#nickolhs

"   [   .  .  .   ]   𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙷𝙴'𝙳  𝚂𝙰𝚈  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚃  𝙼𝙴  𝙷𝙴'𝙳  𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴  𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙷𝙴  𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳  𝙵𝙻𝙾𝙰𝚃  𝙰𝚆𝙰𝚈.  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚃  𝙷𝙸𝙼  𝙸  𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳  𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃,  𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆,  𝙲𝚁𝙰𝚂𝙷,  𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃  𝙳𝚁𝙾𝙿  𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃  𝙳𝙾𝚆𝙽  𝚃𝙾  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳.   " —  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚘𝚏  𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕  𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎.

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                                    random     starter     for      @nickolhs​     .

                    ❝        𝐈𝐅     𝐘𝐎𝐔      𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘     𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊      i’m     gonna     lay     as     much     as     my     𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘺     on     ya     while     you’re     still     with     the     sisters      ,     then     you’re     an     idiot     .     𝚒     𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍     𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢     𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛     𝚍𝚒𝚎     .      ❞  

                  ❛           is        the      weather         here         always         so                                                                grey      ?             ❜          this        was         definitely        FAR        AWAY         from         the        city        that’s         for         sure.   

𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐄 𝐙𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐃.            only took until he was in his hundreds to do so.     RULE FOLLOWING and being an EXAMPLE had never been Ambroses strong suit.     he was often the one HELPING cause the mischief.        not ENFORCE the rules. Still,       even if he didn’t WANT it,        he had the position of Top Boy and now,    playing the violin during the matching of Lupercalia.         AT LEAST,   his old violin was getting a well deserved fiddle.     Using the resin in slow movements up and down the bow strings,    he raised his eyebrows at   NICHOLAS SCRATCH.      one time partner and ---   seemed to know more about his UNCLE and family than he did.    He placed the bow down in his case,  hands absently running over the engraving.       a present from his uncle    -     still,    he could ponder over what EDWARD would think about his attempts to get Blackwood onside for the sake of the family later.           ❛   what do you want Scratch?  ❜

      smile   graces   delicate   lips,   head  tilting  to  the  side  while  eyes  remain  closed.    ❝  nick.  you’re  hovering  --  again.  ❞

bbc merlin season 4.

her sisters are asleep, farther away from her than ever before; prudence on her left, simmering with rage, agatha on her right, cold with death. that’s why dorcas slips out of her bed, the one in the middle, unable to tolerate the terrible LONELINESS of not having them curled into her sides. she looks back once, twice, every time she takes a step forward, until she’s finally out of the dorms, standing alone in the hallway.

unsurprisingly, she meets nick in one of the halls. they always seemed to share that dreadful inability to sleep properly. this is a scene played out time and time again, a dance they’ve danced before: they sit down on the nearest bench, and he wraps an arm around her. she leans into him, breathes in, tries to stop the trembling in her hands. the familiarity of him is almost frightening----he’s the closest she’s ever let anyone who isn’t her sisters come.

but nick always manages to prove himself worthy of the closeness, even if it’s at the very last moment. after the silence stretches for a while, he tells her she’s been quiet - dorcas is late to realize this isn’t like her, that usually she’s quite chatty even in the middle of the night, and OF COURSE he’d notice - and she just sighs in response.

a few moments pass again before she can bring herself to speak, takes a deep, shuddering breath. she raises her gaze from the floor to meet his eyes. “maybe I just don’t like that my sister died,” she tells him, defiantly, chin up and lips puckered, like she’s daring him to even try and think of her as VULNERABLE----but blue eyes shine with tears under the dim light, and nick knows her well. too well for her own liking, sometimes. another sigh escapes her, and she presses her forehead into the curve of his throat. he’s cold against her, just like always. it’s a strange sort of comfort.

“I know you’re on sabrina’s side,” he always is, ever since she’d joined the academy, and dorcas swallows around her bitterness at that and tries not to sound too venomous (because nicky is theirs, whether he likes it or not, and they’re his), “but killing agatha...”

the image penetrates her mind again, haunts her BRUTALLY, so much so that she can’t fathom how she’s the only plauged by it, how nick is so steady beside her, how prudence is sleeping so peacefully in her bed. agatha’s slit throat, blood almost black on the forest floor. sabrina’s triumphant features. prudence’s cold disinterest in their sister’s life. dorcas’ heart, beat-beat-beating in her chest (horror and grief and shock all sing in her ribcage, all weighing her down, pulling her to the earth, where agatha is). her sister’s isn’t, anymore. even after agatha rises, there’s a chill in dorcas’ blood, a weight in her bones that hadn’t been there before. she would do anything to get rid of it. she has to remind herself that her sister is alive now, asleep in her bed like always, before----before--------

but NO, it’s too late, of course she’s already crying, tears flowing down her cheeks like rivers. nick’s fingers thread through red curls in a well-practiced gesture, and suddenly dorcas shrinks in on herself, hates that somehow he’s always seeing her like this.

still, he soothes her, and eventually, she isn’t sure after how long, the weeping stops. “I couldn’t----couldn’t speak.” her voice is thick and raw. “I tried and I couldn’t.” she hates admitting that, remembering the ACHE in her throat, the way she’d closed up, muscles clenched so tight she had felt could almost burst. a hand comes up to wipe away her tears before nick does it himself----that feels much weaker, somehow. much softer. too soft for the likes of them. the likes of her. she hurriedly does it, wills herself to stop crying. don’t be a baby, prudence’s voice says in her head, but she can recognize it’s just her own mind berating her, and not her sister suddenly awake and on her way to chastise dorcas for whatever emotion it is she’s feeling this time.