Amazing, Analytic, Addicted

Bothering everyone again.

Please, please give my webcomic Shadow Caster a view. It’s about a shadow boy meeting a human boy with light abilities and forming a friendship which includes kicking bad guy butt (once we get to the official chapter one, anyways)

The contest ends soon and I’d like to keep going with it if people are willing to read it. Page six is just posted. Views, shares, comments and likes help me out. You don’t need an account to post it to your facebook (which can be a login) or send a link to your buddies, viewing it helps me all the same.

  ⊰ cryptologic mind ; ⊱

    ❝ Suppose we can talk about   anything you want, yeah? ❞

She ran a nervous hand through her curls after placing the pen into her pocket once more. It wasn’t everyday a man could cause her heart to thump if only a beat faster against her rib cage, but there was something really different about the boy in front of her — even if he did look a little young. 

⊰ cryptologic mind ; ⊱

my BF recently got into cons (this week was his first con) and he really wants to go to another in october before the ‘con season’ ends. But we were jobless by the time this con came up and are broke. We wanna make our costumes and have a good time for a weekend.

I know some people have emergencies that really need cash too. I just wanna take the guy out and have a good time, since stuff hasn’t been good lately.

$10 for a colored chibi of whatever the heckles you want. 

Paypal - [email protected]

SEND PAYMENT AS ‘GIFT’ to avoid fees

I’ll write anything if you give me fandom information references but if it’s not below I’ll take forever trying to figure it out.

Specialities:

Pokemon

Sherlock

Rise of the Guardians

Welcome to your life––

    The echo of his foot-falls ricocheted around the small, dark hallway until it met his eardrums. The sound was mildly comforting, but what comfort was there to be had for a criminal mastermind. What comfort was there to be had in something as simple as the steady rhythm of his own feet when he was only a short distance away from perhaps the most comforting thing he had ever known. 

––There's no turning back

    His palms were sweaty, his forehead was hot, his knees were nearly buckling, and his muscles were so tense he didn’t think he would be able to take another step when he was only three more steps away from the closed door. Everything was a blur. He had been approached by nurses asking him if he was lost, security personnel asking if he had an appointment, and even the doctors themselves to ask if he was looking for a particular patient. He answered none of their questions, he didn’t even acknowledge them with the wave of his hand to dismiss them. From the moment he entered the building, his head was light, his mind quiet for once– but his body almost refused to cooperate. 

Almost.

     He wasn’t going to let that happen. Not when he was so fucking close to his prize.     

His prize. 

Even while we sleep––

     ”Sherlock Holmes.” The race to beat the clock was over. The bombs, the notes, the letters, the riddles, rhymes–– it was all over. The race was over, but the game was on. At that singular moment when James Moriarty finally opened the door to find the detective seated quite comfortably in a chair waiting for his doctor to explain how the rehabilitation was coming along, he realised that was the beginning of his life. The moment he entered into the same vicinity as Sherlock Holmes as not an enemy, but as an ally, is the moment he was reborn entirely. 

–– We will find you

Maybe that classified as weakness. Disgusting, humiliating weakness. 

Pushing aside the thought, he forced his fingers to cease their trembling. Things would return to normal shortly. Boring murders and petty revenge thefts. Hearing steps outside the door made him think of Mycroft for a moment. The eye roll was instantaneous. Any steps that clacked with expensive shoes on tile reminded the detective of the nosy Holmes.Those steps approached his door and he inhaled, taking on the persona as always. He hated being like Mycroft, but it seemed the only way to keep himself above it all. If this meeting went poorly, he wasn't sure he'd make it through more without becoming a murderer.

Sherlock straightened his back, putting his stilled hands over his lap and tilting his chin up in the slightest. His eyes pretended to scan the ceiling tiles, circa 1981. The door handle turned, slowly, and a strange feeling sank down into his stomach, making his eyes snap to the door. An old apparition greeted him at the door, as if perfectly expected. Even with the forced relaxation he felt his breathing stop as soon as the door clicked shut.

Send me a ♤ and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours.

{ℳ } —

Then it started up again, embarrassingly heavy when the free space around him was quickly filled by a step.The look he was getting was enough to make him feel like he was eight years old again--being judged, assessed, stared down for being an idiot. As much as the look unsettled him, it made his lungs flutter in his chest. That was not medically safe at all. He inhaled, trying to level off his breathing and--oh well, that was...unexpected. The criminal needed to step back, or at least stop leaning into him, if the heat pressing up against his hip was any indication. The criminal was speaking again, and it took a few moments of reassessing, realigning, what did he say? Think of a witty response. Gun kink? Oh lord he never even thought of something like that. Maybe there was a kink under 'having your enemy pressed up against you'. 

His eyelids fluttered too, if only just focusing on the scene in front of him, staring deeply into those cold eyes centimeters away. 

"This may be checkmate." He hummed, trying to keep his voice level. It probably only came out in a pathetic whisper. Hearing that in his own voice sparked something, an attempt to shimmy away, back pressed against the rough bricks. Sherlock tried shifting back, almost shying away from the criminal, almost being that he hardly made any distance before the drag along their hips made him shudder internally.

Send me a ♤ and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours.

{ℳ } —

Send me a ♤ and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours.

{ℳ } —

Send me a ♤ and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours.

{ℳ } —

     ”Sherlock.”

Send me a ♤ and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours.

{ℳ } —

          “Ayo, kiddo.”

corner of her lip twitched subtly.

Don't let him get to you.

The second sing-songing of his name nearly made him grimace, watching the criminal foxtrot away into the darkness. He hardly paid mind to the musings of the madman. His name was fine, practically common knowledge. He really shouldn't be so surprised knowing it, especially since the Holmes name was tied into the information the tiny device had in his talons.

So he knew. Easy, Sherlock is known through association of Mycroft. He wasn't even out of Uni, not enough to make a name for himself aside from tiny circles of bin diggers and pickpockets. Not masterminds, maybe not.