in his mouth.

“That’s simple he lives with Hideyoshi. And close your mouth when you are eating you’re not a wolf.” Kenshin was sitting at the opposite end of the table from you his presence as frosty as always, elegantly drinking a cup of tea. In school there was kind of a competition among the students to work out who would make the best king between him and Nobunaga. Both had their merits and flaws. Kenshin deemed the whole thing to be a waste of everyone’s time in the end and the matter was dropped.

“Well I say if our Angel wishes to take part in such an experience then we should accompany her. I simply cannot allow a beautiful woman to expose herself to such horrors without…” Shingen’s saccharine words flowed as freely as ever. For as long as you had known him he never seemed to run dry on his flattery. Insisting that all women are Angels or Goddesses in human form and going out of his way to treat them as such.

“I don’t see why not she is exposed to you often enough.” Nobunaga interrupts Shingen from by your elbow. Oh great. This was a familiar sight to you by now. The two had a history of arguing, the same could be said for everyone else at the table too if you were completely honest but Shingen and Nobunaga were a bit more… well just more. They had a way of arguing whilst maintaining perfect smiles, posture and tone that you begin to seriously question if you are actually witnessing an argument at all.

“Well I for one am looking forward to it. Shall we decide on what one we are going to do right now?” Sasuke interrupted the brewing conflict between Nobunaga and Shingen before Shingen could make his no doubt cutting retort. You quietly thank Sasuke giving him a smile. The group fell again back into comfortable companionship as we all discussed who wanted to do what.

---

After a lot of arguing and gaining the attention of Mitsunari for his input as well it was decided that the group was going to split between the three locations. Sasuke, Yukimura, Shingen and Mitsunari were going to go for the Sherlock Holmes option. Kenshin, Masamune, Ieyasu all went for Frankenstein. Which left Nobunaga, Mitsuhide and you with Dracula. To be completely honest everyone at the table that day had insisted that they all wished to go with you to the event but that was not only impractical it was also not possible. The company running the events had a number limit on each one and when Mitsuhide phoned to enquire about the bookings he was told about the available slots for each.

So here you were standing in front of a large and imposing set of cast iron gates leading their way to what was left of a castle. The air was cold and thanks to the low mist it seemed to want to cling to your skin through your clothing. Checking your watch once more for the correct time you began to wonder if either of your friends was going to ever show up. Suddenly your vision is completely lost replaced with darkness and the feel of cold leather on your skin you give a little yelp to the new sensation.

“Guess who.” The voice close to your ear was familiar you ended up smiling at the harmless prank even though the sensation of their breath on your neck made your skin tingle.

“Mm, lets see who do I know that wears leather gloves and plays guessing games?” Giggling whilst twisting in his grip you manage to free yourself and flash him one of your biggest smiles. “Mitsuhide!”

“Well that is just unfair my dear. You render me completely defenceless smiling at me like that.” He was smiling but something in it was a little different to normal. It sort of feels a bit more genuine.

“If you are completely defenceless then I am Santa Clause.” Nobunaga joined in the merriment as he joins the pair of you by the gates.

“You mean you’re not? I always thought you were.” Your sarcastic remark earns you a smirking playful smile from Nobunaga and a light pat on your backside as he leans in closer to you.

“Well I do have a way of knowing when you have been naughty [Name]” His voice is the same but different. It felt different. Perhaps it was just the fact that you were hyped up over the events of the evening you had planned. After all his teasing was nothing new. You swatted his shoulder as you moved a little away from them both just in time to see one of the tour guides reach the gates and beckon you through to start your evenings activity.

---

You were all shown to a private room filled with period costumes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a tv drama or movie. Clothes were hanging on rails and shoes were laid out on a couple of units next to them, a collection of accessories glittered under the lighting in the room. The necklaces twinkled and sparkled like crystal but you were sure they were no more than ornate glass. Still though it was amazing. You let out a small sigh as you let your hand run along the velvet fabric of one full length Victorian dress.

“That would suit you.” Nobunaga’s voice came much closer than you had expected it to causing you to jump. Pressing your hand to your chest you lightly chastise him.

“Don’t sneak up on me you made me jump.”

“So, you are saying I can make you jump as long as I don’t sneak up on you?” Nobunaga had that dangerous challenging tone in his voice and that I dare you gleam in his eyes. You remember it from school. It was one of the first things you learnt, you don’t challenge him to a game and expect to win. The same could be said for the other companion you had tonight in your little group.

“I don’t know I think that this might be rather more flattering on [Name].” Mitsuhide held a loft a dress that seemed to resemble some sort of negligee. The fabric was not exactly sheer but it certainly would cling and leave no mystery whatsoever about what lay beneath. Nobunaga chuckled looking at your face as it moved between shock and settled on exasperation.

“If you like it so much then you wear it.” Your tone was even as you shot down the wardrobe suggestion from the yellow eyed trickster.

“If only it were in my size little mouse I may have considered it.” His smile didn’t faulter as he shrugged forcing a rather dramatic sigh from his lips before shooting you a wink that sent a shiver right up your spine. Honestly what is with me tonight?

After using the screens in the room to get dressed in the deep red crushed velvet gown you had found before you moved to the accessories table. You let your hand drift over the items before settling on something ornate and simple for your hair. You have just pinned it into place when you feel the light pressure and ice cold of something around your neck. A long loose chain with droplets of clear facetted glass was draped on you. A set of nimble fingers ghosted lightly over your apex of your shoulders to the base of your neck as they fastened the clasp.

“There now that is much better. You almost look like a lady.” The low tone of their voice doing nothing by way of cloaking their verbal jaunt.

“What do you mean almost? I am a lady you snake in the grass.” Mitsuhide laughed at your attempt to lash out at him. He could see your heart wasn’t really in the mind to hurt him and he just smiled eating up your reactions. He was dressed in a rather nice evening suit it was something that would not go a miss at any high-class black-tie event and you almost question if he actually bothered to get changed into period clothing at all.

“Now now Mitsuhide, if you tire her out now she won’t be able to enjoy the evenings activities.” Nobunaga’s voice emerged as he did a few moments later from behind another screen. He looked like an English gentleman at leisure. The smoking jacket he had on was the same colour as your dress the detailing on the cuffs and lapel was immaculate and gave it an extra grand flourish, very Nobunaga. After adjusting his cufflinks Nobunaga extended his arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Well, shall we?” And like that you all left the changing room and started your evening of roleplaying.

---

If you had thought the event was going to run exactly as if you were part of the book you were wrong. It was based on the book but was set up more like one of those murder mystery locked room events with actors popping up and giving you a good fright every once in a while. You were each given a character at the beginning and a clue. Working together or individually in each room you entered had a puzzle to it. Mitsuhide had breezed through most leaving you behind. Nobunaga for some reason was hanging back. You were certain he had already found his clues in-between the shock set ups that the tour creators had made where actors popped out with choreographed random moments to scare you.

“Now let’s see ‘I am the same but different. I have a shadow but no reflection.’ What on earth is that?” As you look around the room your eyes settle on the man with you. Nobunaga isn’t looking anywhere but directly at you smiling at your confusion.

“I never get tired of looking at you.” His voice was soft and commanding as he drew closer to you. Something about it rendered you immobile.

“Don’t be so mean if you are going to hang around you could at least be helpful.” You wave the paper in front of yourself at the approaching man. He gets close enough to see it but he doesn’t stop. Each step forward pushes you back by instinct until you are backed into the wall of the room. The lights flicker and whilst you are disorientated you feel the sudden warmth and pressure of him as he presses against you.

“Nobunaga?” The tremor of uncertainty in your voice makes him smile more as he leans towards you. His breath on you neck sends every hair on your body into an alert sense of awareness. Your mind fogs over. This is the guy I grew up with. He’s a friend. He won’t hurt me, he’s arrogant and pushy… stubborn. He… he’s…

“I believe we have completed our little game my dear.” Nobunaga’s lips brushed your ear lobe as he spoke. He had you locked in place not just with his words or the arm he had next to you on the wall but with his blood red eyes. They glittered like rubies in the simulated gas lighting. Beautiful.

“What do you mean we’re finished the object of the game was to…” You somehow found your voice even if now it was only a whisper. Your breath catching in your throat as you tried to communicate.

“To solve the riddles and find the vampire.” Slipping his free hand around your waist dragging you even closer to him you fail to hide the gulp you take as you realise all to late exactly how much he has had your mouth watering. Yes, he was the guy you grew up with but for the first time you weren’t seeing that.

“Allow me to introduce myself Mina.” Your eyes go wide as he uses your assigned name and turn your face towards him. “My name is Vlad Dracul... you may prefer to call me Dracula.” Before you have time to react he moves faster than you have seen him ever do before his face nestled in the nape of your neck followed by a searing sharp pain.

The strength leaves your body as you tilt into his bite and give a small moan in response. You can feel his lips tweak into his classic knowing smile. His hands roam over your outline as he continues to nibble and tease the sensitive flesh on you exposed neckline.

Words have completely abandoned you, your head is swirling with the knowledge that this man is Nobunaga the one in school they called the Devil King. The guy who you knew always had your back no matter what was wrong and now he was Dracula reclaiming his lost love after a lifetime of searching and at this moment in time you were completely ok with that.

---

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neusex420 · 4 years

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Detective Donovan Oliver Ryan.

He wakes up at 4 am, earlier than he had to, but he couldn’t sleep again. It was happening with more and more frequency lately. The detective often rose before the sun, predictable, like clockwork. He had been dreaming of home. It’s a reoccuring nightmare he hates. The thought of that impossibly long stretch of beach is all that haunts him as he blinks away the exhaustion from his eyes. Bright spots on the ceiling dance in front of his vision. A case file was perched on his chest, a few of the papers crinkled at the ages, some scattered over the rumpled sheets besides him. Oliver had fallen asleep in his contacts, still perched atop the unmade duvet in a mess of white and grey cotton, reading through witness reports. None of them were actual witnesses, he grumbles bitterly. No one had actually seen them disappear.

No one had seen Alfie or Caroline disappear either.

Not even him.

It’s jarring, how similar the cases are, even if they’re quite different. Romero and Julia had no /him/, he tries to reason, no third, strange, inexplicable, unsolved mystery left behind. Their example, their disappearance, proved mystery enough. He couldn’t decide which was worse.

Oliver forces himself out of bed, even if it’s dark and cold and wet outside, a light rain storm creating a symphony of sound against the impossible stretch of glass he has for a bedroom wall. The horizon extends deftly before him, the ocean meeting the skyline in the warmest shades of dark blue. It was truly his favorite view. He doesn’t mind running against the rain, especially the warm kind of tropical rain they had here, the kind he prefered, so different from the chilly sheets of ice that seemed to always fall in Ireland in the early spring. He remembers hating March the worst, even if his friends disappeared in the summer, in June, after exams.

He likes the beach here, especially because it’s so different from home.

Suited up in a rain slicker and his jogging pants, he leaves the comfort of his flat and begins his usual route down the private stretch of beach sat near his and another condominium complex. He likes routine, falls into it easily, and finds the monotony of the beach helps him forget the dreams he hates. Usually. That’s almost the main reason he runs, he thinks, is the fact that it clears his head so thoroughly, makes it impossible to focus on anything else except the compacted, wet sand beneath the soles of his trainers, or the sea foam that occasionally veers into his path. Except today, he isn’t so lucky. He thinks of Caroline in particular. He remembers something new, the smallest of details; it was a red and yellow polka-dot ribbon that she wore in her hair, always a perfect bow, tied to keep golden tresses out of her eyes, especially in the summer heat. He had returned with it the night they disappeared, the silk crumpled in his little fist. He hadn’t remembered where his friends had gone, or what had happened to them, or why he had blood all over his tattered and torn clothes, but he had her ribbon. That had to mean something.

Though neither Oliver nor the detectives back home were ever able to figure it out.

He stops right as a wave crashes against the shore, startling him. His breath is far heavier than it usually is at this point in the run. Leaning forward, hands against his knees, he sucks air desperately into his lungs, attempting to dispel all thoughts of that damned ribbon, but he just bloody can’t. The empty beach that usually provides such solace to him only suffocates him further, the salt nearly acidic in his nose. He releases a sputtering cough before turning back in the direction he came, running even harder.

Luckily, he doesn’t remember anything else.

Kicking off his soiled shoes in the foyer, Oliver is greeted by a drawn-out meow and the blank stare of his cat’s yellow eyes carefully blinking up at him. He knows she’s hungry, demanding her breakfast, as he reaches to scratch at the scruff of tabby fur at her neck. She follows him into the kitchen, darting in and out between his legs, where he quickly arranges her meal, appeasing her consistent mewls. He goes for a shower after that, desperate to rid himself of any reminder of the failed attempt at a morning run. It seems that everything he used to enjoy isn’t working anymore. He needs to stop thinking about Caroline. There are two missing teenagers that deserve his focus and attention. Those traits were what had made him so good at his job in the first place, able to quickly climb the ranks in what felt like no time at all.

Why was it all coming back to him now?

He’s drunk, usually is after his long work days, though today proved exceptionally long, so Oliver found it only fitting that he get exceptionally drunk. He’d usually go to Lucky’s, where it seemed most of Key Biscayne’s police would go following the end of a shift, but he didn’t particularly feel like socializing with his coworkers all too much after the day he had. Nor did the loud, bumbling bar atmosphere appeal to him in any sense. So he went home, sat on his sofa, cuddled up to Ginger Snaps, nursed an entire bottle of whiskey followed by another of red wine his cousin had gotten him from a trip abroad, though from where he wasn’t sure. He didn’t bother reading the label.

After a while, the loneliness began to seep its way into the marrow of Oliver’s bones. He had forgotten about his phone, but notices the barrage of new messages left unread. Sasha’s name, printed in simple helvetica, flashes across the screen. Even though she didn’t have a contact picture, he could still see her face when he closed his eyes. Warm, honey brown irises and an alluring smile that makes his heart race. She was what Summer would’ve looked like if she’d been afforded the chance of growing older, Oliver had determined when he’d first laid eyes on the administrator at his fresh-out-of-uni job. It had been startling to see someone look so much like the girl he had loved and longed for, the girl he had mourned for over four years. But she was nice and charming and he couldn’t fault her for nearly being the most haunting physical manifestation of his past. Like she was Summer’s ghost.

So he slept with her instead. Maybe against his better judgement, but Oliver never swore himself to perfection. He made mistakes - and lots of them - though he couldn’t consider sleeping with Sasha to be a mistake either. He knew Summer would’ve wanted him to move on a long time ago if she had a say in his life after her passing, and it had been a while after meeting Sasha that he no longer felt guilty about desiring her, and fantasizing about her.

He responds after some time, inviting Sasha to his flat in a concise message, even if it’s late. He’s sure she’s had a few to drink herself already (and hopes she calls an uber because he hates when his mates drive drunk), though he still opens another bottle of whiskey, arranging it and two glass tumblers on his coffee table, poised for her arrival, even though she has yet to reply. He waits patiently, staring at the expanse of ocean separated only by thick paned glass. He wonders if Alfie and Caroline had drowned, caught up in some undertow, unable to swim against the current. Oliver thought of their tiny bodies lost afloat somewhere in those frigid waters they rarely ever swam in, lips tinged blue. It had been a long time ago. The Irish police didn’t have the money or resources American departments had for wild searches or man hunts. Two children could’ve easily drifted to sea, unnoticed.

Snaps hears the noise first, ears perked and tuned to the crunching of tires on the gravel of his front drive. Oliver waits for the sound of the car to drive away, though that doesn’t follow, and instead catches his doorbell ringing twice. Standing, he ambles to the door, opening it for Sasha.

“You know, I hate it when you drive drunk,” he murmurs, tone docile despite the implication.

“I’m not drunk,” she asserts, stepping into the threshold. He takes in her appearance and removes her cardigan from her shoulders, hanging it on his coat rack.

“You smell like hops and bar food,” he notes. He was a detective. It was his job to be observant. He wonders where she went before coming here, since it took her so long to arrive, though he doesn’t bother asking.

Sasha shoots him an appraising look before turning down his hallway. Oliver follows after her, lulled by the sound of her deep, honeyed voice washing over him like melting butter. “Trust me, I’ve sobered up.” He can tell something is bothering her though he decides not to prod, instead props himself against the wall in front of her and watches as she plops herself down on his furniture, pouring a casual cup full of whiskey. “You’re the one who didn’t respond… could’ve been fucking by now if you had responded.” The amber liquid sloshes against the side of the glass.

He chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Right shame, innit? Guess m’only good for m’whiskey a shag, yeah?” Oliver can’t fight the grin that overtakes the bottom half of his features. He loved teasing her. She smirks back at him, shaking her head defiantly.

“And don’t forget your precious cat!”

It’s a few days later when the department holds a press conference and there’s an information session at The Shack that the detective is reminded of another part of his past. Oliver hates press conferences, hates having to stand before a crowd of civilians and answer questions he often doesn’t know the answers to, so he nursed as many whiskeys as the open bar provided, tilting his glass repeatedly for a refill. His partner promises her daughter will be there, ‘and she’s beautiful, though I swear I’m not just saying that ‘cause I’m her mom,’ and she hunts him down after a while, spotting him as he’d abandoned his place at the bar. She calls him Sherlock, Sergeant Mikayla Verdone, and he’s sure he would’ve made a move on her if he’d met her at a pub in her younger years. She was good at her job, most importantly, and Oliver liked her - not just as a partner, but as a woman. So he’s far from against meeting someone she’s raised.

He hadn’t expected her daughter to be Lexi though.

He remembers her from uni well, especially the late night trysts they often shared in his years as an upperclassman, the two of them locked away in the comfort of his off campus flat. She’d been spunky and fun, full of jokes that somehow matched his humor seamlessly. Though he had never been much of a partier, they met at one his football mates had managed to drag him to and had been promptly introduced by mutual friends. They’d begun snogging on the back patio before the night had even ended. Oliver found comfort in Lexi’s presence back then, found comfort even in the simplest of things about her, like the smell of her perfume, a rich scent with strong notes of gardenia and citrus. It washes over him even now, and he’s thankful for the privacy they’re afforded after her mum wanders off in search of her husband. He asks her how she’s been, and he’s genuinely interested in her answer. He missed her, even if he hadn’t realized it until then.

But unfortunately, life often gets in the way.

They chat for a while, light conversation about Lexi’s job at Sunset Academy and Oliver’s position as detective on Romero and Julia’s case. Neither bothers discussing the aforementioned case itself; Oliver knows he didn’t have the energy to after listening to the Sergeant read Sasha’s pre written statement to the press and public earlier in the evening. It’d been a lot for the department to admit that they hadn’t really gotten as far with the case as they should be by now, especially since most people were aware that if missing people weren’t found after the first 72 hours, they often couldn’t be found at all.

The thought that Romero and Julia might never be found nearly sickened him.

He notices Sasha from across the room. She watches them together, Oliver and Lexi, with a peculiar expression on her face, one that he can’t quite discern. He nods his head at her in greeting, turning back to Lexi with a kind smile. Part of him smug, the other curious; was she jealous? “Would you excuse me for a tick, love?” The two part, the detective leaning in to impart two quick kisses to each of the young teacher’s flushed cheeks.

Oliver has an inkling of a suspicion that this isn’t the last time he’s going to see Lexi in the foreseeable future, can feel it in the pit of his stomach. The feeling comforts him some. He hopes he’s right.

He doesn’t hunt down Sasha like he had originally planned to after leaving Lexi’s side, nor does he bother stopping to speak to anyone else, doesn’t have it in him to. He narrowly avoids Kellan near the appetizer table by slipping out a back door near the toilets reserved for wait and cook staff, stepping out into a back alley welcomed by the fresh, evening air. He pulls an old school silver cigarette holder from his pocket, one of his only momentos from life in Ireland, a gift left to him from his great-granddad from the war, and places a cigarette he’d rolled earlier in the day between his lips.

He thinks of Romero and Julia. What if they’d just wanted an escape from it all, just ran away?

What if Alfie and Caroline had just ran away themselves? Probably could’ve done it too, he figures. They were both quite intelligent for their ages, always receiving top marks; had a lot of street smarts too. The pair were more than capable, especially together.

The thought hurts, physically pains him - not that they could be out there after all this time he’s believed them to be dead, really, even though he has thought them to be dead until this very moment, but because they didn’t invite him to run away with them. Because they were out there somewhere whilst he was still stuck in this life.

He blows a plume of smoke out of his mouth with a sigh before muttering lowly to himself. “Bloody hell.”

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ferocioushonesty · 7 years

Text

REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY.

BASICS. FULL NAME : Aristide Javert NICKNAME : n/a AGE : ~50 is default, generally 40s-50s BIRTHDAY : January 1 ETHNIC GROUP : Romani. NATIONALITY : French. LANGUAGE / S : French, Romani; with the addition of some Spanish in modern verse. SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Bisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Demiromantic. RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Single (verse dependent) CLASS : Working class. HOME TOWN / AREA : Toulon, France. CURRENT HOME : Paris, France. PROFESSION : Law enforcement in nearly every verse, except when he’s in the army. or a werewolf

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Very dark brown, which fact is most noticeable in bright sunlight; otherwise it tends to look black. It’s long, lustrous, thick and surprisingly soft with a slight wave, nearly always pulled back in a simple ponytail. In canon this is done with ribbons, sometimes in silk and color for special occasions. EYES : Deep-set almond shaped eyes of a striking, even unsettling silvery grey hue. They give off a strange impression of glowing at night. NOSE : Large, flattened-looking, seems broken in at least one place. Prominent and very big nostrils. FACE : Broad and squareish with a generous cliff of a jaw surrounded by copious whiskers and not a lot of forehead. LIPS : Thin lips, slightly darker than his skin with a pinkish cast. COMPLEXION : Light copper with a slightly cool undertone. BLEMISHES : Birthmark on his right heel, oddly shaped. SCARS : Several shallow scars on his hands and arms, one long scratch on his neck, one deep stab wound on his chest. TATTOOS : None. HEIGHT : 6′4″ WEIGHT : 190 lbs. BUILD : Large. FEATURES : Rectangular, blunt, heavily covered with bushy sideburns. ALLERGIES : None. USUAL HAIR STYLE : Pulled back in a tight ponytail. USUAL FACE LOOK : It’s less severe in modern verse, but it’s a question of degrees. He always seems to be frowning. He looks formidable, forbidding. Like he’s not someone you want to cross. Of course, that mostly goes for lawbreakers. He rarely smiles; while on duty, it’s reserved for moments of great success. Those who see it and are not also with the police will be unnerved at the least. USUAL CLOTHING : No matter the century Javert always looks immaculately put together, with inexpensive but meticulous clothing. In canon era he’s almost always wrapped in a long coat; underneath it is black and white outfits, leather stock or a simple white cravat. Capping him at either end are black leather boots and a top hat. In modern, at work he always wears a variation of the same outfit, cheap wool suits with shirt and tie. The only variety comes with the colors— the suits are usually black or grey, but the shirts besides white also come in pastels, and the ties in rich hues like maroon, navy blue, etc. Outside work— rare but it does happen— he wears more comfortable clothes, jeans and t-shirt, hoodie. For the non-existent dates, he’d wear another suit but in a rich color like royal blue.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Failure, uncertainty ASPIRATION / S : To uphold the law and remain beyond reproach himself POSITIVE TRAITS : Diligent, hard-working, intelligent, motivated, honest NEGATIVE TRAITS : Stubborn, rigid, narrow-minded, impatient, unsympathetic MBTI : ISTJ ZODIAC : Capricorn. TEMPERAMENT : Choleric (phlegmatic a close second). SOUL TYPE / S : hunter/leader ANIMALS : Wolf, bulldog, hound, tiger VICE HABIT / S : Occasionally a pinch of snuff. In modern verse he smokes cigarettes often. FAITH : Agnostic— without proof one way or the other he’s not willing to say God doesn’t exist, but if he does, it’s as a distant creator. Mostly he doesn’t care because it’s irrelevant to his work. GHOSTS ? : No. AFTERLIFE ? : No. REINCARNATION ? : No. ALIENS ? : No. In an X-Files AU, he’s the Scully. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Conservative. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : He’d prefer to be comfortable, but he doesn’t have many needs and beyond that he doesn’t care. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : Working class EDUCATION LEVEL : mostly self-taught in canon era, baccalauréat(/high school) and some night school classes in modern.

FAMILY. FATHER : Fermin Xabier, thief and general conman MOTHER : Inès, fortune-teller SIBLINGS : Unknown EXTENDED FAMILY : None he knows or cares about. NAME MEANING / S : Aristide comes ultimately from the Greek for “best” and a patronymic suffix. Javert is the gallicized form of his father’s surname, meaning “new house.” (To be precisely accurate it should have been Chabert or Chavert but he wanted as much separation from the man as he could get without actually denying the truth.) HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : As newly created name, Javert has none; Xa(v)ier was the name of a saint. Aristides the Just was known for his integrity, called “the best and most honourable man in Athens.”

FAVOURITES. BOOK : He reads, but not for fun. The closest he comes to this is probably a law manual. MOVIE : He doesn’t watch a lot of movies or love the ones he does. Something where things are pretty black and white and the good guys win by honest means. Especially ones with solidly moral lawmen, of course. True Grit, maybe? 5 SONGS : “Remember the Name” - Fort Minor; “Run Run” - Indila; “Le Chat” - Pow woW; “Twist and Shout” - the Beatles; “Livin’ La Vida Loca” - Ricky Martin DEITY : indifferent, would say God though. HOLIDAY : Halloween MONTH : None. SEASON : Autumn. PLACE : Ile de la Cité, the quais WEATHER : just before a storm SOUND : fire crackling, the crunch of boots in the snow, the tap of a cane on pavement SCENT / S : leather, sandalwood, fresh rain, fungi TASTE / S : blood, spicy, dark chocolate FEEL / S : cool marble, calloused hands, suede ANIMAL / S : wolf, tiger, dog, hawk NUMBER : No comment. COLOUR : royal blue

EXTRA. TALENTS : investigation, disguise, obeying authority. BAD AT : compassion, feelings, not being a judgmental asshole. Failure. TURN ONS : directness, honesty, good character; literal turn-ons: hair-pulling, the chase, dominance, power play, biting & scratching, strength, playfulness. TURN OFFS : crying, dishonesty, crime, poor people, filth, disorder, waste. HOBBIES : savate, stars. Is reading technically a hobby if he hates it? TROPES : Well, naturally there’s the Inspector Javert; also Boomerang Bigot, Awesomeness by Analysis, Badass Boast & Big Damn Heroes in the same scene, Black and White Insanity, Celibate Hero, Deadpan Snarker, Driven to Suicide, Evil Cannot Comprehend Good, Face Death With Dignity, The Fettered, Kill Me Now or Forever Stay Your Hand, Knight Templar, Redemption Equals Death, Sherlock Scan,Troubled Sympathetic Bigot,Turn In Your Badge, Two Roads Before You, The Unsmile, Villainous Breakdown AESTHETIC TAGS : idk what this is. GPOY QUOTES : “He who labors diligently will never know despair, for all things are accomplished by diligence and labor.” “Not only did you violate the rules, you also failed to understand the principal lesson.”

FC INFO. MAIN FC / S : Anthony Perkins, Benjamin Bratt ALT FC / S : Javier Bardem, Edgar Ramirez OLDER FC / S : Adrian Schiller? YOUNGER FC / S : Tyler Posey, Adam Rodriguez, Daniel Radcliffe, Richard Armitage VOICE CLAIM / S : don’t ask me to choose but a selection— Ignasi Vidal, Tam Mutu, Jacques Mercier, Norm Lewis, Earl Carpenter GENDERBENT FC / S : None.

#[ 𝓂𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒾𝑒𝓊𝓇 𝓁'𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓊𝓇 // ABOUT. ]#[ 𝓈𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓇𝑒 𝓊𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓉𝑒 𝒹𝑒 𝒥𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓉 // HC. ]#long post #bc i realized the readmore on the reblog goes to the archived blog #it's less messy this way

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sherlockxreader · 7 years

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30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 18

Day 18: Doing something together

Summary: Sherlock has a surprise for you on your anniversary Author: Maddy (@laterthantherabbit) Words: 2025 Characters/Relationships: Sherlock x reader Warnings: None

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You loved London as much as the next person. It was a great city and a beautiful one at that, however there were some things you missed from the country house you grew up in; the fresh green hills outside the kitchen windows, the wildflowers that grew along the path to the lake and the sweetened air that seemed to be lost once you neared the cities of England. Most of all though, you missed the stars. In London, the city lights and heavy pollution blocked out the twinkling lights, even on a clear day. You might’ve seen patches of the navy sky, sparkling with the distant stars on somedays, but it could never compare to the clearness and darkness at the country house which allowed the entire sky to be illuminated by white starlight. You had told Sherlock of your childhood home, and of the lake you swam in and of the flowers you picked and pressed, however it was when you spoke of your summer nights stargazing in the cottage’s garden, surrounded by honey-scented roses and the night’s sound that always brightened your eyes and widened your smile the most. It was this that inspired the events of your anniversary today on one of the colder days of England’s Spring.

Sherlock had awoken you gently at eight in the morning with a kiss and some tea. “Get ready soon love,” he had said, “We will need to leave in about an hour to make it.”

“Make it where?” You looked at him quizzically, your eyes bleary from sleep and your hair mussed from tossing and turning. He had just smiled and kissed you again, stale breath be damned, his hand cupped on your cheek and his thumb stroking your skin. You yawned and began to make your way to the bathroom and saw that sitting at the foot of the bed were two small travel cases, packed and ready for whatever lay ahead. You shook your head affectionately as you realised that Sherlock must have stayed up for the majority of the night packing the cases, or had already had them packed when you had fallen asleep that night. You showered away the remaining fatigue in your body and emerged from the bathroom to find a folded outfit already in the bed. You reached for the clothes and found them warm, heated up in the dryer by the man mucking around in the living room. You smiled to yourself as you dressed in the cozy dark green sweater and worn in jeans. He had even warmed your socks for you, knowing your affinity for wearing them at all times. You felt warm and fuzzy from the attention Sherlock had put into everything for you as you made your way into the living room and then kitchen, where you saw him packing another, smaller bag with water and an assortment of snacks, all of them your favourite you noted. You hugged Sherlock tightly from behind and kissed him in the middle of his shoulder blades. “Happy Anniversary Sherlock.” He turned and tilted your head upwards to kiss you lightly on the lips before he handed you a warm plate of toast with marmite.

“Happy Anniversary Y/N.” You smiled more as you saw the breakfast he had made and heard the affection in his voice. You pecked his lips once more before you ate your toast and wandered around the kitchen as you observed Sherlock and his actions, as was your habit at breakfast.

“We’re going on an overnight trip?”

“Yes.”

“And we’re driving there?”

“Yes. I know you prefer travelling by car rather than by train, even if it will take us nearly all day to arrive, which is why we’re staying for two nights.”

“And where will we be staying?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” Sherlock glanced up from the now packed bag and smirked in your direction. You groaned without any heat in it and settled the plate in the sink.

“Okay then. When do we have to go?” Sherlock looked at the clock on the wall, which read 8:42.

“About now actually. You go finish up and I’ll take the bags.” Sherlock lifted the bag in the kitchen onto his shoulders, kissed your forehead and moved into the bedroom to gather the rest of the luggage. You washed the plate half-heartedly and brushed your teeth. As you tried to find your phone your realised that it and the lightning cord were missing, as was the book on your bedside table.

“What the…” You bent down to look under the bed, yet you didn’t see your phone there either.

“I already packed all your travelling necessities into the car.” Sherlock leaned on the door frame as you rummaged around your bed. You huffed out a laugh as you heard him.

“You really put some thought into this didn’t you?”

“I did. Now, if you would follow me, we have a long drive ahead of us.” Sherlock reached out his hand for you to take and lead you down the stairs of 221B and outside into the crisp air of the morning. You saw that directly in front of you was an silver car ready for travel. Sherlock continued to lead you to the passenger side of the vehicle and when you sat down into the seat, you saw that your phone was indeed charging beside you. “You books are beneath your seat and, as you already know, food and drinks are in the backpack just behind me.” Sherlock said as he adjusted himself in the driver’s seat and began to drive through the city. You felt your eyes grow heavy once more as the movements of the car swayed you slightly, as the movement always did. “Sleep Y/N. I’ll wake you when we stop.” You nodded your head and shuffled yourself in your seat before you drifted into sleep once more.

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You woke again when the sun had risen higher in the sky and had warmed the window of the car. You lifted your head and turned your neck, stretching your legs and arms in the space. You felt relaxed as you looked around at the surroundings you were in. Gone were the buildings of the bustling city and instead there were green pastures either side of the curved road. “Good morning Y/N.” You turned to look at Sherlock, who was alternating his gaze from the road to you.

“Good morning. Where are we?”

“We’re nearly at Birmingham. I’m going to stop for fuel there, so you can use the loo and such if you need to before we make our way to where we’ll be staying.”

“Okay.” You licked your lips and reached into the back where the bag of snacks were. You pulled out a bottle of water for yourself and one for Sherlock and also grabbed a bag of jelly babies. You handed the bottle of water to Sherlock, who took it gratefully, and opened the bag of sweets. You laughed as Sherlock immediately plunged his hand into the bag to grab a couple of the jelly babies, despite his insistent acknowledgment of his body being just transport. You ate a few of the lollies, humming contently as their flavour burst across your tongue, which casted you back to a time of summer breezes at the cottage.

You talked and ate with Sherlock all the way to Birmingham about the case he had just finished, getting wrapped up in the details and excitement that enveloped the level 8 case. Sherlock filled with fuel as you went inside the nearby cafe and bought two coffees for the both of you. You argued playfully with him as you tried to take over driving for some time, to which he absolutely refused and instead forced his way into the driver side you were blocking by clambering over from the passenger side. You admitted defeat and instead decided to read the rest of your book for the next period of driving. You had gotten a decent way through the story and as the sun begun to set, Sherlock draped a long piece of black silk over the words. “What’s this?” You lifted it up to inspect the simple piece of fabric.

“It’s your blindfold.”

“Are you kidding?” You laughed and shook your head. “Why would I need this? I still don’t know where we’re going!”

“I want it to be a surprise but I can't do that it you see it from in here. We’re nearly there anyway, I promise. It’ll only be for a few minutes.” Sherlock looked to you, his eyes pleading for him. You rolled yours and relented, tying the black strip across your eyes so the world disappeared from view. You turned back to where Sherlock was sitting, seeing nothing more than some dark shapes in front of a slightly lighter background which was quickly becoming dimmer and dimmer.

“Okay fine. Better?”

“Much, thank you.” You felt Sherlock press a kiss to your nose at which you giggled and swatted him away, or would have if he hadn’t moved, making you swipe air instead.

“Watch the road Sherl! Geez we’ll never make it you crash the thing.” You felt that car slow and turn right, off the bitumen and onto a slightly bumpy dirt road.

“We’re fine. Relax.” You sat in the comfortable quiet for a few more minutes, the little light from the setting sun disappearing as night took its place. You felt the car turn in a wide loop before stopping and turning off and you heard Sherlock get out of the car and move towards your side. He opened the door and lead you out a couple of steps, the gravel crunching loudly underfoot and the air cooling with the night. He twisted you body around to face a certain direction, which one you couldn’t tell. You could hear a breeze sifting through the leaves of some nearby trees and you could also hear the chirp of birds in the distance and crickets begin to stir. You swore the air smelled and tasted cleaner wherever you were and when Sherlock removed your blindfold, you could see why. You were facing the most beautiful meadow you had ever seen, the green grass lush and swaying in the breeze and the rising moon illuminating the area so it appeared bathed in silver. You turned to see trees surrounding you on your sides and behind you was a magnificent country home, similar to the one you remembered but bigger. What made you gasp and made tears come to your eyes, however, was the sky. Without the lights of a city, the stars were bright and as the night was clear you could see not just patches but the entire night blanketed by the sparkling lights. It was more beautiful than you ever imagined and the scene was sweetened by the presence beside you. You cried out in joy and sprung into Sherlock’s arms as he swung you in a small circle before setting you back on the ground, wiping away some joyful tears that had spilled in your actions.

“This is one of the property’s my family own. I inherited it when I turned eighteen. You told me how much you missed the country, the stars especially and I convinced Mycroft to have this house cleaned for this weekend. Do you like it?”

“I love it! It’s nearly like the one I lived in, but mine was much smaller.” You smiled widely as you turned around several more times to look around at the stunning property. You stared up for a moment, absorbing the sight of the twinkling sky before you stopped and looked to Sherlock. You kissed him passionately and then rested your head on his chest, looking out at the meadow as the moon rose further into the sky. “Thank you for bringing me here.” He embraced you tightly as he kissed your head and placed his on yours, his eyes fixed on the sky you adored and he had yet to understand above.

“Anything for you.”

#30 day challenge #sherlockxreader #sherlock holmes #sherlock fanfiction #maddy #maddy writes #laterthantherabbit

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bphillipyork · 4 years

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Booklover, Bibliophile, Bookworm, Papyriophile?

Ever since I was young I’ve loved to read.

But the books I feel the most comfortable with are mass-market paperbacks. In a form of escapism, I read exhaustively, reading the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes when I was 7, as well as an old English version of Le Morte de Artur (which, as I recall, was not a paperback but a tattered hardback, falling to pieces in my fingers). Later I read the Chronicles of Prydain, the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, about the Dragonriders of Pern, and various other secondary world fantasy and science fiction pieces.

Children have a sense of wonder and whimsy that is often taken from them by the cynical nature of the world, and the harsh realities of existence in the 21st century. I think it’s in part, for this reason, that science fiction and fantasy are so often derided as child-like. Personally I think this description is false. Certainly, from time to time, there is an argument to be made that genre fiction can lack some of the elegance and grace and frankly strong prose as works pretentiously labeled literature. And there is a question to be asked: why engage in all the necessities of secondary world-building if the purpose of your piece is simply to examine the human condition? Creating a world out of whole cloth simply adds another layer of complexity, detail orientation, and drudgery to the task of writing. Why bother if it isn’t to mask the lack of craft with adherence to (or rejection of) genre tropes?

I think the answer can be that all that secondary world-building can add a layer of richness to writing and question whether the way things are is really the way they need to be, ought to be, and why they even came to be. Many people seem to imagine that history has a kind of inevitability to it, that things turned out as they were supposed to, an inherently flawed and teleological view of history. Any student of the middle ages will tell you that it was not inevitable that Harold Godwinson lose the battle of Hastings in 1066 and that it was surely not inevitable that the French rulers of England would spend centuries fighting the French rulers of France for control of their holdings on the continent.

There is a kind of historical imagination, and that historical imagination is often fleshed out by works of fantasy. Most Americans today study little history, and really no “real” history whatsoever. Instead, they received a desultory tourist view of America that is highly fictionalized in order to support a specific narrative of righteousness and inevitability that supports the current power structure. Frequently, for example, the founding fathers are misrepresented as Christians, when the overwhelming majority of their diaries confirm they were at best deists and simply made sure to publicly do nothing that would cause their Christianity to be questioned. To quote Jefferson (writing to John Adams) “The day will come when the mystical generation of Jesus by the Supreme Being in the womb of a virgin, will be classed with the fable of the generation of Minerva in the brain of Jupiter.” Yet religious fundamentalists continually selectively quote the public addresses of these men out of context in order to support their Christian-supremacist narrative. This is fantasy.

But it is not really fantastic.

Fantasy, or science-fiction, or speculative fiction if you prefer, can question the very fundamental nature of our reality. It is often taken as a given that aliens will essentially look like strange humans, they will be bipedal, upright, bilaterally symmetrical. Season after season of Star Trek for example simply portrays humans with masks on as aliens. Rarely can they even be bothered with something as simple as a tail. Star Wars almost always falls into the same canard. The reason for this, rather than any grand anthropomorphization of the universe, is probably simply a cost-benefit analysis and the complexity of actually portraying true aliens (and marketing them). But I believe it reinforces the idea that the universe is fundamentally a human place. It isn’t.

Secondary world building then, can challenge this narrative, and make people realize how strange and grand the human experience is, and how unlikely it is to be repeated. If we ever puzzle out why the universe is so quiet and do in fact encounter an alien species they may share virtually nothing in common with us. The number of ways they could be radically different from us on a gross morphological level is nearly endless; and this doesn’t even consider the truly bizarre, like a species of sapient silicon fungal blooms that communicate through colors we cannot perceive.

Flights of fancy can free one for a time from the prison of reality, and speculative fiction often does that for me. When the medium is acidic cheap paper encased in a soft cardboard cover that I can bend back around I can escape all my surroundings and lose myself in the work. It may be a dangerous thing for an aspiring author to say, endorsing “cheap” books (on which you would surely receive a much lower royalty) but I love paperback books.

The post Booklover, Bibliophile, Bookworm, Papyriophile? appeared first on BPhillipYork.

source http://bphillipyork.com/2020/01/13/booklover-bibliophile-bookworm-papyriophile/

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