o' brother sleep, o' sister finality. @atlastatlast - Tumblr Blog

✣❈✣ · · · AT LAST, AT LAST ! a private, highly selective, & sporadic-to-low activity multimuse featuring a handful of characters from a variety of stories. mutuals only, 21+. with: frenzie, datasynq

❧ carrd. ❧ prompts. ( always open ) ❧ boards.

#by stellan. he/her. late 20s.#last edited: 5th of june #dni w this post!

marichive

MULTIMUSE MEME: Send a " ⭐ " and I will list muses I would be interested in throwing at yours, or potential muse combinations if you are also a multi. If you like any of the suggested combinations, you are welcome to come plot or start interactions with them.

If you can't see / use the symbol for any reason, send " star! " instead. If you are a multi and you want to see which muses I would be interested in throwing against a specific muse of yours, send ⭐+ that muses name.

#i rbed this early so here it is one more time #again i’m not really here and am moving silently. so i’ll reply to these privately 🦧

neongrime

Q: “You a believer?” @atlastatlast

She sat on one of the rickety plastic chairs, no grandiose pews of solid wood you sometimes saw on pictures of old churches. Just an empty building tucked at the far back of what once might have been a strip mall. An array of neon crosses glowing above, not even one of those ‘confessional’ machines that got so popular in Heywood. It was all discarded things patched together in Pacifica. Things no one wanted or bothered to come back for, just like Pacifica itself, along with everyone in it. A discarded toy of Night City, making a life of its own. A church— of a kind, rising from an abandoned bastion to corporations. It could almost be poetic if it wasn’t so unfair.

“Not really,” she answered, legs tucked under her, somehow making herself smaller on the cheap chair. She tilted her head, as if listening, a pair of golden earrings shaped like knives chimed softly, the only sound in the room for an instant. “It’s quiet here, isn’t it? You don’t get this kind of quiet very often. Someone smashed all the screens in the building so there’s no place for the ads to run.” She shrugged, a small smug smile tugging at her lips. “Kids.”

atlastatlast

a haze of hues dithering into the murk was warning enough, but molly's eyes still angled up as she slipped into the concourse proper. the look up was brief, less than a breath. catholics. them and their dramatics. a memory of a memory jogged, of old footage of landmark cathedrals turned black by centuries of soot, and how they were supposedly painted bright upon construction. what's strung up above rings as a memetic effort of that ( conscious or not ), to try and pull illumination back into a place. trying to get as much light bouncing around for the big man. now it's shining down on just two people, and neither really give a shit about him. presently, molly keeps her steps silent as a courtesy, save the occasional scrape of detritus under her boots. if either is terribly concerned about interruptions, neither show it. at the prompting, molly stops and takes in a closer listen, only to hear nothing beyond the softest chime. she looks to her and the plastic chair she's on as she resumes her approach. “ ... yeah, kids. ” she agrees, makes herself easy. “ mind if i interrupt your quiet ? just for a little while. ” it comes out barely above a murmur but that carries in this stillness. “ i'll keep my voice low, real low. can make like we're at sunday mass. ” she invites herself to a nearby seat without pause, turning an overturned piece of junk into a chair with the action.

#the reasons for her being here will be revealed... but for now she's meeting her vibe. bc i love the set up u built #the razorgirl.#the razorgirl — writing.#the razorgirl — ft. moss' ari.#queue.

the monitor is the sole source of light in this tight room; molly had shut the rest off earlier to melt into the dark. she's left sitting on the edge of the bed, a knee tucked to her chest and the other leg left bouncing, her eyes to the screen. what looks like the finn ( which isn't the finn, molly knows now ) stares back. when @zr0th ( wintermute ) speaks again, it's with a question this time: “ what happens if you die in a dream ? ”

it's still a bit of a trip to have an audience with the boss, what with all the channels it's worked through and all the side deals she paid out-of-pocket for, only to end up here with it. but the most jarring thing right now is how it's hitting the finn's cadence. that and the why's of it bringing up death in dreams. her jittering leg stills and the reply comes only after a pause, “ i wake up. or a new dream starts rolling until something else gets me up. 's like that for most. ” she shrugs and gives her hair a shake, getting the fringe off her lenses. “ like flatlining, i guess. you get gone or make it back to a place like yours. ” cyberspace, she means; that realm of hallucination.

“ you gonna be able to dream after this is over, boss ? pictures n' all ? ” briefly, she considers what exactly a thing like it would dream of, lacking meat and all the baggage it holds. what series of scenes could play in that vacuum. “ i wouldn't worry. ”

#hi hi :~) more simple than i would like but i'm getting by cyberwriting bearings. still.#nebulous place in time... could be during the part where wintermute's finally talking to all the team members #or post-book #the razorgirl.#the razorgirl — writing.#the razorgirl — ft. sommer's wintermute.#queue.

5anctified

» SACRED AND TERRIBLE AIR. dialogue and action prompts pulled from and inspired by robert kurvitz’s novel, sacred and terrible air, using group ibex's translation. mature themes ahead. change as you see fit, detective.

dialogue.

i hate this country.

it would go against everything i believe in.

who doesn't love the company of monsters?

i don’t care what you think, i want your truth.

you have to work quickly, tie up all the loose ends before it’s too late.

well, you beat him up, didn’t you?

this world of yours in its current form is one hell of a shithole.

it’s only a tool for me. i myself am only a tool.

i was just fifteen then, i was so stupid...

i left a bad impression.

that'd be why you smell like a flower!

i can't hear you, some pig keeps squealing.

we've got to take action, immediately!

i lost her. that's what happened.

it wouldn’t be very chic of me to call three hours earlier than agreed.

i must have caught a little cold.

the things i do want to remember, i don’t remember.

you don't understand, i'm leaving today.

are you sure we're at the right place?

party's over. go home.

you are never alone. you have yourself!

how is he so hardcore?!

where did you get my number?

it's good to know that you're still cool.

this is my crown jewel! this is the apple of my eye!

you always listen to me, don't you.

i could give you some slick answer, but it would be too cruel.

you and your taxis. i'd rather walk.

do you want me to make you some tea?

listen, be a good man, tell me what it is.

i feel like... i don't know how to feel.

everything is still possible for this world.

when i do my job, i don't do it for the rule of law.

the need for closeness is just so deadly.

where do you want to flee from then? countries are enormous.

i sincerely hope there will be a next time.

it's beautiful when you believe in a person.

i put my heart into what i do.

i love the world, every last atom of it.

action. switch sender and receiver’s places as you please.

pale. the sender and receiver stand in a dense fog, the clearest thing in their view being each other.

rideshare. the sender and receiver ride a speedy and rough taxi together.

meet again. the sender and receiver meet again at a formal reunion party.

found. the sender discovers that the receiver keeps forged documents for travel.

meat grinder. the sender catches the receiver as they are on the brink of passing out.

dinner. the sender and receiver eat a meal as they work through documents, the surface a mess of plates and paper.

shoreline. the sender waits to meet up with the receiver at the beach on a grey and windy day.

memories. the sender and receiver find an old trinket that immediately hits them with nostalgia for their shared past.

tune-in. the sender and receiver hear devastating news as it comes on the radio.

rest. the sender crashes and spends a few days in the receiver’s residence.

rain. the sender huddles under the receiver’s umbrella as they walk through a downpour, sharing the space.

corner store. the sender accompanies the receiver as they stop by a corner store to get change.

escape. the sender and receiver anxiously wait for the next train, knowing that people are on their trail.

#ack… posts r releasing so give me more sentences to think over for weeks #prompts.

maurilyan

@atlastatlast , ❝ you can say many (…) things about me. but i’m not disloyal … and i’m not stupid. ❞ (nineteen)

things you want to say but can't to remain sane, a screenplay by leitha maurilya.

INT. CHURCH-DAY

leitha and FRIEND ( ageless, beautiful ) sit in a church, surrounded by a sudden stillness. above them: a lopsided crucifix. friend keeps their eyes forward and leitha fidgets with their sleeve. leitha blows a thin line of smoke away from FRIEND, then turns to face them.

LEITHA will you tell me how it feels? FRIEND i'm sorry? LEITHA is it a relief, sometimes, to not remember what is haunting you? to be reborn like that. how it feels. i can't imagine.

there are mourners further inwards, sitting high on their pews as if they are waiting for something divine to intervene. a woman is wearing a black cotton dress and did her hair all curly and nice, bunched at the nape of her neck. leitha sighs, regrets it. they are bigger on the inhale. ━━they have not been in a church in years. certainly not for the morninglord, the smell that ruminates here is of a wilted daisy and it stains their skin. they sink lower, and lower still, curling into their own chest, their face hidden away.

❝ i never called you either of those things. ❞ their voices comes out much too sharp, a serrated knife taken to the shape of cradle, wishing for a miracle, squirming life. they recall their words, hold them on their tongue as if it was something they could nurture and grow. ❝ i believe it is stupid for us to be here. it is beyond me why they would bother having funerals still, regardless. and why we must sit through it. should we not be investigating what is beneath us whilst everyone is otherwise occupied? ❞

atlastatlast

as leitha sank into themself, nineteen's gaze remains fixed on the mass before them. so sullen is the requiem, how it stretches with priest's droning liturgy, flecked with the mourners' bodily noises. nineteen watches still. they breathe the air garlanded by sacerdotal scents, observes the crowd reciting their script for grief, attention seized by that cheap coffin towards the front. beneath nineteen's quiet regard and here, as they idle beneath the morninglord's paraphernalia, their blood rushes and tendons jitter like a dog before a gate, their heart only managing with the knowing that the lord's presence is scant, the dead body another mark of his absence in the face of the mass' ululation.

despite tucking herself away, leitha's words cuts through the baying, making nineteen tilt their head down. " it's the proper thing, ( ... ) most of all. " their retort is immediate, but they agree in that this is a ' stupid ' affordance they are making. with a glance around, they also sink to their haunches, trying to ignore the eyes they feel ( those eyes from further away, as propriety forces the ones nearest to disregard for respectability's sake ). in proper fashion, the hunter had taken off their hat upon their entering of the church and it remains held to their chest. their stinger curls around their ankles and they mind where their horns point as they turn to leitha, speaking lowly. “ aye, we waste by idling. though is this not ( ... ) a curious novelty ( … ) at least ? … is this so intolerable ? ”

#the opening bit is so darling to me... if only nineteen knew. :~(#the bleeding thorn.#the bleeding thorn — writing.#the bleeding thorn — ft. steph's leitha.#queue.

wait i just complained about things in my queue but it did spit out an anders post and reminded me that in my portrayal, lirene is a critical person to anders’ clinic. idc that she only appears once in one quest in act 1!!! she’s a notable presence in my kirkwall

#this is pushing headcanon zone since she's literally in the game once and never again but i like her and like what she brings #at the start and what she else she could have brought... terse and strict abt helping refugees and keeping that focus on refugees.#and it's funny that she can give info on him just by being asked if he has a nice smile. cmon girl.#the apostate.

k1tch3n

from anders, for tess: " receiving messages is just as dangerous as sending them. you should keep that in mind. " he should die for saying this to tess of all people imo. but he'd say it

the irony really isn't lost on her. if tess hadn't just exorcised the last of the poison from her system so unceremoniously in the bucket by her boots... if her shoulder didn't feel like it was tearing itself from the inside out... maybe, just maybe, she'd have a sense of humor about all this. or at least the wherewithal to kick the good doctor somewhere terribly indecent. see how he receives that fucking message.

the fucking bolt anders had yanked out of her shoulder lands on the floor with an unceremonious clatter. "oh, i should keep that in mind, should i... is that right." tess repeats mockingly with a dry scoff, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. not to mention she'd been out on the docks this morning in the first fucking place to intercept a shipment for his clinic. this is all varric's fault, isn't it? call this recluse, whose most frequent companions are the litter of stray cats outside the clinic, a fucking vigilante one time... now he's gotta develop a whole ego about it.

"hadn't occured to me, doc. thank the maker you're here to keep me on the straight and narrow... i'll keep that in mind next time i've gotta meet some unsavory character on the docks. better to stay home... doctor's orders, 'n all." she watches anders shake his head with a small, tired suggestion of a smile as he finishes stitching her up, and she snorts. her irritation melts away as quickly as it had come to a boil. better directed at varric — the real root of many of her problems — after all, than the doctor patching her back together like a hay doll.

"so — you gonna help me right this, doc? personal affronts aside, cargo's only gonna end up in worse, more profiteering hands the longer we wait."

@atlastatlast ft. anders / andor.

atlastatlast

it's to anders' benefit that tess opts for humor and not the typical reaction his needling draws forth. though at the little prompting, anders narrows his eyes a smidge, briefly suspecting that the wording of righting things intends to stoke him. regardless, it's worked. a fine fissure cracks and crawls up his spine as the idea germinates.

before any of that can be addressed, he has a patient to tend. the stitches are given another idling look, making a show of him mulling over her question. “ if i don't come along, you'll just reopen your stitches and infect the wound. by the time you make your way back here, i'll probably end up having to lop your arm off and then some. then maker knows what we'll do with you. ” the continuing chide rolls in a flat stream, knowing full well nothing short of death will really stop her.

his concentration moves to the wound, the depth of it, what hit where, before inducing his healing with tender hands. focused eyes are kept on the puncture until they're forced closed with the rigor. “ so, in the interest of your good, continued health — ” the words trickle through the effort as the deeper muscles mend, forcing out every bit of air in a squeaking fizz. by the end, the wound remains an angry red but it's enough to where it wouldn't immediately tear if tess so much as rolls her shoulder ( and it's an assurance she needs when she's means to continue the job ).

“ ... fine, i'll help. ” not that there's much choice when the already precarious state of the clinic's supplies are dwindling to dregs, as evidenced by the lowly scraps of fabric anders now wraps her up with. the state of resources only worsens his perpetual, rolling worry. that and lirene will have his head and more if anything were to happen to tess. with his work done, he wipes his hands off on a spare rag before carrying the soiled bucket off.

tess’ peace lasts scarcely a few moments before anders' return, his staff in hand. “ feeling better ? no lingering nausea, at least ? ”

#heh #the apostate.#the apostate — writing.#the apostate — ft. ryan's tess.#queue.

feel like i always think about and only sometimes actually talk about channels of communication when it comes to nineteen, but it’s a big part of their character. and naturally comes up a lot in a hobby where the main point is to bump characters around. so some bits related to nineteen and communication:

they’re capable of reading and writing but they’re barely literate. they learned to do both only after death and can only practice through common. they also weren’t taught correctly so they rely too much on context clues and association (like seeing signage on a building, recognizing the letters that make up a word rather than knowing what combination of letters do), so reading for longer is grueling. writing is also a grueling since it’s never practiced enough for muscle memory to hold, so there’s some struggle to keep things legible and getting things written quickly. neither are close to being practiced enough for them to get much pleasure that outweighs frustration.

speaking of common, they also only learned to speak it after dying. they never learned it or encountered it very much in life but it’s of course frequently used in death. and how they handle common is kind of weird because they were taught it by one person and he’s weird.

on their profile i wrote that their dialogue is reminiscent of georgian/victorian english (mostly because i wanted to do it for fun and bc my group was influenced by book club reads) partly because a lot of the speaking is concerned with propriety and levels of politeness and i think it resonates with nineteen’s care to be deemed appropriate enough for living people, and that being at the top of their mind in interactions.

their formal register gets fumbled because they contract their words when they can (unless they need the politeness to be paramount) to get as much information out before their voice breaks. it all comes out truncated and like they’re pulling phrases from somewhere else.

i made a post about this before on my archived blog but the strain in nineteen’s voice is more from a physical and psychosomatic response than any significant damage, so they sound more like they’re going to choke up. if they go on talking for long enough, it starts fading. more relevant for people who know curse of strahd, but nineteen can’t manage to speak to strahd at all.

#the last point is the big reason why i had a handful of mutuals who write strahd but i never initiated anything for them with nineteen #because they can't speak to him. lol.#the bleeding thorn.#i’ll have to edit this later ik i’m fumbling w clarity in a couple of these points but they got me working overtime!!! i’ll come back to it

molly knew johnny was in it. in it with her, in this. if it wasn't clear before, it's clarified itself with how she'd been rolling with him after their friend took himself out, after johnny survived the night, got the living he paid good money for. she'd scouted and contacted a more reputable fence with him, looked into jones and his squid and all that was left in johnny’s head, made the half-dozen calls to get the credits wired to her accounts, got things squared off and as neat as these gigs could get. but molly's still here. she's with him now, up in the pit, sitting backwards on an old metal chair with her chin resting on her forearms while she listens to him, watches him amble as he talks. so when @netc0de ( johnny ) says, “ you and me, we're in this together now, ” a thrill shouldn't travel through her.

“ you and me. ” the thrum in her percolates, makes her grin. “ sounds tight. real tight. ” again, she knew this was coming, but hearing him say that causes a change, erects new scaffolding to the circumstance. long term work and a shift in luck is as good as she's gonna get for a while. the things tucked in his mindbank are of high interest, too; pearls ready for the harvest if they move right, all ripe to make a scheme of — and johnny's got the edge. time will tell if he's got enough foresight to handle that edge.

molly jolts up, tucking her knees under her so quickly it got the rusty bolts squealing. “ stash this little something in your head: we're partners, then. that's what you want, yeah ? to be partners ? ” bracing a hand on the chair's back, its other reaches up, fingers splaying, calling him closer. “ like a good partner, you're gonna get me my share. keep to it. ”

“ do that and i'll ride with you, johnny. ”

#i can’t keep messing with this have at thee #the razorgirl.#the razorgirl — writing.#the razorgirl — ft. blair's johnny.#queue.

frenzie

# 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖟𝖎𝖊 . selective & independent multimuse blog . mostly featuring characters from soulsbornes & soulslikes . knighted by fool, established 2018 & revamped 2026 . ©

#was going to rb promos when i had more writing up but i’ll break my rule anyway #fool’s a very generous and fun presence on the dash with a deep love for its characters.. please follow it #promo.

★ characters you can find nineteenth of the fifth, in third death in.

the nameless one, planescape: torment stanislav rubin, pathologic classic ashitaka, princess mononoke mindia, the son of hogay / the snake-eater the witch, you won't be alone unnamed man, angel's egg severian, book of the new sun fenris, dragon age ii

#ashitaka rubin and mindia are more like how they were in life #(of a servicing position in a village/small town while possessing a skill that turns them into a ‘marked’ other)#but it still affects them a lot even through multiple deaths.#fenris didn't even cross my mind until a friend told me that 19 reminds them of fenris. which is crazy bc it's true.#the bleeding thorn.#old old old meme i never released bc the bottom row is so damning lol. BUT it's a useful reference for myself... their ancient roots

☆★☆ · · · AT LAST, AT LAST ! FT. CANONS ( & AN ORIGINAL ) OF VARIOUS STORIES. MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE, 21+ ONLY.

#was gonna wait for a better time but ik if i don’t post it i never will #simple promo but tried to make it feel authentic. spread my spores #self promo.

☆ what celestial entity are you ? ft. nines

asteroid. you are on the fast track of life, my friend. everywhere you go, you leave fires in your wake. you know how to spark conversation, stoke ideas, ignite long-lost passions. you’re not content with the way things are and are more interested in what they could be. you have so much you want to say and do. your worst fear is being stagnant. instead, you’re willing to brave the unknown in search of something that satisfies you. you’re ambitious and unafraid to go after exactly what you want. you are Newton’s unstoppable force, barreling forward and blasting through whatever obstacles you may encounter. when there’s no path you make your own — blazing a trail for others to follow. you are good at addressing issues head-on. no sense in sugarcoating or beating around the bush. you’re the one willing to wrangle the ugly truth and drag it out into the open. your boldness is something rarely found and appreciated by many. sometimes your one-track mind might lead to you developing tunnel vision. don’t forget to open your mind to the possibilities. life has so much to offer and you might miss out if you don’t give it a fair shot. some might see you as abrasive and too set in your ways. others will most likely admire you for your honesty and straightforwardness. others still are made uncomfortable by your unyielding heat. despite how you’re perceived, ultimately, you’re still you: passionate, direct, and dedicated. you don’t do things halfway — once committed, you follow things through to fruition even if you do get a little impatient. you are movement and boundless ambition. rough edges and fire. racing thoughts your mouth can’t keep up with and impulsive decisions. you make people want more. crave better. you are probably independent and find it hard to ask for help. remember to be kind to yourself and don’t burn yourself up in the process of trying to achieve your goals. known fact: you’re never truly alone in this life.

tagged by: @after1ifes thank you blair <3 tagging: yew...

#i usually take the quiz but don't post the result to these uquiz dash games bc it's usually too off base #but i was surprised by how close-ish this one got when it's only choosing pictures lol #the anarch.#dash games.

5anctified

▍ THE FRAGILE.

sentence prompts using lyrics from nine inch nails' 1999 album, the fragile. mature themes ahead.

disc 1.

it's funny how everything that swore it wouldn't change is different now.

holding onto when everything seemed to matter more.

this machine is obsolete.

taste the wealth of hate in me.

it didn't turn out the way you wanted it, did it?

god himself will reach his fucking arm through, just to push you down.

you and me, we're in this together now.

until the very end of me, until the very end of you.

the deeper the wound, i'm inside you.

for ever and ever i am a part of you.

so many dirty little places in your filthy little, worn out, broken down, see-through soul.

just so you know, i did not believe that you could sink so low.

you think that you can beat them. i know that you won't.

you think you have everything. but no, you don't.

seems everything i've heard just might be true.

do you know how far this has gone?

and in a dream i'm a different me, with a perfect you.

this plan has long been underway.

is there hope for me, after all is said and done?

i can still feel you, even so far away.

just like you would always say, we'll make it through.

disc. 2

nothing ever grows and the sun doesn't shine all day.

tried to save myself but my self keeps slipping away.

i'd like to stay, but every day, everything pushes me farther away.

okay, enough, you've had your fun.

push it away but it all comes back again.

will you please complete me?

please, i don't ever want to make it stop

my god comes in a wrapper of cellophane.

i'll be there for you as long as it works for me.

i am every fucking thing and just a little more.

i sold my soul but don't you dare call me a whore.

it's really not so bad, you know, once you get past the taste.

you're so vain, i bet you think this song is about you, don't you?

there's always a way to forget.

thought he lost everything, then he lost a whole lot more.

i've done all i can do.

could i please come with you?

the big come down, isn't that what you wanted?

there is a hate that burns within.

there is no place i can go, there is no place i can hide.

hear your call, underneath it all.

i can still feel you.

#i kept looking for prompts and forgetting i made this sideblog. whateva #prompts.#also happy nine inch noize release… stream parasite

noctvoid

(#𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔱.) ¦ * ❝ i've discovered something i didn't even have a name for. ❞ @atlastatlast's DYLAN DOG !

the room is private in the way only neglected places ever are. not truly silent; london is never that. the city presses at the shutters and under the sill, far-off voices and the occasional wet hiss of wheels cutting through rain outside. but the little upstairs parlour above the coffee-house has been forgotten for the evening, and that is close enough. one lamp burns low on the table between them. the shade is yellowed. the light it gives off is nicotine-coloured, turning the steam from sherlock's untouched cup into something spectral and thin.

he has not, so far, been particularly impressed by this day.

interesting, perhaps, in the professional sense. willing to hear the matter out because a former inspector turned private investigator suggests at least the possibility of venture, and because discretion in the choice of meeting-place implies a mind not entirely given over to melodrama. but convincingly gripped? no. london breeds claims the way old walls breed mould. every week brings another man who swears he has seen something impossible and means, by impossible, merely inconvenient.

so sherlock sits angled half-away from the table, long fingers worrying a spent matchstick to splinters, one ankle resting over the opposite knee, gaze drifting to the rain-threaded window whenever the conversation threatens to grow dull. his scepticism does not announce itself fully yet.

i've discovered something i didn't even have a name for.

his eyes lift at once, grey and peculiar beneath the dim light. the pause is not theatrical. he is listening to the choice beneath them. no name. not i cannot explain it. not i do not understand it. no name. that is a different failure altogether. rarer. more honest, perhaps. or more dangerous.

❝ you did not have a name for it because you avoided naming it, or because no one else had? ❞

he leans forward now by an inch and no more, curiosity declaring itself in nibbles. his free hand comes up to his mouth, knuckles brushing once against his lower lip in an old habit of thought before dropping again.

from this distance the man opposite offers details he had not bothered to assemble before. a certain wear at the edges that is left on those who make a trade of peering too long into the city's cracks. he has lived long enough with memory, with grief, with the mind's unsightly talent for dressing wounds in clever costumes, not to dismiss strange things merely because they sound strange. he is harder to fool than he once was. harder to unsettle as well. that leaves him, in moments like these, with a particular appetite.

that is as close to approval as the moment requires. now there is almost no trace of the earlier indifference left in him, replaced by a lean, bright concentration that makes him look suddenly younger and far less safe. the lamp whirrs. sherlock folds his hands, still at last.

atlastatlast

the nightmare investigator had known that pulling another into this venture was to be an uphill charge. the unfolding afternoon had proven that, most especially with one consulting detective. the other was sitting just across from him but remained remote, beholding a talent of reigning their own environment around themself, even within a parlour possessing its own bygone years. here and there, dylan had even given the same window a glance to see what was worth the look. there was just dour commotion and rain beyond the pane. the usual.

so when his question arrives, when holmes turns away from indifference and towards him instead, sporting a look fit for biting, dylan gives him a smile. it's nothing vulpine, never that, but the slant slit of his lips draw back enough for his canines to flash. he leans forward in his seat, forearms resting on his knees. the lamp bounces jaundiced light off the patina and illuminates his face from below. another part of his mind is a little amused by how a rather standard scene can give way like a dream. how thin that veil could be ! the city had a knack for it, of course, with all its compressed time and close quartering with centuries. old, grey, sodden central london. why, if the clouds weighed darker and if the two of them reached hands across the table, they could so easily conduct a seance.

naturally, he keeps the humorous thought to himself in the company he's with. dylan's palms glide back to the armchair after a drink from his own cup to wet his lips again, emptying it entirely. " i'm not in the business of new frontiers, " he begins, " or cryptozoology. god, could you imagine ? " now he leans back into the seat's sagging cushioning, anchors an elbow on the arm to prop his chin, index finger resting at his temple as if to nurse his rolling thoughts. " so you must see the enormity of it, for me to even call it that. "

" my client's name for it was his late business partner. his secretary called it a dullahan. " his voice falls, beckoning holmes into the undertow of confidentiality. " before the conclusion was reached, the 'death carriage' crashed and turned itself into a death pyre. dental records showed that the driver was a recent contractor of his. my client's, i mean. " the fingertip upon his temple lifts momentarily, making a demure tick-tock-ing gesture. " two months later, the car shows up again. the same one. model and make and dent in the bonnet and all. that part comes from what i've heard — haven't had the chance to catch it. "

#sorry to sherlock. and my bullshitting a case. but i love what u wrote.. ty #noctvoid #the nightmare investigator.#the nightmare investigator — writing.#queue.#the nightmare investigator — ft. yasemin's sherlock.

notmorbid

rest and be thankful.

dialogue prompts from rest and be thankful by emma glass.

there is nothing here. there is nothing on the other side.

you'll sleep well tonight.

what happens if you die in a dream?

are you okay?

there's no time for coffee, so i didn't make it.

i can't go to work today.

why did you stop?

i'm sorry i'm late.

it's okay. i'll let you off the hook, just this once.

you look tired.

you mean i look like crap?

i need water. i need coffee.

you always look innocent, with your big fucking eyes.

have you had a coffee? you look as rough as i feel.

it helps to know where the end is.

this will never be too much for me.

it's never too much. i can take more.

i don't know what to do with my hands.

your heart is too big. it will get in the way.

i need you to be _____.

your pain is worse than i knew.

my knees aren't what they used to be.

i need more than your hand on my shoulder.

you scared the shit out of me.

don't be like that. it was just a joke.

will you check this for me, please?

i'm not cleaning up any _____ today.

you look very pretty today.

here you go, my sweet.

sit with me.

do you want me to be there?

do you want a cup of tea? i'll bring it to you.

you smell like hard work.

if i wasn't prepared, _____ didn't stand a chance.

it was better and worse than i thought.

i'm not ready to be soothed yet.

i didn't see it before, but i see it now.

i know you're hurting.

you take it all on, but you can't. one day it'll catch up with you and crush you.

you are kind, but they don't appreciate it. they'll take advantage.

i am always here for you. you know that, don't you?

say something. tell me i've done wrong.

don't scrub so hard. your hands are fragile.

today is not the day to be close to me.

do i have to believe you?

people come in here to cry.

i can't do this anymore.

we never made this much of a home.

i don't know what i'm doing. i don't know where i'm going.

darkness suits you.

all i want to do is sleep.

my brain feels like tenderized beef steak.

no one should have to see their child die.

i'm sorry i laughed.

i don't know what to tell you. i'm a mess. my life is a mess.

i'm going to dance it away.

i know where this goes. i've been there before.

you are so warm.

i will not miss this.

i should be fucking floating.

i don't need half-love, half-life. half is not enough.

i can be whole with nothing. i came from nothing. i came from nowhere.

i thought you were being murdered.

what has happened? what is happening?

if i told you, you would laugh.

who gets attacked by a crow?

tiredness is playing tricks.

i've seen it, too. the ghost.

i don't like not being able to see outside.

living here might not be so bad.

don't unravel. not here.

i feel like i'll never sleep again.

do you feel as lonely as i do?

i'm actually pretty disgusting.

i'm seeing things. messed up things.

this is where i'm supposed to be.

#closes my eyes forever #prompts.

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