found chair

On February 1st John wakes up to find that Sherlock’s half of the bed is empty, and on his pillow is a single lavender rose.  He smiles softly, picks it up, and presses his nose into the petals.

The following day John finds two of the same flower, their stems cut quite short, waiting for him in his favorite mug when he goes to make tea.  He doesn’t ask Sherlock about it yet, and Sherlock acts as if nothing is different.

On February 3rd there are three lavender roses waiting for John.  One is resting in his left shoe; another is tucked inside his jacket pocket; the third he finds on the doorknob when he’s on his way out.  He puts them on his desk at work and thinks about texting Sherlock for an explanation.  But he doesn’t.  Not yet.

Four roses find their way onto the mantlepiece.

Five are found nestled in John’s chair late in the evening on February 5th.

Six are discovered the following morning, wrapped neatly together with ribbon, in the refrigerator.  Still, neither of them say a word.

It isn’t until the 7th of February–when John finds seven lavender roses, cut from their stems, floating in a bowl of water on the kitchen table–that John’s curiosity gets the better of him.  He’s not much for computers, but he knows how to use google at least.  The results make his head feel light.

Eight roses decorate the sitting room in various spots.

Nine are placed into various beakers and tubes.

Ten litter the surface of the sofa all day on February 10th.  They avoid sitting there all day, but neither of them mentions it.

On February 11th there are eleven roses lining the doorframe of Baker Street.

The 12th brings a bouquet to John’s office where he switches them out for the three that have begun to wilt but that he was unwilling to remove.

Thirteen roses hang from the ceiling of their bedroom the following day.  John isn’t quite sure how Sherlock managed that without waking him, but he lays there for almost half an hour, just watching them sway back and forth.

John comes home from work on the 14th of February and finds lavender rose petals scattered up and down the seventeen steps of 221B.  If he had to guess he would say there were enough petals for fourteen roses.  His chest constricts, and he takes the steps slowly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

He expects to find Sherlock waiting for him, but when he reaches the top he finds the door to the sitting room closed, a note taped to it.  Sherlock’s untidy scrawl reads, You know where to find me.

And John does.  He’s back down the stairs and out the door in seconds, and for once it seems he’s got Sherlock’s luck on his side as a taxi rolls to a stop when he flings out his hand.

The lab at St. Bart’s hasn’t changed much since the day they met, and it’s a bit like walking into the past when John pushes the door open to find Sherlock waiting for him in the same exact spot he had been when John had first seen him.  Only this time John isn’t limping.  And this time Sherlock is holding a single lavender rose instead of a pipette, and his gaze is soft and warm as it settles on John.

“Knew you’d get it,” he says, his eyes crinkling with his smile.

John walks toward him, taking his time even though his heart is pounding.  It’s ridiculous, he thinks, because they’ve been together for months now.  “I’m smarter than I look,” he says, unable to keep from smiling in return.  He stops about a foot away, nodding toward the rose in Sherlock’s hand.  “Isn’t that cheating?”

Sherlock shakes his head.  “You see, but you do not observe,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes.  He steps closer, holding the flower up between them.  “There were only thirteen on the steps.  This is number fourteen.”

John steps closer and reaches out to touch the petals, letting his hand slip down until his fingers ghost over Sherlock’s.  “I looked it up, you know. Lavender rose.”

“I know,” Sherlock says, his smile widening.  “On the seventh.  I was surprised you held out for so long.”

John can’t help laughing.  “I’m not even going to ask how you knew.”  

He plucks the rose from Sherlock’s fingers and sets it gingerly on the counter beside them, removing the delicate barrier between them so that he can step into Sherlock’s space and draw him down for a soft, slow kiss.  Sherlock’s hands cup his face, his thumbs stroking along the sharp edges of his jaw, and John clings to fistfuls of Sherlock’s shirt at his waist.

When he pulls away it’s only enough so that he can speak, and his lips brush Sherlock’s with every word.  “Love at first sight,” he whispers, and he frees one hand to touch the petals of the lavender rose beside them.  “And you always said I was the romantic.”

Sherlock kisses him again, lingering for a long, sweet moment.  “I thought you should know the truth.  The whole of it.  How long I’ve loved you.”

Something in John’s chest aches, and he spends long, drawn-out moments pressing his lips to Sherlock’s, murmuring his I love yous into his mouth, hoping that it will be enough, that Sherlock will understand that he’s been loved since the moment John saw him in this very lab so many years ago.


Later that night–after Sherlock has led them home, after John has pressed him against the sheets, after countless kisses and touches and soft, pleading words–later, they sit together in front of the fire, half-clothed, legs tangled together, and press the single lavender rose in between the pages of a heavy book.  And when they’ve finished, John takes Sherlock by the hand and leads him back to bed.

14 Lines From Love Letters Or Suicide Notes

(reposted by request. cheers.)

 
14 Lines From Love Letters Or Suicide Notes.

1. Don’t freak out.

2. We both know this has been coming for a long time.

3. I have been staying awake at nights, wondering if I should tell you.

4. I bought the kind of crackers you like. They are in the hall cupboard.

5. Now that we have watched all the episodes of True Blood, I do not know what else to do next.

6. I have just been too afraid for too long.

7. This is the kind of thing where waiting for the time to be right would just mean waiting forever; it’s the kind of thing no one else can help you decide.

8. I came home on Thursday and found all of the chairs in the house stacked in a pile in the center of my kitchen; I don’t know how long they have been like that, but it must have been me that did it. It is the kind of thing a ghost might do, to prove to the living he is still there. I am haunting my own apartment.

9. My grandmother was still alive when I was five years old and she told me to check if the iron was hot enough yet, so I pressed my hand against it, and it was red and screaming for hours. Twenty five years later she would still sometimes apologize, in the middle of conversations, I feel so bad about making you touch the iron, she would say, as though it had just happened. I cannot imagine how we forgive ourselves for all of the things we didn’t say until it was too late. But how else do you tell if something is hot but to touch it?

10. I imagine my furniture in your apartment.  

11. I wonder how many likes it will get on facebook.

12. My dad always used to tell the same joke, but I can’t remember the punch line.

13. I was eight years old and it took three weeks (three eight year old weeks— imagine) to gather everything I needed to be Batman. Rope, boomerangs, a mardi gras mask with the beads cut off. I couldn’t find a cave near my house, so I buried them all in a bundle under the ivy. For years after,

I tried to find that spot again.

          The ivy grew too fast.

              I searched in so many spots

it seemed impossible I had missed any.

But I never found it.

How can something be there

       and then just not be there?

         How do we forgive ourselves

             for all the things we did not become?

14. I was never bold enough to buy bright green sheets. I wanted them, but always thought they were too brash, even with no one but me to see them. I bought a set yesterday and put them on the bed. I knew that you would like them.

—-

anonymous asked:

can u write some inner circle fluff? i have a feeling we wont get much of that in acowar :/

Since I’m only getting to do this now… we’ll do post acowar!

They all need some alcohol tbh they survived the war, they all lived, so dammit their going to the cabin to celebrate!!

This ended up being 3140 words so enjoy!

Feysand-Nessian-Elriel-Amrian

and I’m gonna try multiple POV

———————————–

Feyre POV

The Inner Circle arrived by nightfall. I was still unaware as to why Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian had called all of us up to the cabin. Amren was practicing with Nesta by doing their strange staring contest, While Mor and Elain were talking about my paintings that are all over the wall. I was sitting at the table, glancing to the edge of it, and then dragging my eyes to the door of Rhys and mines room. I couldn’t help but imagining paint all over the table, the bed, his wings…

I heard Elain’s nervous cough and slowly turned towards her, still struggling to escape the images in my head. Her face was bright red, and Mor was chuckling as she found a chair beside the sofa. Amren and Nesta were still doing their own thing.

“What?”

“Nothing Feyre, just needed to explain to Elain your scent and why you kept silently looking around.” Mor answered with a knowing smirk.

My face heated up and Mor went into a laughing fit, Amren even snorted in the other room. “You sure love to hear yourself talk, don’t you Mor.” I said, trying my best to sound aggressive, but failing miserably. Mor went into another laughing fit, and was about to respond when Cassian kicked in the door with an arm full of alcohol, Rhys and Azriel following behind with just as much.

“Oh cauldron yes.” Mor said, jumping up and taking some bottles from Azriel, placing them on the table in front of me. Rhys dropped some down and walked around the table to me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me on my cheek. Why do you have so much? What are we even celebrating? Rhys laughed and answered aloud, “We felt like we should celebrate being alive again.”

I looked around in to see Az gave Elain a lazy smile, and she glided along and stood at his side. Elain looked at the table with wide eyes, and Azriel stifled a laugh. Cassian snuck around behind her and gave her a strong but gentle pat on the back and said, “You’re gonna need to drink a lot if you’re going to be hanging on to Azriel’s side the whole time, he gets cranky.” Az growled at him while Nesta stomped down the hallway towards us and yelled at Cassian, “Don’t you dare force alcohol on her or I’ll slit your throat you stupid bat.” Cassian held his hands up and responded with, “Just a suggestion Nes, I’m no monster!”

Rhys groaned from behind me, strode to table, grabbed the fanciest bottle on the table, popped it open, and started chugging. Nesta and Azriel studied the bottles, and Cassian grabbed on up and clicked it on Rhys’s and declared, “To being alive!”

I grinned at the joy that went down the bond and quickly joined in.

——————————————————

A few hours later…

Rhysand POV

I held Feyre in my lap as she snored and occasionally put in her input of the ongoing mess that was our Inner Court. I just ran my hands through her hair and on her back, trying my best to not start crying.

I’m so lucky. She’s so beautiful. I love my family. I love my mate so damn much, my High Lady. I rubbed the back of my hand over my now wet eyes. I’m so drunk.

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Imagine Woozi quietly walking up to you and suddenly placing a kiss on your cheek before casually walking away, leaving you to be surprised and flustered by his unexpected action.

{PART 7} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; A whole week has passed since Jungkook was forced to leave your apartment, just before you could take your relationship with him to the next level. But today at the office, things become interesting yet again - for both you, and Jungkook.

{Part 1} // {Part 6} {Part 7} {Part 8}

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time)

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Sons of Lawrence #10

Summary:  Sons of Anarchy meets Supernatural. In this AU, the Winchesters run the most notorious biker gang in Lawrence. They traffic illegal drugs, weapons, and anything else that makes them money and keeps them on top.
Characters in this chapter: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Gadreel, Crowley
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,344
Warnings: Language, angst, casual drug use.
Author’s Note: This series isn’t going to be light and fluffy. It will include explicit language, explicit sexual content, casual use of illegal drugs, explicit canon typical violence.
Miss the beginning?

It was after Mary had fallen asleep that you decided to tell John and Sam about Gadreel. Dean still hadn’t returned, but you couldn’t keep it to yourself any longer.

You were pulling a deep drag from your second cocaine-laced cigarette and your leg was bouncing nervously under the intense gaze from two very intimidating men.

“This man,” John started, voice rough with barely keeping his emotions under control. “You saw him?”

“Today,” you said tremulously. “He delivered a bouquet of flowers; lilies. They were my favorite, until…” your voice trailed off as you stood and showed them your scar-adorned stomach.

While both men had their share of scars, they hissed and winced as if they themselves felt the pain. Then, there eyebrows drew together and dark rage rolled into their eyes. Sam, who was sitting next to you, reached out and ran his thumb over the scar. You did your best not to wince -it still hurt every now and then- or pull away from his inquisitive touch.

“Serrated butcher knife,” you muttered, answering his unasked question. “Pushed it in to the hilt, and then pulled.” Using Sam’s finger, you demonstrated what happened.

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

“Son of a bitch,” John snarled. “Until Gad is dealt with, you’re staying here, Y/N.”

Sam was nodding almost violently in agreement. “We won’t let you outta our sight.”

Your hands were shaking as you pulled your shirt down. “I don’t want to intrude. I mean…” you waved a hand in the direction of where Mary was sleeping.

Originally posted by negandarylsatisfaction

John stood, rounded the small table, and grabbed your shoulders. “You’re not intruding. Besides, you saved Mary. The least I could do is offer you a safe haven.” He pulled you into him and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly, only to release you a moment later when the three of you heard Mary call out.

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14 lines from love letters or suicide notes
1. Don’t freak out.
2. We both know this has been coming for a long time.
3. I’ve been staying awake at night wondering if I should tell you.
4. I bought the kind of crackers you can eat, they are in the hall cupboard.
5. Now that we have watched all the episodes of True Blood, I do not know what else to do next.
6. I always imagined this would happen without warning, like suddenly on an ocean cliffside. But this is the kind of thing where waiting for the time to be right, would just mean waiting forever.
7. I’ve just been too afraid for too long.
8. I came home on Tuesday, and found all of the chairs that I own, stacked in a tower in the centre of my kitchen. I don’t know how long they have been like that, but it can only be me that did it. It’s the kind of thing a ghost might do to prove to the living that he is still there. I am haunting my own apartment.
9. My grandmother was still alive when I was five years old and she asked me to check and see if the iron was hot enough yet, so I pressed my hand against it, and it was red, and screaming for hours. 25 years later, she would still sometimes apologise, in the middle of conversations, “I feel so bad about making you touch the iron”, she’d say, as though it had just happened. I cannot imagine how we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn’t say until it was too late. But how else do you tell if something is hot, but to touch it?
10. I keep imagining my furniture in your apartment.
11. I wonder how many likes this will get on Facebook?
12. My dad always used to tell the same joke, but I can’t remember the punchline.
13. I was eight years old and it took three weeks -  three eight year old weeks imagine - to gather everything I would need to become batman - rope, boomerangs, a Mardi Gras mask with the beads cut off. I couldn’t find a cave near my house, so I buried them all in a bundle under the ivy. For years after, I tried to find that spot again. The Ivy grew too fast. I searched in so many spots, it seemed impossible that I had missed one, but I never found it. How can something be there, and then not be there? How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?
14. I never had the courage to buy bright green sheets. I wanted them, but thought they were too brash, even with no one but me to see them. I bought a set yesterday and put them on the bed. I knew that you would like them.
—  Doc Luben
What I Got From Claire’s

OK this one isn’t a review or a What I Made post. I’m just gleeing because I found the cutest thing. Momdusa gave me the heads-up that these things even existed (thanks @momdusa!) and I went looking for some of those little chairs that you can put your phone in while they charge.

I found these! I actually wanted the pink fuzzy one but they were all out - I’m not gonna complain, though.

I have a bunny! It has no eyes, I’m… uncertain whether this is supposed to be the case and I might add some myself. But it is a sparkly blue bunny!

I have an adorable pug. My dolls love this one and always look very cosy in this chair.

I have a panda. It goes blep. Isn’t it the cutest thing?

Unfortunately I have no photos of my dolls actually using these chairs, I’ll try and remedy that in the future. But I do have one more chair to show you that isn’t from Claire’s.

I got this Liberty print armchair from the flea market a while back. It’s apparently supposed to be a pincushion, and you can lift up the seat and keep some sewing supplies in the space underneath. But it’s also exactly the right size for a doll about, say, Clawd’s size. Neat, huh?

Creepypasta #1078: I Found Something Impossible In My Backyard

Length: Long

In my backyard, we have a koi pond. It’s been kind of a never-ending project of mine and my wife’s, something we’ve put a lot of time, effort, and money into in the 3 years we’ve lived in our house. A few weeks ago, we decided to extend it some, and I finally got started on what needed to be done to do that last week. I started digging. After about 3 hours I’d dug a good amount of the area I needed to out, and was about 4 feet down in this particular spot when I hit something. Whatever it was, it was metal.

I continued digging, looking for an edge of whatever this was, and I found it. I followed the edge around as I kept digging, and it turned out to be a square with a handle on top, and two hinges on one side. I pulled up on the handle, but I couldn’t get it open. I figured it was a chest or case of some kind, so I dug around the sides of it, but no matter how far I dug, it just kept going. I finally came to the conclusion that it was a hatch of some sort, perhaps a bomb shelter. When we bought the house, there had been no mention of a bomb shelter there, nor had there ever been mention of it in the history of the house.

I dug an area around the hatch so I could more easily get to the top. After a few hours, a night of sleep, and a few more hours the next day of blowtorches, drills, and hammers, I finally got the hatch open.

As soon as I pulled the door off, I was was hit with a wave of foul odor. The smell was stale and putrid, and was like a mixture of rotten eggs, spoiled milk, and a group of dead skunks. After taking a moment to catch my breath, I finally was able to hold it while I looked inside. There was a ladder that led downwards probably about 20 feet, and I could just barely make a out a floor with the sunlight provided. I went to my garage and got a dust mask, hoping it would at least mask the smell some, and grabbed a flashlight.

I began my descent down the ladder while my wife stayed up top, curiously observing. The smell only worsened the further down I got, and the mask was doing next to nothing to offset it. I stopped several times on the way down, warding off the urge to vomit. Finally, I think I just got used to it enough to not gag with every breath I took. I made it to the bottom, and there was a small corridor to the left, past which was a large room.

Just as I had suspected, it looked like a fallout shelter. There were two rows of shelving units that once held non-perishable foods, almost all of which were gone. I found a light switch on the wall next to me, which I turned on. To my surprise, rows of fluorescent lights lit up, allowing me to see the entire area. 

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some supa good slam poems(-:

here’s a list of some of my favorite slam poems because slam poetry is beautiful and wonderful and incredible and lovely and everything

sienna burnett- “U Fine?”

“my mother has a texting language all her own and when she asks, “U Fine?” this means somewhere, very recently, there was another bullet-stop ending. there was another trigger parade.”

karina stow- trigger warning

“i don’t believe in lying to children, but when she asks me what’s wrong i still tell her the storybook version; i tell her that once, a bad man broke into my home. i wish i’d also told her that bad men look like respectable young men–trigger. that bad men will compliment your nana on her lemon squares. bad men write love poems- trigger. bad men smile so wide they will swallow you and you, you will convince yourself you asked him to.”

don luben- 14 lines from love letters or suicide notes

“i came home on thursday and found all of the chairs in the house stacked in a pile in the center of my kitchen; i don’t know how long they have been like that, but it must have been me that did it. it is the kind of thing a ghost might do, to prove to the living he is still there. i am haunting my own apartment.”

tucker bryant- facts about myself

“but being built like a short story is a lesson in finding other ways to be the tallest tale in the room.”

sarah kay- love letter from a toothbrush to a bicycle

“i know about your rough edges and i have seen your perfect curves, and i will fit into any spaces you let me. if loving you means getting dirty, bring on the grime, i will leave this porcelain home behind.”

savannah brown- i wish i was (a flaw examination)

“i wish i was more interesting but that might be one of those things where
everyone else thinks i’m interesting, but i don’t because i’m me and i know i spend most of my days wearing pajamas in my room, which isn’t that interesting.”

phile kaye- beginning, middle, and end

“like the night you thought you were invincible, ran out into the lightning storm with a million keys tied to a million kites, and a clench in your jaw that said, “take me with you, goddammit, i dare you.” and the week you finally reached out to feel your father’s cheeks and just found paper cuts.”

dia davina- emergency room

“dont touch my heart when it’s thundering. you wouldn’t swim in a lightning storm, would you?”

melissa newman-evans- 9 things i would like to tell every teenage girl

“you remember that metaphor about killing you being stealing your voice? sometimes…the world will actually try to kill you. you’ll never deserve it.”

desiree dallagiacomo- sink 

“is that not living? being so close to death that you paint it on your skin?”

A Place to Call Home pt 8

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN

Pairing: Dylan O'Brien x Reader

Wordcount: 5,007

Warnings: language

A/N: The part you’ve all been waiting for is here!! I have to apologize though, it’s not edited because I just finished it and wanted to get it up for you guys tonight. I have to thank @writing-obrien for helping me brainstorm and @thelittlestkitsune for reassuring me that it wasn’t crap. I will get it edited and update it once I do, but for now, here is part 8 of APTCH, I hope you like it!

UPDATE: This has now been edited thanks to the wonderful Lau ( @thelittlestkitsune) and I decided to change the gif to one more fitting even though it may kinda be a spoiler lol. 

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The Bin, the creep, and the dryer

A/N: 3.1K of Sin Bin logistics, guys being dudes, and dudes being gross. I couldn’t stop laughing writing parts of this. It’s ridiculous. I’m sorry.


“Dex. Dex.”

Dex cracked an eye open. He’d been asleep on the green monstrosity, post-kegster. The light coming through the window was thin and gray, and he could hear Bitty in the kitchen, humming softly as he washed dishes. Ransom and Holster were not yet acting as cleanup crew, so they were presumably still asleep. Nursey was across the room, curled in an armchair. They’d rock-paper-scissored for the couch. The victor had surprised no one.

Standing over Dex was Chowder, his brows pinched and his hands fidgeting at his sides. “Dex,” he whispered fiercely.

“Huh?” Dex asked, tucking a yawn into his elbow.

“Dex, the dryer’s broken again.”

Dex sighed and sat up. He ran a hand over his face, wiping sleep away. “Sorry, Chow. It’s the best I can do.”

“It’s making… noises.”

“Yeah. It’ll work as long as you don’t put too much in it.”

“Dex, it sounds like it’s going to catch fire.”

“I know. We’re only $700 away from a new one. $400, probably, after last night.” After much debate, it had been the first kegster where they’d charged an entrance fee.

“This is the third day I’ve worn this pair of boxers.”

Yeah, they really needed that cash.

Dex blinked slowly, shook his head, breathed through his nose. “Ok. First, gross. Second, I – gross. Third, the washer still works. Hang up your laundry. I have a drying rack in my dorm. I don’t really need it, so I’ll bring it over.”

Chowder looked about to cry. “Thank you, Dex.” He grabbed the back of Dex’s head and rushed forward to kiss both his cheeks. By the time Dex could protest, he was already bounding up the stairs, hopefully to get his dirty laundry and fucking wash it. Dex personally hoped the others followed his example. There’d been a certain ambiance around the haus the past week.

Dex would bring over the drying rack, but a single drying rack could not handle the laundry of a haus full of hockey players. It would be a temporary solution, a bandaid over a bullet wound. He’d have to find a way to get the money soon.

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