bakerstreet | to write love on her arms

[Whenever he takes a look at his wrist, just between where his gloves start and where the sleeve of his shirt ends, he sees the writing.
It's weird, seemingly changing every now and then, from Ren Amamiya to Akira Kurusu and back, sometimes it's a mixture of these two, but every time he knows who it's supposed to be: the same black and curly haired guy with glasses, dark eyes and decidedly too long eyelashes ...

And every time he chooses to ignore those feelings, and the meaning behind the ever changing name.]

[Canon, crosscanon, AUs, assumed CR, I'm here for all of it.]

[Hhm, this is a new symptom. He doesn't like it but doesn't see meaning in fussing. So! Feel free to make him uncomfortable by asking about the pale lilac Ailess and the deep blue Masaferry glowing merrily over his cold, dead heart.]

I. ( Valhalla arc )

Over his heart, the name "Keisuke Baji" is the only one that looks...healthy, let's say? There are thin lines over the smaller names of his former friends, as if to strike through them. One name in particular seems frantically scribbled on, to the point where it can't be read.

II. ( The future )

On each side of his chest, "Chifuyu Matsuno" and "Keisuke Baji" glow in warm shades of red. The rest of the names are not a dull shade of gray anymore, and there is nothing hiding them from sight. Where a bunch of black scribbles could be found before, another name can be read: "Manjiro Sano".

[a mix of RP AUs

teen era: satoru, shoko, kento, yu, fyodor

adult: hanako, mimiko, larue, toji, gin + the teen era names dulled, constantly seeping and smeared with blood]

[ It says 'Eliot'-- of course it does. ]

[Not that it's a surprise, but Quentin is scrawled in neat handwritten lettering right across his own chest, over the heart, directly over it. Where else would it be. One other name is scratched and blackened, burned and then bloodied, scraped away, unable to be red on the other side...]

[ Alice's name had once time been etched on Quentin's heart and yet it had been ink and had faded with situations. Eliot's name was like a tattoo-- there was no getting rid of it, it had burned into the skin-- scarred there, but not painful.

Quentin is trying though not to be overt in noticing the way that his name there, not drawing attention to it-- perhaps almost a bit afraid that Eliot would play it off as no big deal. ]

[There might have been the suggestion that the other name was Mike, but the Beast had forced it from Eliot's body, scarring him first when Eliot was forced to kill Mike, further burned and desecrated as Eliot purged it from his very soul with the way he almost killed himself in grief until finally offering himself up at the alter of love. A love that began on the day he laid eyes on the waif of a man in front of him, and only compounded a million times over every day they spent denying themselves.

That was the name that currently displayed itself on his heart. It might have been a shock to see his name drawn into Quentin's skin, but it felt like it was only right given the match it formed on Eliot's. Unspeaking, the wizard trolled his fingers along the letters through whatever fabric covered them on Quentin's body, seeing the the wispy strokes as clear as day. No one could hide this magical spell, no matter what they wore. Their love was bare to all. ]

I almost... I had hoped, and... well, you can see mine too.

[ And yet Quentin understood the love that Eliot had for Mike. Despite how much he had felt himself wanting to make something of it, he knew that Eliot had been his own person and capable of his own decisions. And how it had killed him to see Eliot unhappy when Mike ended up being the Beast and there was only one thing to be done.

He'd offered himself in friendship to the other man even as the words did not go away from that heart. Rather they glowed with embers, a fire of which he felt the same protectiveness for all of his friends.. and yet at the center there was the tall man that now stood before him. And for once, Quentin looked serene and calm, perhaps it was because he was certain in his feelings. ]

I can see yours, and yet it is hard for me to reconcile myself with the fact that I deserve such regard-- I think that I've evolved enough that it is easier to accept now.

You've always deserved it. I- I'm the one who never has. You know that. I've never deserved the kind of love you have for me.

[The words choke Eliot even as he says them. He can feel the words on his heart burn even brighter, showing that the things he say are truly lies. Eliot speaks in fear and cowardice as he has for so long. When he looks down, long fingers betray him as they trace over Quentin's name.

Lashes flutter shut, and Eliot steps forward so that he's in the other man's shadow, forever in the shadow of his sun, his moon and stars. With a deep breath he lets out a length of fear.]

What if I -- could learn, maybe, somehow to be as brave as you. I want to know exactly what it is to mean every letter that's written on my heart.

Quentin and Eliot had their moments, they'd had their arguments but also there had been times that had been so impossibly beautiful and sweet. A lifetime of them in fact, and he remembered that lifetime and held vigil to it-- there had been no taking Alice back after finding out what he could have; and then to have it denied him.

Still, he kept vigil for Eliot. Loved him even when Eliot became distant, supported him through everything, supported him through the Beast. Very carefully Quentin steps forward and his hand crosses distance and time, and then he runs fingers against cheek. ]

I have always believed in you, El. Even when I did not believe in myself, I believed in you. Perhaps that has kept me going for so long, from ending my existence. [ Even though he would give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant his friends were safe, especially if it ensured their survival. But that was not something that he mentioned. ]

People are not meant to survive alone. Wolves are stronger in packs, they say. You are my pack-- and you always will be. And even if we are alone and cold in the snow, we will be together.

"I've always believed in you. You know that I have. It was myself that was never good enough. For the longest time I was merely a caricature of a person. I was this thing that I carved out blood, sweat and so many tears. I've become more, I know that I have. You made me more. You, Quentin. The hope of you, the beauty of you, and the gift of you in my lifetime, our lifetime." He paused, and dropped his eyes. It was not an easy road, this weight of hardened stone, buried in a thick quagmire of guilt laden on his chest.

Here was Quentin saying all was there, that things hadn't changed. Eliot could see it written, and yet how did heart and mind synchronize the data that lay there straight and plain? Wringing his hands, Eliot paced as only Eliot knew how to do. Hands forced themselves into place, and thoughts bombarded his brain, both the rational and irrational. Wolves. Eliot smiled. He would bring up the little creatures, at least it wasn't foxes-- those were too close to other memories that he'd heard far too much about.

Her name wasn't there though. It was only them. It was only them. This Eliot could take hold of. Stepping into Quentin, Eliot reached out and traced his cheek. "Ah, my sweet love. My sweet, sweet love. You've always been so wise, no matter how much you tried to hide it. The smartest one of us all. I could never love another person the way I've loved you, never need anyone the way I've always needed you, even if I never said it aloud. I'm saying it now. I need you." He bit his lip. That had to have been the hardest thing he'd ever said, but there was more truth there than he'd ever pronounced before.

A wry smile crossed over Quentin's lips at the statement of himself being wise. Perhaps he was the wisest person out of their bunch, but he did not think he was so much-- there was much of the reckless in him; but perhaps one needed to know the value of life to be able to cross over that bridge that linked wisdom to folly.

There was still time for that, gods was there still time.

Quentin Coldwater had always been a sentimental sort, wanting to be loved so desperately even though he could not possibly love himself; and he was loved-- loved in that way; it was true that he would take those risks because he cared for others more then his own self preservation. It would be his hubris and eventual downfall, the value of others in comparison to his own.

The magician reached out, touched against the chest-- against the silhouette of heart against skin as he understood the gravity of the words there. No somatic that he could carve with his fingers would ever match the tenderness with which he touched Eliot just now; tracing the script of his name as if it was precious. "I do not think you realize how much I have wanted to hear those words-- even as I understood the reason you could not say them." Fear was a powerful motivator, and while he'd been disappointed especially that lifetime they shared together, he would've never blamed Eliot nor pushed him.

"I--" What could he say in response to that. It was only the deepest truth that stood between them in this shrine to time, the only ally they had at their feet in this gruesome journey they'd shared, because it had been gruesome. They'd waded through every emotion, every crime to humanity, and more death that should ever come between two people. Yet here they stood encapsulated and wearing the love they still could only claim for one another, the same love they claimed from the moment they met-- at least that's how Eliot always saw it.

Feeling Quentin's fingers against his body once more, that remembered touch sent chills through his spine and across each of his limbs. It was like that single touch brought a dead man back to life, for what was a life without the love that filled it. He swallowed deeply and reached out his spare set of digits to carve a path along Quentin's side. They curled inward and tugged, bringing the other male's body within the shadow of Eliot's own frame, bumping hips and legs.

Tilting his head, Quentin was close enough now that Eliot could rest his forehead downward against the floppy haired mess in front of him, sliding back and forth across the bone that encased that wonderfully smart brain Quentin carried. "I'm forever sorry I couldn't say them when you needed me to, but I can now and I don't ever want to take them back. I want this mark to stay forever. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, but I know that I can't let you go again. Please don't go again."

"You do not need to apologize; you are more than enough." Quentin murmured even as he felt the press of forehead downward against the crown of his head. He almost bowed underneath the weight except that he could be strong for Eliot, wanted to be some sort of support for him. How was it that Quentin at times felt heavy under the weight of his own thoughts and yet under others, his spine was made of steel.

He could've carried his friends however they needed to do so, made any sacrifice.

But at the core of his heart, there was Eliot. It had always been Eliot through those beginning times, through the uncertainty of his and Alice's relationship, and finally in another life, his husband and mate as they worked to solve a puzzle tasked of them. "None of us know what is going to happen tomorrow but I suppose it is important to live for the moment, to cherish each second that is given us." as if it would be their last.

With a hand that was meant to cradle only one man's jaw in love, Eliot dared to reach up and brush his long fingers across the elegant design of Quentin's cheek, tracing the perfect sweep of its protrusion. Holding it still, Eliot did the only thing he felt was right deep in the heart of his soul and brushed his lips against his friend's, his lover's, his husband's. They'd been so many things to one another across time, that they could call one another alone true destiny, without blinking an eye.

No matter how Eliot fought it. He knew that taking any semblance of control in his life meant this. It meant bringing Quentin back into his life for the rest of it, however long that ended up being for the both of them. From a dusting of lips, Eliot opened and swept his tongue across the beautiful petals of Quentin's lips, pressing beyond them to taste the only flavor he's ever desired more than life itself.

It was the sweetest ambrosia, nectar from every god, greater than the magic they offered from their springs. Quentin was magic for Eliot, and being able to hold him near, to press their bodies together once more felt like he'd finally come home at long last after being lost in the desert for years on end.

Truth of the matter was that Quentin was intensely touch-starved and so he craved any bit of contact that Eliot could give him. How long had he dreamed of this, of serving his King in this way-- he'd always had a special place in Fillory, but never as it's King. That was for Eliot, but he would always be the man who loved Fillory the most, caught up in the lore.

And because Eliot was Fillory, he loved him too.

But not only because of that.

Very carefully he parted his lips, feeling the tongue dance and skirt lightly like a minuet against his mouth and then deeper he fell into the other man's orbit and he tasted stars and the very essence of magic. Somatics cast by tongues while his own arm moved to wrap around shoulders and perhaps he was leveraging himself up on tiptoes to bring their bodies closer together while the world fell away and became unimportant.

Neither of them could have predicted how this certain little storybook would have unfolded, how the type written pages would bring their two souls back together again and so there they stood, clinging in a tangled embrace where they started, with tongues tied and mouths charging ahead to reach for all the mess that they could claim.

If ever there truly deserved to be a king of Filory it was Quentin, and Eliot swore from this day forward, he'd kneel at that alter. Even now, his mouth moved down the statuesque neck, sucking marks of his own, red, purple and pink along the pale flesh. "Quentin, my love." He whispered, merely declaring for the silent world around them the truth of his heart once more. "I need you again. I feel like my soul's been lost, starved without your touch for so long."

He cast his fingers along slender hips, up and around their slopes until they slipped upside of Quentin's shirt, eager to touch more pale skin. Eliot knew every one of Quentin's weaknesses after a lifetime of loving, but touching him now was once more like the very first time.

[ It says, spelled out ridiculously large, "Akutsu Mabu". And honestly, he's pretty pissed about it. ]

[ the name "david martinez" glows bright, neon green with a hint of light blue across her chest. this isn't a major revelation or even embarrassing for her so she doesn't particularly react in any outlandish way over it. ]

(The name is in soft blue, written in a familiar hand in its writing and it reads clearly: Zelda.)

[there is nothing but smooth skin. leave him alone.]

[ Assume your character's name is there if you like! Otherwise...definitely all of the Knights and several other canonmates. ]

to write love on her arms

Goro Akechi | Persona 5 franchise

Cassandra de Rolo | Critical Role

Warren | Bloody Shadows

kazutora hanemiya | tokyo revengers | ota

geto | jujutsu kaisen

Quentin Coldwater | The Magicians |

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ngl I was hoping to reel you in-- your Eliot is top tier!

Your Quentin will always pull us in. always~

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Reo Niiboshi | Sarazanmai

Lucyna "Lucy" Kushinada | Cyberpunk: Edgerunners | OTA

Link ° Legend of Zelda: BOTW

Gojo Satoru | Jujutsu Kaisen

Leo Tsukinaga 🎶 Ensemble Stars! 🎶 OTA