#domuslux

Modesty didn’t seem surprised the monster was Credence. Horrified, yes, but in a familiar sort of way. Maybe she had always known there was something terribly wrong with him.

The darkness twisted around him, pulsing in time with his quickened heartbeat. Cracks of static energy snapped in bursts of blue, otherwise the darkness grew heavier.

His eyes, though whiting out, remained on Mr. Graves, blood tinted tears tracking down Credence’s pale face. He could still feel where he had slapped him.

“I trusted you…”

I’m done with you echoed inescapably through his broken heart.

As Modesty cowered behind Mr. Graves, she clapped her hands over her eyes, sure this was the end.

“I loved you… Mr. Graves.” Credence confessed wearily. If he was to die from this dark energy, it was only fitting that he would take Mr. Graves with him. They were meant to be together, after all.

PROMPTS FOR THE MORNING AFTER

@domuslux asked: what do you remember? || from Doctor Strange

tony groaned, sitting up and he leaned back against the back board of the bed. he looked down at himself, seeing he was naked. he glanced around, seeing he wasn't in his own room. odd. he normally does this in his own place. he looks over, seeing who was his partner.

made sense.

he slowly moves out of the bed, going to find the mirror. he sees himself, seeing the work the other made. hickeys, bites, some hand prints too. who knew that the sorcerer would be rough. he walks back out, walking over to see the other awake and the first thing he asked was what he remembered.

he chuckles, smirking "i remember just enough."

[text] I'm sorry? I have no idea what this is about. Wrong number?

There’s   only   so   much   schmoozing   and   picture   perfect,   plastic   smiles   that   he   could   do   before   a   break   was   in   order.   While   he   was   trained   on   what   to   do   and   what   to   say   in   order   to   grease   up   potential   business   partners   and   investors,   in   reality   he   hated   most   of   those   evenings.   Of   course,   alcohol   was   a   delightful   crutch,   but   it   didn’t   always   help.   Ergo,   him   slipping   away   into   the   cool   of   the   night   for   a   breather,   no   longer   than   ten   minutes,   he   promised   himself.   

It   seems   that   some   luck   has   been   on   his   side,   for   on   his   little   sneak   out   escapade,   Tony   ran   into   the   one   person   he   had   actually   wanted   to   talk   to   this   entire   evening.   So   of   course,   instead   of   sneaking   away   before   he   could   be   spotted,   he   made   his   presence   known,   and   received   a   retort   not   a   moment   later.   One   which   caused   the   engineer   to   break   out   into   a   grin.

Hands   stuffed   into   the   pockets   of   his   slacks,   Tony   crosses   the   remaining   distance,   coming   to   stand   beside   Stephen,   dark   gaze   never   leaving   the   tall   figure   of   the   other.   “I   think   you   did   fairly   alright for yourself.   Couldn’t   find   a   moment   to   get   you   all   to   myself   for   a   conversation.   So   while   you’re   no   match   for   me   when   it   comes   to   soaking   up   the   attention,   you’re   getting   there.”   

@domuslux cont.

@domuslux

IT HAD BEEN AN ORDINARY DAY. Two beakers broken. One scorch mark on the kitchen table. Not a single row with Mrs Hudson.

...Hm, perhaps it wasn't so ordinary, after all.

Nevertheless, the day had presented as remarkably unexceptional until Sherlock was kindly relieved of its dullness by getting shot in the arm. The gunman remained unseen, the orchestrator unknown.

Bleeding across the pavement led him to doors he wished to remain unopen, but then again, there's that saying about DESPERATE MEASURES.

He's in the midst of applying pressure to the wound when Jim arrives. The inspection was expected, of course, and still, there's a barely repressed, compulsive desire to bite the hand that touches him.

Sherlock's upper lip curls with a glare. ❝ If I wanted a doctor, I would have GONE HOME. No, I want answers. ❞

Though, one does tend to get more questions.... riddles... when dealing with the devil. Sherlock's going to need a doctor soon if he doesn't spit the damn words out already.

❝ Someone appears interested in killing me, Jim, and I thought I'd stop in to check that it's NOT YOU. ❞

It was still snowing, and the cold felt good to his broken leg. He let the snowflakes cover him and he tiredly blinked; people probably thought he was dead, because they walked by him, paying him no mind. He didn't care. It felt so good to feel cold a little.