@linariouswrites​ @doubi-ixi​ @thethistlegirl​

cute dragon under the cut

Broken Hearts

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Why couldn’t she do anything without seeing that girl in her mind’s eye? Kiera rubbed a hand down her face, exhausted. She had several commissioned ice sculptures she needed to work through, but she was so tired. She hadn’t slept almost at all since that night.

Kiera paced the sculpture again, adding touches, melting bits that she didn’t like anymore, trying again and again to refreeze the nose how she wanted it. Finally, she gave up and let the nose melt down the sculpture’s face. She stalked to the chair and curled into it, eyes staring at the sculpture she was working on. If she closed her eyes, she would see that girl’s face. And those lifeless eyes.

She didn’t work on the sculpture at all for the rest of the day, deciding instead to distract herself with a cute animal game. She crawled into bed that night with Rin, who was exhausted from a particularly difficult potion he had to make to gain his true potioneer’s licence, so he could make potions legally. He fell asleep almost instantly, one arm curled loosely around her and the other behind his head. Kiera lay there in silence. She thought about taking some pills to help her sleep, but discarded that notion when she remembered the dreams. She rubbed a hand slowly over the healing bumps on her arms, felt the bruises still on her wrists and throat. She should have died. She was the one who was supposed to die.

She sat up and got out of bed, Rin not even stirring. She went downstairs to the basement and into the Hoard, the magical room between her house and her best friends’ house and cried. She sobbed until she was clutching at the equipment she was hiding in and raking her fingers over her wolf like ears as she heard the girls screams over and over in her head. 

Then, there was an arm around her. She startled back to reality to see Laurance had pulled her into a hug. She froze, not entirely comfortable with physical contact, but finally softened and grabbed at the t-shirt he wore to bed. She cried into his shoulder, wanting the pain to end. For the guilt to fade. She knew it wasn’t her fault but that girl’s blood felt ingrained in her palms. She could almost taste it with each breath.

“It’s okay, pup,” Laurance said softly, stroking her head. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”

Kiera hiccuped and squeezed his arm in a flash of anger. How could he say that?

He let her death grip his arm, and just tucked her in closer. “It hurts, I know.” He left it at that. Because it would be wasting words to say anything more. Kiera slowed her breathing eventually, and though she still felt guilty, she allowed herself to take comfort in the man she had deemed to be her blood oath brother. His words of comfort, words coming from a past full of more horror than she could even imagine, were always sincere and they seemed to work every single time. 

After something like the four-dozenth time of bouncing her gaze between the chronometer on the wall and the sizable pile of ‘This needs C’arha’s attention’ paperwork sitting on the edge of her desk, Brem finally rises to her feet with a steady stream of cursing riding just under her breath. She knew the miqo’te would get it done eventually, she always did, but it was starting to choke up the roe’s ability to do her own side of things. And the only thing worse than tedious office work was having more of it to do that is hanging on someone else doing their own. So off she goes to find the runty delinquent.

The search didn’t overly long, not that she was expecting otherwise. Since the remodel if C’arha was at the Mason and wasn’t explicitly having to be somewhere else, she readily gravitated to the same spot; the loft installed over the new fish tank near the upper bar. Perched up high, right by a window, near the soft sounds of the tank below, and covered in a mess of pillows, cushions, and half empty bottles of liquor. The weight of the grumpy sea wolf sent the wooden stairs up to the platform creaking, offering the barest of warnings before she set in. “Arah if you don’t wake your ass up and..”

The pale woman cuts off mid-word as her business partner flops over from her side onto her back and blinks her eyes open, only to swiftly squint in the ocean of light pouring in from the window onto her. The sun framed up those sleepy features perfectly within the back-drop of her untamed mess of pink-accented brown strands. Slitted eyes like a pair of half unearthed peridot catch a few of those rays of light to fling them in an almost accusatory nature up at her giant friend were offset by the careless and disheveled state of her favorite pink gown only vaguely clinging to her frame. It wasn’t until the catte finally broke the silence that Brem had finally realized how long she’s been stuck in it. “What are you waking me up foah?”

Once she’s been knocked out of her brief stupor, the sea wolf falls into a grin and leans over the still half-laid out miqo’te. Dark painted lips find the smaller woman’s own in a gentle, lingering kiss. Not the all consuming, burning acts of passion either of them could be easy to leap into with the right prompting, but a simple moment of tenderness that she finally retreats slowly out of. The roe’s features twist into a bit of a tease as she leans back away from the pleasantly puzzled catte. “Just to remind you that you’re beautiful when you’re sleepy.” There was enough betrayed in those green eyes to know that, at least for a moment, she’d slipped right under the shield C’arha kept up for those trying to shower her with compliments, and it’d done more for her than any amount of paperwork catch up was going to.

The leaves fell slowly

In the dim dawn by the sea

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Additional Tags: Insecure Sherlock, not sociopath Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort Summary:

Fill for Prompt #19 on the SherlockKinkMeme on Tumblr

A howl of the high winds of winter rushing into her cell pulled the roegadyn from her fitful attempt at sleep. She left her more blurry natural eye closed to turn her attention up to the window, watching gusts billow against the gray cloth with a slit down it’s center letting snow spill past. It wasn’t clear how many days she’d spent working her fingers raw in the  unrelenting Coerthan cold to pry a few nails out of what passed for a bed frame for that project, but now the stretch of pant leg sacrificed along with it to try and block that window was nearly a waste. Maybe she could use the other side to layer, but that was going to take a few more nails..

The plotting is tossed aside as hard knock comes at the door. It was definitely early for a meal, maybe it was a holiday and they were getting the staff out early? It was hardly possible to parse seasons in this frozen realm, let alone the proper passage of time. Luke-warm porridge would be a welcome boon after it’d felt like Shiva herself had been breathing down the sea wolf’s back. A small hatch at the bottom of her cell door opens and a bowl slides through, for once without the obvious sound of one of the guards working up a wad of fresh spit to top things off. A waterskin slides in slowly after before all of it snaps shut again. 

Intent to keep her retreat from her blanket and the scraps of warmth still clinging to her bedding, she races over to fetch her meal but ends up lingering for a moment by the door to stare confused down at it’s contents. Where there should have been unseasoned porridge was red stew, with vegetables and a few muscle shells and some hints of sausage. It doesn’t take overly long for her bare feet on frozen stone to remind her to return to the bed with her prize, but the second she’s wrapped back up into a bundle she waves that bowl under her nose and all doubt was gone. This was a helping of muscle chili, her father’s recipe and her favorite from his menu. 

It had been a few days since returning from the last mission and most of the sea wolf’s body was still roaring at her for the audacity to be moving, let alone on her feet and attempting some sort of productivity. Even her own insistence on pushing had limits, and a break to recline back into her chair gave her eye a chance to fall upon a sealed letter peeking out from a stack of prepared ledgers. The weight of the books slides aside and a few tugs free the parchment to rise up for inspection. Not that she needed to guess at it’s contents or sender, the author had their creation in hand after all.

“Guess I’m not done writing these yet.”

One of the lower drawers of her desk is pulled open and it’s content pushed to one side. Careful positioning of her hand let her catch the false bottom and raise it up to reveal dozens more sealed letters hidden beneath. The latest is tossed in on top, but she stops short of immediately closing the compartment again. A moment to reflect on choices she’d made after writing each within, and an incredible streak of winning against each wager they represented. She would not trade back any of those wins, but each letter was representing how much more expensive ‘all in’ was with every passing day. And the house always wins in the end.

She began in the bedroom. So full of knickknacks and decorations, these were the nonessentials that could sit in a box for a week. Her letters, cards, old tickets accrued from the past year, these were packed into an antique lunch box. Her printed photos were peeled off the wall, slotted into an envelope. Barry and Reggie, a stuffed owl and dinosaur, became padding for her books and jewelry boxes. Always, an item or two was taken out and put in the donation pile.

Her living room - and how luxurious it was to have a living room - came next. Here was her office supplies, her decks of cards, and souvenirs from her last job (drawings from students, her name card). She couldn’t fathom throwing such useful things away, but they took up 2 boxes. She resolved to write more letters in the coming year.

The living room had more furniture that couldn’t be packed right away, so it didn’t take as long to clear the room. She was pleased to have use of her two armchairs for a few more days.

The bathroom had the most junk. Expired cold medicine, years-old makeup, old diy essential oil gifts. But should she keep all of her lotion? (Body lotion, skin creme, cocoa butter vaseline, aquaphor for lips) It’d make more sense to throw some of them out, but what if she needed extra! She would make them all fit.

This left the kitchen. Here was where her favorite activities took place: eating, painting, and writing. She made her coffee here, called her doctor’s office, crafted her lesson plans. Here she baked muffins for her class, experimented with coq au vin, and kept her plants. Removing her things from this room removed her whole presence in the city.

The pots and pans were boxed, the bakeware and plates wrapped carefully. She’d wrapped a whole box of mugs the week before, but she needed another to fit the rest. She sorted the salvageable food items, and packed up the luxury appliances she wouldn’t have room for in her new abode.