bakerstreet | inspirational quote goes here.

[ info in journal, general warning here. ]

01. I have found out that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them, than to travel with them.

- Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer Abroad

02. Man only likes to count his troubles; he doesn't calculate his happiness.

- Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground

03. Actions are sometimes performed in a masterly and most cunning way, while the direction of the actions is deranged and dependent on various morbid impressions - it's like a dream.

- Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

04. Why is it that, as a culture, we are more comfortable seeing two men holding guns than holding hands?

- Ernest J. Gaines

wildcard. Bring your own.

Edited 2021-03-19 10:53 (UTC)

[ They've been in the air for about an hour and Spike's more or less done having the wiggins over the whole thing, what, being 8 kms up, sunlight a potential threat all the while if anyone of Marcel's men decides to try their luck... Anyway, he's done. Over it. Currently, he's seated with his legs up, no doubt scratching the expensive leather seats on the opposite side of the aisle. Next to him, Mando - Armand, if we're being particular - stays close by, about one foot away from actively hanging all over him. Spike's trying to figure out if he can stand the man's company for a few decades going onwards, meaning he's gotta know whether getting used to him's even an option. So he lets him stay. Hang.

So long as he keeps his bloody mitts to himself.

Marcel's men are gathered in the opposite end of the plane, doing their own thing and throwing wary glances in his direction at regular intervals. They very clearly can't and shouldn't be trusted not to stake him in his sleep so it's a good thing, isn't it, that he tends to sleep where Marcel sleeps, meaning they wouldn't go ten feet near the area in the first place. He looks over at them, establishing eye contact with one and raising his eyebrow. Purses his lips slightly.

The man hurriedly looks away, jaw visibly tense.

A grand atmosphere all around, eh? ]

[ The midsize Cessna Citation jet is pretty big for eight people (nine, if you count the pilot, though no one fucking counts a dead man walking), but seems hella smaller when the five of them have it out for the vampire and the last one in the line wants to fucking fuck him, you know? Suddenly midsize is way too fucking small. Oh, and that's ignoring the dog, too, with its huge as fuck crate stored away in the corner by the cockpit. He's slipped Bubbles a pill to make it sleep at least some of the way and it's snoring gently now while he fishes out a fine quality whiskey from the fridge. It's a luxury as fuck aircraft, of course. Obviously, de Groot wouldn't travel in less, if it could be helped and after that Saudi prince gave it to him, God knows why, yeah, he hadn't had to either, right?

Closing the fridge lid with his hip, since both his hands are full of bottles and tumblers and whatnot, he moves back down the aisle, catching Jules looking away from Spike with a clenched as fuck jaw and he ain't fucking stupid, he knows that his men would stake the shit out of his chosen travel companion if he didn't stay within an arm's length, right? Well, then, good thing he ain't going anywhere.

Good thing he doesn't plan to let Spike sleep anywhere else until he's fucking dead.

Stopping by the row of seats that the other man's claimed, giving his huge boots a fucking look first, then directing it at Mando afterwards, he just says: ] Move. [ The kid throws an unmistakably hopeful look at Spike before inching aside, leaving his seat for Marcel to take and he slips into it with a small huff, handing one tumbler to the vampire - whom Mando's still staring at from Marcel's other side. He ignores him, shakes the whiskey once. ]

Want some?

[ Marcel brings alcohol and that's never unwarranted so Spike accepts the tumbler and ignores Mando's desperate look as he's pushed aside, forced to make room. Get used to it, boy. Even if - and the if is substantial at this point in time, honestly - Spike chooses to turn him, he'll be scraping along the bottom of the pecking order... barrel for so long he'll be half-near toothless by the end of it. Sod. He holds out his tumbler in Marcel's direction, shifting a bit in his seat. ]

How long 'til we land?

[ There's a petulant tone to his voice, mostly because he absolutely loathes being stuck in one place for any prolonged period of time. He can feel the restlessness creeping up on him, the need to move. He glances over at the men in back. Feeding, yeah, he's definitely starting to get a craving in that direction, too. Imagine how they'd react if he were to - well, to be fair, they'd probably just pull the window shades away and turn him into ash. Stupid, that they know how to do that. Who's brilliant idea was that? He adds, voice loud enough to carry all the way to the back: ]

You should let me eat Jules. He's doing nothing for the mood in here.

7 hours. [ He pours them both a generous drink, mostly because the answer is bound to be fucking depressing to someone who was quite obviously dying from restlessness 15 minutes in, yeah? He still fucking remembers driving to Rotterdam with the guy sitting next to him, talking too much and not sitting still enough, like a piece of fucking Duracell battery-driven shit. Marcel puts the whiskey bottle away by their feet and takes a long sip, this stuff ain't his favourite, he's more a rum guy, to be honest, but this was the only unopened bottle left in the cabinet and like fuck, if he's gonna drink something from a bottle someone else has had their dirty paws all over. Who knows what else could be in there now, yeah?

Catching Spike's gaze before he even speaks, he frowns over the rim of his tumbler, Jules' shoulders obviously tensing at his words - like fuck, it's evident from all the way over here how fucking ready for a fight he is and Marcel imagines that if he were actually inclined to eat people, he'd probably wanna fucking eat him, too, just to get rid of the energy. It's contagious.

A shrug, he rests his arm along the backrest of Spike's seat, kinda tapping an irritated rhythm with his fingers on the leather. He can feel Mando watching him, them. ] Not gonna take cred for you showing some actual fucking self-restraint.

[ Whiskey goes in, best thing that's happened on this flight so far and what, 7 hours, Christ, that's inhumane. Spike twitches in his seat, sipping his drink (bit tasteless as far as whiskey goes but it'll do for want of, oh, anything else) and watching Jules' shoulders tense, emanating aggression. Next to Spike, Marcel rests his arm along the backrest of his seat and Spike thumbs his head back against it, shifting on his arse until he's more or less strewn across the seats, his head propped up against Marcel's shoulder and upperarm. He's not looking particularly elegant here, granted. With his legs spread, one foot on the floor, the other on the opposite seat, Mando's probably getting an eyeful from how he keeps gawking in his direction. ]

You. [ He whips his head towards Mando, eyes narrowed dangerously, though he keeps his voice pleasant. ] Find something else to look at, claw your eyeballs out, whatever - but quit staring at me.

[ The boy averts his gaze, though he's looking all too happy to be taking orders from him and God, he'll be such an annoying little fledgling won't he, but he might also be a little bit loyal and if nothing else, enthusiastic. Might do, yeah. Getting there. He looks back at Marcel, one eyebrow raised. ]

I could turn him, you know. That one. [ A nod in Jules' direction. ] Tosser might even be more useful that way.

[ Mando gets told off which makes Marcel smile slightly, knocking down his own whiskey in measured, slow mouthfuls, one after the other. Takes a fucking lot to get him tipsy, so he's not exactly going slow on that account, more like he doesn't want to start feeling the least bit drowsy. 7 hours on a flight where he can't fucking sleep, because his men would no doubt grasp at the opportunity, yeah? Won't do. He's got a vampire to keep the fuck un-dusty.

A vampire who sprawls out against his shoulder, head resting against his upper arm and legs spread wide, glass dangling dangerously from his grip. He looks like a fucking catastrophe, probably, to some, but he also looks like hierarchy and pecking order and the fucking boss (as well as the boss' partner, lady, you decide what you'd rather call him, see where it fucking gets you) which is all good, right, because they're establishing that now. They're establishing for a while to come, even. ]

Wasn't the plan. [ His voice is even, unbothered. A little bit of Jules' tension bleeds away and he actually dares looking over his shoulder at them, obviously trying to catch Marcel's eyes, though all he gets is Spike's crotch. Your lucky as fuck day, my man. ] I only change plans for really good as fuck arguments, Spike, might won't fucking cut it. [ Taking another long sip of his whiskey, he notices Jules getting to his feet, looking agitated. Pacing back and forth a few times, the others trying to talk him down. Not happening, Marcel's predicting. A turn of his head, nose slipping through Spike's hair at the temple. ] So, why?

Edited 2021-03-20 11:43 (UTC)

[Mm. Marcel tells him to state his case, nuzzling his hair and making his spine tingle in a couple of interesting ways. The intimacy of the gesture's pretty nice, makes him feel less tense, even if his sprawl might indicate a complete and total lack of muscle activity. Then, there's the feel of Marcel's warm breath tickling his temple, his scent intensifying along with his proximity. He shifts a bit. Leans into the touch, uncaring that he's basically rubbing the side of his face against Marcel's like an animal which, well.

He blinks. Shifts into game face, his features rippling and tightening, the interior of the airplane looking suddenly sharper, everything more distinct. He looks over at Jules. Watches him while he paces, yellow eyes following his movements back and forth. ]

Because he'll like it.

[ He knows what Marcel's really asking, of course - what's the strategy, what's the point? But honestly, becoming a demon is pretty pointless in the grand scheme of things (someone let Mando know, stat). It's not about what it might do for others, for your friends or your gang or your boss. It's something that happens to you. ]

In fact, it'll be the greatest thing anyone's ever done for him.

[ Spike changes into his vampire face, features defined and hard-ridged, eyes yellow as they follow Jules pacing back and forth. A long moment, the other man isn't looking their way at all, doing his fucking utmost to mind his own business, then someone (Léo) gasps at the sight of Spike and Jules can't fucking help himself, turning slightly towards them, staring straight at the vampire in his best fucking attire. Marcel doesn't say anything, just watches him wordlessly as his face goes through various stages of shock, disgust, anger. After a second, the man's eyes narrow and he moves up the aisle towards them, ignoring someone's (Léo, again) hand on his shoulder, trying to hold him back. Fucking freaks, he snarls and spits at the floor in front of their feet.

Next to Marcel, Mando leans forward eagerly. Marcel, however, just frowns, releases Spike slowly and gets up, one fluid motion and he's standing, more or less in the other man's face. As far as he's understood, vampires work a different hierarchy, yeah. Jules certainly won't have to answer to Marcel any longer, won't that be nice. ]

Better prove he's fucking worthy, then.

[ Says Marcel, finally. What he isn't saying is, don't eat Jules, baby or over my dead fucking body and Jules knows what that means, of course, that he's not indispensable, that he's just one in a line, Marcel can make more of his kind.

Just as Spike can make more of his. ]

[ooc: All caught up on WandaVision. Can avoid or mark for spoilers as needed! Also, if none of the prompts below grab you, feel free to bring your own! OTA, canon, cross canon, assumed CR, etc.]

1."I'll walk forever with stories inside me that the people I love most can never hear."
- Michelle Hodkin, The Evolution of Maya Dyer

2."All of it was good, in every sense of the word. And in this life, nothing good is ever truly lost. It stays a part of a person, becomes part of their character. So part of you goes everywhere with me. And part of me is yours, forever."
- Rosamund Pilcher, The Shell Seekers

3."Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."
- George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

4."Memory blurs, that's the point. If memory didn't blur you wouldn't have the fool's courage to do things again, again, again that tear you apart."
- Joyce Carol Oates, We Were the Mulvaneys

a. Every woman in the world is doomed to be her mother's daughter.

b. Only the good die young. I'm gonna live forever.

c. Love, if you love me,
lie next to me.
Be, for me, like rain,
the getting out

of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust of intentional indifference.
Be wet
with a decent happiness. --Robert Creeley

a. And a bitter voice in the mirror cries, "Hey, Prince, you need a shave." Now if you can manage to get your trembling fingers to behave, why don't you try unwrapping a stainless steel razor blade? That's right, it's come to this; yes, it's come to this. And wasn't it a long way down. Wasn't it a strange way down?

b. Glass is not glass in the language of love: it implies sight, it suggests depth, it mirrors and makes real, it is sought and is seen. What is made of glass reflects the gazer. A queen must be made of glass.

c. …an inorganic product of fusion which has cooled to a rigid condition without crystallizing…

d. And everybody knows that you're in trouble, everybody knows what you've been through. From the bloody cross on top of Calvary to the beach of Malibu. Everybody knows it's coming apart. Take one last look at this Sacred Heart before it blows, and everybody knows. Oh, everybody knows, everybody knows, that's how it goes; everybody knows.

Edited 2021-03-19 14:13 (UTC)

1. 'I'll walk forever with stories inside me that the people I love most can never hear.' - Michelle Hodkin, The Evolution of Mara Dyer

2. 'Just because you didn't speak the facts out loud didn't erase their existence. Silence is just a quieter way to lie.' - Jodi Picoult, The Tenth Circle

3. 'He was an answer to a question she'd forgotten to ask.' - Melissa Marr, Ink Exchange

4. 'Having someone you can talk to is cool, but it's been my experience that it is a lot harder to find someone you can be quiet with.' - Eileen Cook, Unraveling Isobel

1. here you are worried that i'll leave when i see your real self... when that's the part of you that lets me stay.
⸺soman chainani, the last ever after.

2. we know we are very special. yet we keep trying to find out in what way: not this way, not that way, then what way?
⸺lydia davis.

3. we always think there's enough time to do things with other people. time to say things to them. and then something happens and we stand there holding on to words like "if".
⸺fredik backman, a man called ove.

4. because with the right person, sometimes kissing feels like healing.
⸺lisa mcmann, gone.

5. wildcard!

[ happy to start! AUs may vary. c: ]

[ It's hard to put into concrete terms, after all this time, exactly what he feels toward his father. Resentment feels too petty, hate too simple. But whatever it is, it drives him, from century to century, through the years of endless bloodshed that characterize the human existence. It's a lonely way to live, but he doesn't mind it — it's what he was meant for, he thinks. If only he can see the truth, then it is his duty to shepherd it.

That school of thought doesn't change when he first sees Diana, at least not immediately. When he looks at her, all he can think is that she seems so curiously whole. Her existence here isn't exile or banishment, as his is. There's still a light, a brightness that blooms around her that almost makes him envious. (She doesn't see him for what he is, but that's the way he prefers it — for now, at least.) But the more he thinks on it, the more he wonders if it isn't better that way. She's untouched, untainted by the human world that surrounds them — who better to understand that this world could be something more?

It doesn't take much to find her. (Like drawn to like, he supposes.) There are always pauses in war — not in the grand scheme of things, but from person to person, battalion to battalion, like rests taken by individual parts of an orchestra while the music goes on. Bureaucrats and officers pass back and forth, and in the center of throng, there she is. Navigating through it all isn't easy, per se — the limp is somewhat hindering — but it's hardly a cause for true complaint.

As he approaches: ]

Something on your mind, Miss Prince?

[ There's always something on her mind. Thoughts of Themyscira and the Amazons, thoughts of Steve and what the world has done to him that he continues to shield her from. Diana may appear naive with her bumbling at times, but even she can see that he's hiding something from her. She doesn't need to be hidden away from the truths of the world anymore. Hasn't she proven enough that she can handle it?

While she's definitely not going to abide by the alleged rules to let the men take to a room and speak on things they have no understanding of, she can consider playing the game a little more subtle. Maybe as more of a smaller brick plummeting through a windowpane?

Speaking of men in war rooms, the lone one—aside from Steve—who seems to be content and encouraging, if not amused, by her choosing to shoulder her way into the room and speak when not spoken to appears, Diana doesn't feel as overcome with a desperate need to try and come up with some cover story as to why she's here without Steve. Surely, Sir Morgan wouldn't be overly offended by her being here without a male escort.

Pretending to be startled, she lifts her hand to her chest to try and sell it. The building bustles with people, but none of them are doing anything.

She exhales heavily before she paints on her smile. ] I'm just… thinking. Of the war. [ She presses her lips into a very unamused line, shaking her head. She acts slightly sheepish. ] A very unoriginal thought, isn't it?

[ The feigned surprise gets a laugh, a huff of breath as he settles both hands on the handle of his cane. ]

Unoriginal or not, one can hardly blame you.

[ The line of his shoulders shifts in a slight shrug. (He isn't unamused, for what that's worth — the line between Sir Patrick Morgan and his true self isn't as clearly cut as most might expect, were anyone aware of his nature, anyway.) ]

There's hardly any respite from it, after all. Each day, some new conflict, and yet no tangible headway ...

[ His head tilts, the soft smile that often seems settled on his features fading into something closer to curiosity. That, at least, is completely genuine. He's fascinated by her, not just for the thought that he might be able to persuade her to see things his way, but simply because it's been so long since he's been in the company of anyone who wasn't mortal. ]

You are, of course, welcome to tell me if my prying is unwelcome.

[ He clearly hasn't been paying attention to her if he thinks his prying is unwelcome. She takes it as her invitation to eagerly conduct her own prying. All Diana has tried to do is tear open the war, these people inside of this building. All she's wanted is to find the beating heart beneath all their decisions and take it in her hand and push it into a different beat.

Comfortable, she crosses her arms against her chest. It's hardly defensive. She's curious, wanting to keep her hands to herself and away from driving her attention away from the conversation at hand. Perhaps Sir Patrick's answer can lead her to Ares… ]

How do you do it? [ She tilts her head to the side curiously, brows furrowing gently. ] How do you come in every day when you believe you see no headway? From what people have said... [ She lifts a hand to her mouth, pressing it hard against her chin before she lets it fall. ] It sounds like many no longer believe that they can change anything.

[ And, to her, that sounds more defeating than actually losing the war itself. ]

a ) "— but you'll die!"
b ) "what is a promise if not your hand in mine?"
c ) "compassion as a chest wound."
d ) "the truth is, you learn a little more about yourself every time someone says goodbye."
e ) "i'm not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but i think it may feel a lot like you."
wildcard ) prompt me!

She was not a stranger to the eloquence of prose, however her time with Fischl left her disinterested in the plucking strings of poem - as it were. Mona stares upon the other with reflective eyes, their hazel colors gently glistening as she stares before the strange Bard. Who was he? That when she tided into his fates, the winds wisped about her as if to steal her breath away, "Do you speak of those you teach your way of song or poem? Or is it something else you defer to?"

⒈ "I'll walk forever with stories inside me that the people I love the most can never hear."
⒉ "There's no reason to speak. I have nothing to say." Julie Anne Peters, By The Time You Read This, I’ll Be Dead
⒊ "Why had he never ever appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart?" J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
⒋ "But I have to content myself with the crumbs of his affection." Truman Capote, In Cold Blood
⒌ "My favorite conversations are the ones with no real answers." Colleen Hoover, It Ends with Us
⒍ Your pick.

1. There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with. - Harry Crews

2. Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing. - D.H. Lawrence

3. Whatever you want, at any moment, someone else is getting it. Whatever you have, someone else is longing for. - Laura Lippman

4. I'm afraid if I listen to my heart once, I'll never figure out how to ignore it again. - Colleen Hoover

or wildcard.

( ooc: m/f 25+ for anything shippy. )

i. "Memory blurs, that's the point. If memory didn't blur you wouldn't have the fool's couage to do things again, again and again that tear you apart." - We Were the Mulvaneys, Joyce Carol Oates
ii. "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same;" - Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë
iii. "It was like stars exploding and burning out one by one. She wondered if this was part of getting older. Parts of your heart exploded and died." - The Secrets of Peaches, Jodi Lynn Anderson
iv. "A scret's worth depens on the people from whom it must be kept." - The Shadow of the Wind, Carlos Ruiz Zafón
v. ( BRING YOUR OWN! )

inspirational quote goes here.

marcel verlinden ( original )

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Wanda Maximoff | MCU | OTA

Natalia Romanova | au | info in journal

Tony Stark | Marvel

esther moreau / original / ota

margaery tyrell | game of thrones

ares / dceu

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venti / genshin impact

C

pyeon sang-wook • sweet home

Nana | WOL FF14 OC/🐈OC | Ota

elia martell | asoiaf | ota

bruce wayne | dceu

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zed martin | constantine

william james moriarty | moriarty the patriot