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bakerstreet2014-01-09 08:24 pm
cockhops) wrote in bakerstreet2014-01-09 08:24 pm
Hope to die
The Cross My Heart Meme
When only a dysfunctional relationship will do.
Rules1. Post with a character, put the name and canon in the subject line. In the body of the comment, give your preferences and some if possible some information about the character.
2. Respond to others and roleplay a dysfunctional relationship.
3. Feel free to take inspiration/scenes from the list below or write your own prompt.
Scenarios
1. Try to tell you 'no', but my body keeps on telling you 'yes'. You absolutely, positively do NOT want to sleep with this person again. So why the heck do you keep waking up with their underwear on your bedpost?
2. What happens when a tornado meets a volcano. Maybe you're just too different to see eye to eye. Or maybe you're just too alike and no one's going to compromise. Either way, your battle of wills looks more like World War 3 than a lover's spat.
3. All your love is revenge. You don't know why you're together. You don't know how to be apart. But is whatever that's making you stay with this person worth all the misery?
4. I would die for you baby (but you won't do the same). Ever love someone so much you'd take a bullet for them? What if you want to find out if they would do the same for you? It's not that crazy to demand the same kind of devotion from your lover, right? After all, it's only fair. You aren't obsessed, you're just in love.
5. Somewhere along in the bitterness. Where did things go wrong? You started out so in love, so attached, and now it seems like things are falling apart. Can the relationship be fixed or is this where you both stare awkwardly at each other and decide who gets the CDs and who gets the goldfish?
6. You let me complicate you. You're not good for them. You're corrupting them, you're ruining their life, you're causing them pain, even if you never meant to. Why are they still hanging around?
7. I don't care if you really care as long as you don't go. So there's no love in the relationship. But there's so many other reasons to stay together, right? Sometimes having a lover is more important than being a lover.
8. I will go down with this ship. It's been over a long time and your lover has moved on. But you're never going to give up the hope that they might come back to you. Love is supposed to be forever.
effie trinket | the hunger games
Sherlock Holmes | BBC Sherlock | OTA
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it's not the experiments left lying on the counter, or the compounds slipped into a number of things; shampoo, tea, food - he wonders why he still takes things from sherlock when he knows he's handled them.
it's not the stolen moments away to have a banned cigarette, it's not the cases that leave them nearly lying dead in the street. it's not the lack of physical affection. it's not anything about his sexuality and what strange direction that's taken. it's not even the loss of his wife and what he thought they had, what they thought that it could be. it's not the lying about being dead. it's not lying about being able to disassemble a bomb.
it's not the lack of anything a real relationship should be. he and sherlock have cases rather than dates, dinners at three in the morning when they're nearly too exhausted to move, and the sex is practically nonexistent (his fault, he thinks). they live together but they always have, and nothing's changed beyond the simple fact that whatever they were before apparently has a label and a name now, and he sometimes will sleep beside sherlock. sometimes.
it's the bloody crime case. sherlock's fingers linger on top of john's hand for a moment too long, and john pulls away almost instinctively, eyes darting up to look at the other man. it's the first time they've touched in weeks it seems and it's in the middle of him focusing and in the middle of a case and it's not even something he wants. not even something that he could touch and grasp and hold onto. and - he doesn't know why it bothers him. but it does because it's distracting.
and that's upsetting. that has him quiet during the case, quiet for him until they manage to capture the murderess. a love affair gone wrong, she's got red-rimmed eyes, she's been sobbing, but she doesn't have a tear left to waste. a marriage of fifteen years, gone in a flash of criminal intent because of things going south and a man having an affair with the cleaning lady. she doesn't even seem sad. doesn't even regret it, because they were supposed to be together forever, and those types of stories rarely work out - sherlock doesn't even comprehend the motive. not really. not how easy it is to fall into the rhythm and how easy things fall apart.
the arrest is made, files processed. his fingers are clenched when they've walked inside.
he's not sure of what to say. everything's a mess in the kitchen and instead of it being endearing or only slightly annoying, there's more frustration than anything. frustration, exhaustion, and the fact that he can't seem to put those things into words. so he slams things. slams the microwave door. throws out the questionable bag of bodily fluid and extracted masses into the rubbish bin. everything is so easily falling apart. ]
Sort of a boring case. [ he mutters. not to sherlock, moreso himself. ]
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It's the way he'll ignore the experiments left lying on the counter--sometimes sometimes. It's the way the gracious doctor continues to take things offered from him even after a track record of spiking or slipping various compounds or drugs in John's tea, food, shampoo. (Nothing harmful. No. Never. One would think he'd learn from experience though.)
It's the way he frets over Sherlock's safety, even with something as small as a cigarette which the detective was aching for about now. It's the way he watches John during his adrenaline high, even if the case leaves them half dead lying in the streets. It's the fact physical affection isn't required at an annoying amount. Not as if he'd push for it anyways, obviously Watson still an ongoing battle with his sexuality. Not too much of a loss for him. At least at the beginning. It's the constant forgiveness even after a lie regarding his own death, and another for a bit of a kick.
It's the fact what they had--their little rituals--was their own, it wasn't stuck in the mundane mold that was expected of couples to fill by society. Instead of an uninteresting date, they had dinners at three in the morning when they were both nearly too exhausted to move, the sex may have been sporadic but always exceeding expectations when it occurred. Overall, not much had changed, which was to be expected. It was a title, nothing more. Why people felt so much weight came with it, he, Sherlock, found idiotic.
Why John had expected something to change with the title, he did not know. (Lie. Past knowledge. Relationships had always changed.)
It wasn't the events which unfolded at the crime scene. It was becoming more and more evident to him that John (a being of contradictions; an unusual magnificence; my friend, my flatmate, my blogger, my lover, my partner; I love him, I love him, I love him) was seeming distant. Unhappy. Stressed, perhaps? Tired.
The case was uninteresting. Dull. A repetitive concept which he had seen before, and the answers were laid out before them practically screaming to be seen, all he had to do was point them out. A four. Shouldn't be here. Shouldn't have wasted the time.
He was distracted. John, normally a conductor of brilliance was serving as nothing more than a distraction scratching at the walls of his brain begging to be noticed. To be heard. Delayed such a simple case. Made such obvious signs go ajar.
Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it.
Sate it. Relieve himself. At least for now. Eyes on Watson (focusing on the crime scene; trying to piece it together; let him try), before he reached out his gawky hand, placing the pads of his fingers calloused by his violin over the back of the veteran's coarse hand. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to realize he'd made the wrong move. (Muscles tensed, rigid, uncomfortable; my fault) Before he got the change to cease the contact, John was already a step ahead of him had yanked his own hand away. Sherlock inhaled through his nose, a hiss of air following before exhaling on a huff (Oh). Attention on case. Wouldn't allow himself to relish in the embarrassment that followed.
As he had stated before, a four. A woman, the wife of the victim actually. Offing her husband in a fit of anger after cheating on him with the cleaning lady. Nothing interesting, nothing new. Didn't really matter, murder was still murder, and it was still done in an uninteresting fashion.
Arrest was smooth, Yard took credit. Not that he minded.
The growing tension had been obvious to Sherlock for some time now--what was he to do? Was it sex John wanted? Neither of them were exactly pushing for it. Should he be more forceful? He could be more forceful.
Sherlock sat in his chair, bony elbows propped up on the arm rests through the thin material of his shirt, emaciated fingers steepled together only to rest against his lips while he let his eyes slip shut.
Not asleep. Not tired. Not in his Mind Palace. Painfully aware. It was his curse.
John spoke first, not to him. Should he reply? Could he reply? It'd help gauge the situation. Sigh. Act bored. A bit annoyed. Perhaps agitated.]
Elementary. Waste of my time. [A response. Felt lacking. Too formal. Add something on.]
Your deductions however, are as littered with your erroneous presumptions, like always. [Regret. Regret as soon as the syllables beat out of his mouth. Don't let it show.]
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he was tired. tired, stressed. unhappy. distant. excellent deductions for sherlock holmes to realize, and that simple gesture, that act of kindness should have meant something. it was something that was meant to be a bonding experience, maybe, in sherlock's eyes. john didn't know.
he didn't bother to find out, either. didn't care. and maybe that was the worst of all; that was the punch in the gut that made him realize just how pointless the lot was. attention on the case and attention on the detective and attention on the corpses and murder victims. sherlock sat like a sculpture, all lines and taut posture - after so many years john knew when the man was stressed. bothered. good, you should be, you asshole.
words didn't bother to come, merely a heavy sigh - wrong thing to say, sherlock - and a shake of his head. he was angry. angry but mostly tired, and maybe a little sad. sad, because he didn't bother to relieve the tension. he didn't bother to lean forward and kiss him, or try to pull him into bed to see if a spark could ignite. sad, because he couldn't bring himself to make the change or to fight for them to be anything more than what they were.
they should've never stopped being sherlock and john. none of this johnsherlock, this sherlockjohn monstrosity that felt as though they should be joined at the hip and consistently in cue, on point with every thought and every action. somehow closeness, somehow togetherness and putting words to a feeling and jesus fuck when he realized he loved him that was…unexpected. somehow. ]
Don't know why you bother then. [ there's a bite to his words. why take a case when it's a waste of your time, sherlock? why bother asking if you know his presumptions are supposedly always incorrect? he scowls and keeps his body language tight, folds his arms over his chest and doesn't bother mentioning anything more. why bother? ]
Jim Moriarty } Sherlock } OTA
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"Dreary, isn't it." The spectral form that had materialized in the cell was invisible to all others. Though the mental representation was distinctly passive and bored, it seemed more vibrantly alive and real than any of the intensely focused "real" people in the room.
"The interrogations were more interesting before they started in with the physical torture. Fancy a trip to your 'happy place?'"
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"Let's. This is a waste of everyone's time." He ought to come up with a list of the questions they should be asking, he thought; at least then the thing could be done right. "I'm dreadfully insulted. I doubt they'll notice."
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The spectre stepped casually through the nearest cell wall, expecting his other manifestation to dissociate from their body with no difficulty to follow.
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And just the two of them.
"I don't know how much longer it can possibly go on, anyway. Even those louts are bound to get bored eventually. You'd think they'd notice: there's nothing to tell."
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Forget timeless infinity. The version of Moriarty's fractured mind that had been left to interact with the stupid people had grown dull and unimaginative. With a wave of his hand, the rest of him conjured a pleasantly furnished penthouse suite.
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But as he settled into something like himself, shedding sleepless nights and blinding lights and bone-cracking boredom, he began - a bit - to appreciate the finer things again. Still, the paralysis of energy was slow to leave him. "It doesn't change the fact that there's no point to any of this. The endgame's not an endgame." But that was what he wanted, wasn't it? Nothing.
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Moriarty gave himself a cute smirk. "I've even written a rather sizable part into the script for you, one you'll find a lot more fun than graveyard shifts at the hospital technical support help-desk."
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In some ways it excited him - the plan, the script, the momentum. A smile started across his face, fueled by anticipation and a strange sort of relief. Get Sherlock. But. "Same objection." He turned and stretched out, kicking his feet up on the sofa. "Endgame: nothing. Nothingness. I don't claim there's another endgame; I don't propose improvements." He couldn't. It was perfect.
"But the end, you know, is a net zero. Does it matter?" Honest question. He was still remembering.
Eames | Inception
Cal Chandler ∞ The Fix ∞ OTA
Nancy Holbrook | A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010) | ota
mary, queen of scots (reign | ota)
Castiel | Supernatural
Nevan | Devil May Cry | OTA
Sephiroth | FFVII | OTA
7 + 1 when you can't get the Cadet go for the General right?!?
It's not fair; He's not Fair, either. But it is nice in the moments they have it until she thinks on it too much, and the cycle starts itself over again.
Cissnei had excused herself to his bathroom a few moments before to clean herself up, and comes back to sit on the edge of his bed. She never stays long or for the night, and it is better for the both of them that way, she thinks.]
oh god that's beautiful /cries
That's all it ever needs to be, or so he tells himself.
It's always moments like this, when neither one of them knows (or maybe wants) to part now that all the questions he's never found an answer to become important all over again.
Sephiroth stands near his dresser with a pair of cotton pants on, sweeping his hair back into a pony tail. The General looks over his shoulder, gaze hiding his thoughts as always but no where near as wintry as he can be. ]
You can stay if you wish.
[ Her presence doesn't grate on his nerves and it's a distraction as well. Perhaps this one tiny weakness he can allow in measured doses. ]
I'M GLAD YOU LIKE I have no idea what i'm doiiing
Cissnei rarely acts as young as she is, though to his words, it shows in her brief surprise before falling back into a neutral face, brushing her hair back behind her shoulder with one hand.] If you don't mind my PHS being on, I will; I'm on call tonight.
[So is he likely, with the clone attacks that continue to bombard the city. But they are different departments with often wholly sets of different missions- While he's protecting and defending she's stomping fingers and toes of someone who the President has stopped liking.
She just wants a few moments where she feels like herself, and something that feels real.]
eh me either lol
Perfect right?
He nods distractedly, turning the hairbrush in his hand before setting is aside. He walks over, impossibly quiet for someone of his size with the long tail of pale hair swinging behind him. ]
I don't mind.
WHO NEEDS PLANNING
Alright. [He comes closer though, and she stops, looking at him. Slowly, deliberately Cissnei stands up, hand sliding up his chest as she lifts herself up, encouraging him to come closer so her mouth can meet his own.
It might be a thank you. It might be just the want of more. It didn't matter, not when she doesn't have to explain herself to anyone else.]
NOT US?
His lips catch against hers once and then again, deeper the second time. This isn't why he asked her stay - sometimes the silence just gets too loud even for him - but he'll not say no either.
Why they're here no longer matters as much as that they are and Sephiroth curls one strong arm around her waist. ]
NOPE
That second kiss steals her breath but Cissnei comes back for a third, undeterred and moving to shift back onto his bed for the second time that night, pulling him in with her without breaking the kiss and with her hand at the back of his neck. The height difference is easier to deal with that way, and right now all she wants to do is lose focus on everything else, even if that means just drifting off between sharing kisses like this.
She doesn't think she would mind that at all.]
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No need to talk about the things that are difficult; the reasons why they're probably in bed together at all.
He does reach down, hand skating along her leg to hook in the crook of her knee and bring it up around him. He likes that feeling more than he ever expected. But outside of that he moves to take it no further than another series of kisses, at least for now.
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Cissnei nips at Sephiroth's mouth, deepening the kiss with a soft noise of pleasure and her tongue inviting his own. She's still sensitive after their last round, but not enough to put this off in any sort of way.]
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So he spends time exploring her exposed skin and it's as much curiosity as desire. Her skin is softer than his, smooth in a different way and oh so warm as well. But he can feel strength too even if it is not overt in the way of SOLDIERs or himself. He decides that he likes it even if it reminds him that he must mind his own strength. His tongue tangles with hers in the same - curious and wanting. ]
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And she too, wants his reactions, inspired by how he touches her, by how she finds those places that made him press more into her in pleasure, his wants and needs. It's nice, because there is nothing to judge when neither of them care to do so. She nips at his mouth when she finally has to break away, smile catching briefly on her face as she invites him to take, if he wishes again.
As long as they don't have to think on it, Cissnei doesn't care.]
Cissnei | Final Fantasy VII | Open
Sherlock Holmes || Sherlock BBC || most options