captainsaintandcompany-deactiva asked:

Do I even have to ask?! Saintlock || Wolvlock

  • Who’s more dominant:
This changes. Sometimes, she’ll want me to be the one in charge, other times, she likes all of the control. I do not complain.
  • Who’s the cuddler:
Neither of us are really cuddlers, but when we do… it’s usually just a mutual thing. So both?
  • Who’s the big spoon/little spoon:
I generally end up being the one holding her, although, she does like to pet my hair.
  • What’s their favorite non-sexual activity:
Piracy. Detective work
  • A head canon:
Saintly taught Sherlock how to use a sword, and Sherlock taught Saintly how to deduce certain aspects of people. Even if they have retired, they still like to practice sword fighting and people watch.
  • Their relationship summed up in a gif:

We’ve become very attached to one another.   WOLVLOCK  
  • Who’s more dominant:
Logan… I think I won being dominant once.
  • Who’s the cuddler:
Logan. Although it’s mutual. We both enjoy being close.
  • Who’s the big spoon/little spoon:
…I’m the little spoon…
  • What’s their favorite non-sexual activity:
Smoking and drinking together.
  • A head canon:
Logan likes back rubs, and Holmes would give him a back rub when ever he needed a sample of his blood for testing. Holmes would always ask before taking it, and then thank him with a massage.
  • Their relationship summed up in a gif:

We’ve been through a lot, I doubt this will be a relationship anything or anyone can break
Drabbles Round One : Fluffy


Zip Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character dressing mine: or the other way around [this can also be used for shutting them up as well: but feel free to specify.]

“I can’t believe Holmes is making us go to this ‘Ball’ thing.” Saintly huffed, looking down at her dress. It looked nice, but she couldn’t move as freely as she would have hoped to, and Holmes had been strictly clear when he told her to not alter it in any way shape or form. Sherlock was in the bathroom, combing his hair and fussing with his Bowtie. Once upon a time, his mother and father had tried to teach him how to do it, but he swiftly forgot, never thinking he would ever have to wear one again. He had half a mind to throw it out the window and maybe just find a scarf instead, like the ones Holmes’ wears. Sighing, he continued to fiddle with it, listening to Saintly’s annoyed huffs from the room over. “If I fall on my face in front of everyone, I’m going to gut him like a pig.”

Laughing, Sherlock let the ribbon hang around his neck, figuring Saintly was having trouble with something. He had been right, for when he walked in she was trying to get to the lace on her back, but her arms and the sleeves wouldn’t let her. With a quiet ‘Here’ Sherlock stepped closer and began to lace her up. “Whether you believe me or not, you look beautiful… Albeit ridiculous.” Of course he had to add in that remark. This was very unlike saintly, and he had to admit he enjoyed the Pirate side of her. “But… It’s nice to dress up at least once a life time, just to see how it feels.”

His fingers lingered on her bare shoulders, before he reached over her shoulder to grab the shawl from her hands. “Besides, even if Holmes wants you to wear it, he picked colors that suit you.” Placing the red Shawl across her shoulders, he circled around to stand in front of her, his face a bit flustered and shy. “Now… You’re good with knots, maybe you can help with this one?”

She stared at it for a long moment, thinking about the different ties she had seen on Holmes and Dastan before grabbing a hold of the ribbon and beginning to tie it. Her first few tries failed, but eventually, she managed to make a rather great looking bow, and she gave it a proud pat as it rested around Sherlock’s neck. “The lion has a collar. How appropriate.”

Piss off.” He muttered, smiling and ducking his head before holding out his arm. “Shall we?”


Coffee: My character will be hyped up on coffee and pester yours.

Holmes sauntered down the stairs, moving to pick the coffee pot off of the stove and pouring him a bit, only to find it completely empty. Blinking, he opened it and peered inside. Dry as a desert. Scratching the back of his head, he turned around, looking at a cup that had once had coffee in it, but it was poured into a second cup. As a Detective, he knew what happened right away, and he lifted his gaze, wondering where the culprit was at the moment.

It didn’t take long to find him, mainly because Logan came looking for him first. His hazel eyes were wide, looking around, an empty mug in his hand as he hurried by the detective to place the cup in the kitchen, hurrying back to his side. “Morning, sleeping beauty. About time you got up! C’mon! I’ve been stuck inside all day, I wanna go out!” He wrapped his fingers around Holmes wrist, pulling him closer to kiss his lips, then send him towards the stairs. “Go! Go-go-go! Get dressed!”

Morning- I- HEY!” He stumbled towards the stairs, still waking up and still trying to figure out what on Earth gave Logan the smart idea to drink at least four cups of coffee. Even as he started up the stairs, Logan didn’t wait very long, circling around him so he could lead the man up the stairs. “Logan- Logan! What has gotten into you?”

I dunno, I just. I feel real jittery and I just want to… take on the bloody world!”

It’s only 7 AM.”

I know! That’s like, half the day wasted! Come ON!” He practically carried the man back into the bed room and to the closet. “You know how you said you wanted to go get a good look at the London Bridge? We’re doing that today. OH! And stopping by the Tobacco Shop again! Maybe we can go visit Buckingham Palace! And then get down to the fight studio. You and I could win quite a few bucks, and we need the money!” The Mutant prattled on as Holmes got dressed, yawning and wishing Logan had saved at least a few sips of coffee for him, but he had to admit the man’s hyper activity was a bit adorable. “And we need more coffee… We’re out.”

Mor—Logan! How many pots of coffee did you make?!” He had been under the impression that the man had just downed ONE pot of coffee…

Five… Or Six… I actually lost count. Ready?!”


Resting against the headboard of the bed, Sherlock thumbed through a first Edition of ‘A Tale of Two Cities’, his free hand running through Saintly’s hair as she rested her head in his lap. It had been a quiet day, one meant to take a breather from the running, meant to recooperate before throwing themselves back into the fight. It had been Holmes Idea, and naturally, Logan and Saintly argued. But Holmes put his foot down and got them all to find a rather nice hotel that didn’t fit the usual criteria they hid in. They were hiding… from hiding.

“Read to me?”

What?” Sherlock was surprised, despite being partially aware of Saintly getting ready to speak. He didn’t think she would be interested in the book. The Pirate repeated herself, and Sherlock readjusted, clearing his throat as he began to read the book aloud. “For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. Try to hold me in your mind, at some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. The time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed about you—ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home you so adorn—the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden you. O Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy father’s face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you.”

Eventually, her breathing slowed and Sherlock’s voice trailed off as his throat started to get a tad dry. When he paused to grab the glass of water on the bed side table, he turned to look at Saintly. She had fallen asleep, a good thing too because she rarely took the time to rest for herself. Smiling quietly to himself, he continued to run a hand through her hair, reading quietly to her.


He hadn’t expected to win the argument; staying put for more than two hours was one of Logan’s pet peeves, but somehow, Holmes had managed to convince him to take a break, to enjoy a day to themselves and just… relax for once. The day was spent in the room, Holmes sitting against the bed while he went over a few pieces of notes regarding the Experiment L vaccines, and Logan perched on the bed, reading over his shoulder or pacing the room or taking a long bath or staring cautiously out the window. It came to the point where Holmes sighed and looked over at the larger man. “The point was for you to not stress for a day.”

“Break’s don’t exist with me.”

I’ve noticed. Come back here.” The Mutant grudgingly did as he was told, climbing back onto the bed and resting behind Holmes head. He tried to read what Holmes was working on, but the science and math was lost on him, so he eventually just let his head fall against the detectives shoulder with a tired huff. Holmes got a brief image of a loyal dog staying close, despite it’s want to get out and play. After a few moments of silence, Holmes turned his head to look at Logan, about to suggest they order room service but stopped as soon as he saw the man was finally, FINALLY asleep. He smirked, turning his attention back to the notes and looking over side notes he had made. One had been a doodle, simple little drawing of a large man and a smaller one, and he realized now what Logan kept looking for in his notes.

Drabble 2 - Sherlock

Murder: Don’t shoot! Muse is paranoid and thinks a serial killer is stalking them for three days


I will siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin you.”

Sherlock bolted upright, holding tight to the knife Saintly had gotten him one Christmas as the long forgotten voice protruded through his dreams. He hadn’t seen anything about that man in years! Why was he suddenly thinking about him now? It was impossible for Moriarty to get to him from here, absolutely impossible because Sherlock was still way back in time, that Jim Moriarty didn’t even exist yet! Unless… Unless he found a way to get to the past as well…

Ha-ha-ha-ha Stayin’ aliiiive!”

Throwing the covers from his body, he crossed to the window. That song, that song hadn’t been invented yet. Why was he hearing it? Cautiously peering out into the street, he tried looking for a sign, anything that the mad man might still be out there, still hunting him, wanting him truly dead. His piercing blue eyes stared out at the road below, there was no one out and about, but he swore he could hear that song! From where? Turning away, he started to move towards the door, placing a hand on the knob as he listened though the wood. There! The song was coming from out there.

He raised his knife, pulling the door open just as the song cut short. His heart pounded in his ears, threatening to come out of his throat as he peered into the Darkness. Where was he? He was somewhere, and Sherlock would NOT let him get to Saintly or Holmes or even Logan for that matter. Not here, not this time! Slowly closing the door, he eased back into the room, telling Saintly to go back to bed, telling her that everything was alright, he had just been dreaming. Lying down beside her, he let her sleep close to him, but abandoned all hope for getting anymore sleep that night.

His day was spent looking over his shoulder, listening, waiting, wondering where he was, when he was going to strike. Logan made snide comments, but he ignored them. Logan had Victor and Sherlock had Moriarty. Saintly seemed to be grown increasingly worried about him, and even Holmes was giving him odd looks. No one was there, but Sherlock was more than positive that something was there… waiting to strike.


Sleep was hard to come by, and when he finally did get to sleep, it didn’t last long.

I owe you a fall.”

No! No, not this again. Sherlock thought violently, fighting the urge to get up and out of bed. Saintly was already worried about him, getting up again would force him to explain, and this time she would bring Holmes and Logan into it if he didn’t talk. It was best just to let it go, just to wait and see if anything came out of the dark to get him.

Ha-ha-ha-ha Stayin aliiiiiiiiiive!”

Gripping the knife again, he remained tense, watching the shadows, waiting for something to spring out of them, waiting for the villain to show his face so Sherlock could send his knife right through him, right through his neck. As soon as morning came, he was up, getting dressed, and claiming he lost his shoe so he could search everywhere around the room. Nothing. No one… With an exasperated sigh, he turned towards the window, his face nearly paling more than usual.

I. O. U

On a street sign. His blood went cold as he stared at it, and it took him a good minute to even consider starting to move again. This couldn’t be happening again, this couldn’t be following him here of all places! Here he had a new life, a good life, an exciting life he wanted. That Excitement did NOT include a homicidal psychopath. Blinking a few times, he wondered if Holmes was having hauntings from his own Moriarty, but being that Logan wasn’t running through the streets looking for the man, it seemed unlikely. He dropped his head into his hand, rubbing his eyes, tired from little to no sleep the past two days. He had grown used to sleeping like a normal person, but apparently that won’t be happening.

This man was going to run him into his grave. Again.


The young detective perched himself on the roof top, looking over the edge, thinking deeply, waiting for something from. If he was going to show himself, here was the place to do it. This time, Sherlock was going to kill him personally, make sure he couldn’t get himself out of it. Logan and Holmes had gone out for the night, having a night to themselves, as they deserved, but Saintly refused to leave Sherlock, and she sat close to him, not saying a word as he paced from one side to the other, looking, waiting, ready to confront him face on.

I’m going to get him… I’m going to get him.” He convinced himself, his gun ready, his sword at his side and Saintly close to him, ready to steady him if anything should happen.

Ha-ha-ha-ha Stayin aliiiiive!”

He stopped again, looking around, hearing it, ready to spring on it. His eyes fell on Saintly. “Do you hear that? It’s there. It’s… The song! Do you hear it?”

Saintly shook her head, looking a bit worried as she stood up, walking over to him, and placing her arms around him. Sherlock was not one for losing his mind, and seeing him like this was killing her on the inside. Asking again, he tried to find where the song was coming from, but Saintly held him sternly, looking him directly in the eyes, trying to get through to him. “Sherlock, there is no song! There is no one here, Logan can’t smell anything, Holmes has gone through everything. No one is after you.”

Someone is always after me!” He snapped, holding his head, trying to figure out where the sudden paranoia was coming from. He had been fine, he had been peaceful, but now… Now he was on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Too much good, now something bad had to happen, right? That’s how life was. “Always…”

Wolvlock Drabble - Wait

Wait: Muse is promised their greatest wish if they can wait, but they cannot interact with the person they love while they do. Anon decides how long it lasts.

You’re saying that I can live forever… as long as I wait three years for you to get the right ingredients?” He had to say he did not believe it at all, but if there was even a chance that he could live forever, live alongside Logan until the end of time, live and see Sherlock in his own time… Well, it seemed like he should take it, right? Turning his dark brown eyes on the woman in white, he quirked an eyebrow. “There has to be a catch.”

She sighed, looking down and nodding quietly. “In that time… You cannot see or speak to Logan, in any way of communication. He cannot see you, cannot smell you, and cannot speak to you.”

Was it worth it? Of course it had to be worth it. Missing three years to live forever after it. And the threat… the ‘prophecy’ that he will die in this war with the other mutants. But… Would Logan move on if he was gone for that long? Looking down, Holmes thought very hard on the idea. “Can I tell him?”

“I need your decision immediately… You won’t have time to speak to him about it.”

A letter at least! That has to be fair.”

She frowned, shaking her head. “You cannot interact with him. That includes letters.”

Hanging his head, Holmes braced himself on the window sill, looking out at the city they had ended up in while running from Victor. He could always return to London, travel until his three years were up… But how bad would this hurt Logan? And suddenly he had an idea, turning towards the woman and starting for the phone on the bed. Hopefully he would still be at the restaurant with Saintly and Sherlock. Holmes had stayed behind to work on more cures.

Operator? Yes, I want to send a telegram to the Amos, looking for a Sherlock.”

I don’t have much time. Don’t come looking for me. I’ll be okay… I just… I have to go for a little while, okay? But I swear on everything I have, on everything I am that I will return to you. Three years’ time. Remember the day. Be at 221b Baker Street –Much Love. Holmes.

The detective looked slyly at the woman, smirking quietly. “That should reach him before I have to leave for my three years and it’s not directly to Logan. The Contract still works.” She shook her head, laughing quietly before stepping towards the window. “I’ll see you in three years then…?”

“Three Years, no Logan, or the whole thing is off.”

Of Course.”


Sherlock sat beside Saintly, holding up a glass in celebration as they had won, beating the odds and living through the ordeal. Wrapping his arm around Saintly, he kissed her deeply, happy to have her in his arms, enjoying the fact that they could all be happy again, they could be free again. He was taken by surprise when the waiter approached, baring a little note to a ‘Sherlock’, and he took it from the tray, reading over it before looking up to Logan with a half saddened, half worried look. Before he could really hand it off, it was taken from his hands.

By the time they got back, Holmes was gone.

Holmes had left town, left the city, left the country by boat, making his way back to Europe, traveling by water, making sure his scent could not be traced. Baker Street was still too risky, too soon after the war, any rogue Mutants might go looking for them there first. So he traveled under a disguise, going to Asia, then to Australia, then briefly to the Americas. Eventually, he had gotten used to Horses, though he much preferred to walk or catch a cab somewhere. When he was lonely, he’d hold tight to the Dog Tags he had slipped from Logan’s bag, quietly thinking about that first night after the bar, and then the nights on the road, how they would sleep alongside one another, protecting one another. Sometimes he would miss Saintly and Sherlock, and wondered how the two were doing, whether either of them would ever want a wedding and if Logan would be the Best man and whether or not Barbossa would be the man to marry them. What would Logan do at a wedding? Holmes laughed at the thought of seeing him in a suit again, a little bow tie, standing quietly in the corner as Saintly and Sherlock had their dance.

But neither Sherlock nor Saintly were the marrying type, so he quickly let that image go.

One day, during his second year of being away, Holmes found himself in a park, watching as people walked by, holding hands and standing close in the cold of winter. Some had children, excited about the coming of Santa Claus, and Holmes felt his mind wandering to what the other three were doing for the Holidays, hoping they were all together still because Logan needed someone, and Saintly and Sherlock wouldn’t know how to behave on a holiday. He also thought about children, again seeing none of them as being the one to be ‘parent’ types. Sherlock and Saintly were good enough Children for Logan and Holmes, but the detective still had to admit that it would be interesting if nothing more to have a little girl or boy. But, that would never happen, so it was another image left in the snow as he wandered towards a Hotel.


The woman returned, three years later to the day, with a gift. He had been waiting for her, only two blocks away from Baker street, ready to return, ready for the gift he had been waiting for for three long years. A ring was presented to him, and he looked at it with a quirked eyebrow, looking back to the woman in a quiet ‘Really?’

“Your thoughts were loud enough to deafen an elephant.” She replied, winking quietly as she laid the ring in the palm of his hand. “The first human hand to touch this ring will gain immortality. After that it can be given to anyone.”

Laughing as well, Holmes rolled the piece of jewelry around in his hand before looking back at the woman, thanking her, tears glistening in his eyes as he quietly bowed his head. She disappeared, and Holmes was sprinting through town, going back to the home he had missed so much, hoping they were there, hoping his whole family was there and waiting, looking, expecting him. Flying through the door he called out, “Logan! Logan! Sherlock! Saintly!

No answer.

“Lo- Logan…?” He looked through the house. No one was there. Where… where were they? He sent them the telegram! He… He remembered that clearly. Tears welted up in his eyes. Had they abandoned hope? “Logan… I’m back…

Footsteps sounded behind him, and the front door swung open again. Holding his breath, he turned.

Drabble Final Part : Sherlock

Ares: our characters get into a fight be it physical or vocal [specify-also specify what on if you want]

They had been topics they usually avoided talking about, mainly because the other didn’t know HOW to address them. Sherlock was from another time, he had friends and family he eventually needed to get back, and Saintly still had that little problem that she belonged to Hades when she died. Somehow, probably by the influence of alcohol and pent up hormones, the two ended up on the topics. Sitting on the bed, they had been talking, nursing a bottle of rum they had nicked from the restaurant a few cities back. It was running near empty now as Sherlock broke the generally impenetrable ice.

After this whole mutant issue is said and done, I’m going to Hell, and getting your soul back.”

Saintly laughed, thinking this had to be some weird joke that Sherlock wanted to play. “Yes, and when it comes time for you to go home, I won’t let you.”

“I’m being serious.” He said flatly, looking up at her under his mane of black. “I will read every book, perform every spell, go to Hell myself and kick Hades right in the balls and get your soul back.” Under the influence of rum, it sounded like a bang up idea. Couldn’t possibly go wrong. “And when I get your soul back, only then will I feel comfortable leaving.

That stung, and her angered flared enough for her to vocalize it. “Oh, so that’s the plan? Rescue me and then up and leave me?”

I have to go home, Saintly.”

“You don’t.” She moved closer, putting her hand on his.

I do.”

“You don’t!” This time a bit more firm. “You belong here.”

No, I don’t! I’m from the year 2012, I belong in the year 2012, not 1902. We both know that one day I’m going to have to leave.” Sherlock backed away, standing up on already shaky feet. He couldn’t live out the rest of his days here.

“Then don’t bother saving my soul.” Saintly spat, looking away.

For some reason, that stung Sherlock, and his own anger flared. “I won’t let you get dragged to hell when you die! Regardless of whether your fire comes in handy or not, it hurts you! HE will hurt you, and I don’t want that!”

“And you don’t think you leaving me will hurt? I would LOVE to die and go to hell after that! I would THANK hades for the pain and the torture.” Now she was on her feet as well, her voice rising angrily. “Are you really that blind? Sherlock I Lov—”

Her voice cut out, and Sherlock turned towards her, eyebrows knit together. Was she going to say what he thought she was going to say? “Saintly, I can’t stay here, I can’t let you die and spend eternity in Hell and just leave like nothing happened.”

“Then don’t leave at all!”

Come with me! Let me save you and then come with me!” He pleaded, circling around the bed to try and hold her, but she was too stubborn, too proud for that at the moment.

“I belong here…”

Sherlock sighed. “Piracy is dying, you said it yourself. Come live with me, we can find you a new job, we can stay together we can…” The words left him and he stood there, trying to communicate with his eyes, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“I can’t…”

And I can’t stay here…”