moscow rules

ash she/her ao3

[nbcreates29]

🌹

thank you for the ask!

Would it have been enough to make [Isobel] love River, despite the Harkness blood running through his veins and puppeteering his movements, making him far too much like his father for her to love?- from my big bang!

[pghumfort]

I just want him injured, crying, sobbing, sweating, throwing up, passing out, pathetic and in need of serious rescuing.

[whumpdoyoumean]

2, 3 (River obvi) and 9 please for the ask game!

2. From page 4 of the first chapter of my Slow Horses Big Bang fic:

It’s been three months since River moved David into the home. It’s been a shitty three months. When River isn’t feeling overwhelming, soul-crushing guilt over his grandfather, he’s pissed off over his arsehole of a birth father.

3. And a (whumpy) River-related snippet from later in the chapter that is maybe too big of a spoiler but also I can't help it...

He doesn’t even make it two steps before the larger man grabs him from behind, arms like tree trunks wrapping around River’s torso and pinning his arms to his side. A hand clamps over his mouth, and River feels himself being pulled backward. He fights, barely aware of what he’s doing as he writhes and bucks against the man.

9. And here are four out of context images!

Thank you for the asks!!! :D

[thealdersgateoffice]

Me waiting for Apple to finally give us the Slow Horses Season 5 trailer:

[obsessivedaydreamer]

꩜ wip ask game ꩜

1. share a snippet of your choice from a wip

2. share a snippet from either the fourth line, fourth paragraph, or fourth page of a wip

3. share a snippet from a wip that involves [character]

4. share your favorite line of dialogue from a wip

5. talk about the scene from a wip that you're most excited about

6. if you were trying to recommend one of your wips to someone without giving any spoilers, what would you say?

7. describe a wip in five words or less

8. who is your favorite character in one of your wips and why do you like them in that story?

9. share 4 out of context images that you feel represent a wip

10. share a song (or songs) that you feel represents a wip

11. if one of your wips was a cocktail, what would it be made of?

12. what would the color palette be for one of your wips?

[whumpdoyoumean]

1, 5, 12

1 . The snippet I finally settled on just happens to be exactly 100 words which is SO satisfying. Since this is my whump blog, I of course have to share a whumy snip :D

It’s difficult to find a comfortable position on the rock-hard cot. Even if he were on his mattress in his flat, it would be difficult—having the shit beat out of you will do that—but this is infinitely worse. He’s too exhausted and dizzy to sit up. Being on his back isn’t great, either; it makes him feel like he can’t breathe. He finally settles for lying on his right side. It means he’s lying on the more injured side of his face, but it keeps the pressure off of his left ribs which he’s pretty sure are broken.

5. There are two Lamb scenes that I'm reeeeally excited about, and both are going to be very different hahaha. One is going to be him confronting Taverner (so his usual unpleasant self, making threats and whatnot), while the other is going to be a chat with River, where I'm going to explore that side of him that we only get hints of--the side that made sure to tell River about Sid so that he wouldn't hear it from Roddy, and the side that tried to hold Shirley back from seeing Marcus at the end of season 4 (:

12. The color palette for this fic would be white, black, grey, and red (for reasons which will become clear when you read it).

-

Thank you so much for the asks, my friend!!!!!

From this ask game

[set-phasers-to-whump]

Day 6: Bloodbath

whumpee: river cartwright

fandom: slow horses, slough house

hi here's a fic born purely out of my desire to see river just fucking drenched in blood :) there's going to be a part 2 later this month! hope you like <33

It’s a fucking bloodbath. 

Which is not exactly the rarest thing to happen, where the Dogs are concerned. 

And in the middle of it all, or not the middle, but curled up in the fetal position behind a concrete pillar, is someone who has no business being anywhere near here. 

Particularly given his previous track record, vis-a-vis the Dogs. 

Who, by the way, have cleared off. They’ve not taken great pains to clean up after themselves–the bodies are gone, but that’s where it ends. 

Hence the descriptor. 

A fucking bloodbath. 

Pools of congealing red coat the concrete floor, thick as carpet. There are splatters on the walls, on the aforementioned pillars, even on the ceiling, which is easily seven metres up. 

And again, there’s the single body still left in the room. Warm body. 

Warm being evident from the way he’s shaking, like there’s a fucking electric current running through his body. 

Enough of that. 

“Oi!”

The body flinches, a reflex, then recognises the voice. 

River Cartwright slowly, painfully, uncurls himself. Terrified eyes, half-hidden behind a fringe of blood-matted hair, look up. 

“Well? Planning on lying there all night, are you?”

It’s nearly five in the morning, not that there’s any chance Cartwright knows that. 

A slow shake of the head. 

Cartwright gets himself to his feet with all the strength and grace of a newborn deer. If Jackson were a hunter, he’d put him out of his misery. 

Instead, he fishes a cigarette from the depths of his coat and lights up. 

He’s halfway through the thing by the time Cartwright is fully upright. Fully being a rather generous term for it. 

He knows the answer, but asks anyway, as much out of boredom as anything else. 

“They shoot you?”

A slow glance down the body–Christ, that’s the only speed Cartwright’s got, except for when it comes to running headlong into trouble–and a shake of the head. 

So it’s just the fucking trauma. Or whatever. 

Jackson does concede–only to himself, and only a bit–that it is a lot of fucking blood. Cartwright may as well have taken a shower in the stuff. But none of it’s his, or at least not much of it is, which is where Jackson’s involvement in the matter begins and ends. 

Only not really. 

“You shoot someone?”

It’d explain his state, anyhow. It’s not like Cartwright–the young one, just the young one–is a killer. Jackson doubts whether he’s got the bollocks to squash a particularly large spider, let alone a human being. 

Still. If a Slow Horse kills someone, he’s got to know. So that he knows what paperwork he isn’t going to fill out. 

But it’s another shake of the head. Drops of blood fly off the ends of his hair. Jackson idly wonders how much water it’ll take to get all that off. Probably more than he himself uses in a month. 

“You coming?”

Cartwright takes a step forward, experimental, hesitant, like he doesn’t know whether the ground’s about to slip out from beneath his feet. 

His shoes leave bloody footprints behind as he approaches Jackson, who turns and makes his way, smoking a second cigarette, to his car. 

His car. Listen, he’s no neat freak, but Cartwright’s about to wreck the ancient and irrevocably stained upholstery with blood. And a bloody passenger seat raises certain questions that one half-buried beneath empty takeaway containers and splattered with curry sauce does not. 

There’s an old newspaper in the footwell. It’s got melted chocolate on it–Jackson licks his fingers to confirm–but it’ll do. He spreads it over the seat and gestures inside. 

Cartwright stares blankly at him, then gets in the car silently.

Lord above, if he’d known this is all it would take to get the kid to shut up. 

He needs a debrief. Jackson can guess at about two-thirds of what happened, but this sort of thing wants a proper explanation. 

He’ll not be getting much out of Cartwright now, though. Jackson doubts whether he’d be capable of stringing a sentence together, let alone a blow-by-blow of the night’s events.

If he weren’t such a fuckup, mind, they’d be on their way to Slough House right now, and two hours later, the debrief would be down on paper, signed and stamped, to be filed away and forgotten about. 

But if he weren’t such a fuckup, they’d not be going to Slough House at all, and none of this would’ve happened in the first place. 

In any case, Slough House is not their destination. Jackson’s not totally heartless, after all. It’s clear Cartwright could use some help. 

He’ll foist him onto Guy, go home, and finish off the bottle of Talisker sitting on his kitchen counter. 

Finish off, of course also meaning, start in on. 

They’re still about fifteen minutes away from Guy’s address when Cartwright makes a noise. It’s a weird noise, but Jackson doesn’t have time to think about it because in his momentary distraction he nearly sails through a red light, slamming on the brakes hard enough that his body hits the steering wheel. 

He glances over at Cartwright, expecting an inane remark about the quality of his driving, but Cartwright is otherwise occupied by being sick. 

Fucking hell. 

Cartwright makes a truly pathetic noise, like a kicked puppy, and Jackson would throw him out of the car right now except he’s pretty sure he’d be charged with animal cruelty. 

“Ssss–” Cartwright says, sitting up a bit. It’s more than likely meant to be an apology but for obvious reasons doesn’t quite come off. 

Jackson steps on the gas rather more gently than he otherwise would have as the light goes green. 

“You’re be paying to have my car cleaned,” he says. It’d be a hell of a bill, the majority of it decidedly not the young Cartwright’s fault, and there’s no chance he’s actually going to be arsed to take the thing to a shop, but it’s something to say.

Cartwright sniffles. Jackson spares him a glance. 

He really does look fucking awful. Soaked in blood, skin pale as a ghost in the rare places where it’s visible. There are tracks of pink down his cheeks and there’s a bit of snot beneath his nose. 

Some MI5 agent. 

An image of a different empty building, with the blood of different people splattered across the walls and pooling on the floor, appears briefly in his mind’s eye, as clear as if it’d been yesterday. 

Then it fades. Jackson steers with a knee and lights another cigarette.

thanks for reading!!! i've never written lamb's pov before and i'm definitely still ironing out the kinks but it was sooo fun playing with his voice. hope you liked, part 2 will come along in a bit!

[aroace-ryland-grace]

I NEED to write fanfiction <- guy who is not writing fanfiction

[abubblingcandle]

Some Sentences Sunday

Tagged by the wonderful @mellaithwen

Here's a little bit from the next chapter of Fleuve

“Catherine! Get away from the …” Louisa yelled. Her head dropped, clattering against the hardwood floor and sending the cymbals ringing again between her ears. The world spun as the assassin’s hand latched on around her throat instead. Louisa stumbled, vision swimming and lights flickering, back up to her feet as she tried to heave in any trace of air that could make it through his punishing grip. “Might as well just kill me,” Louisa wheezed. She didn’t have a way to get him whatever it was he wanted. And selfishly she didn’t want to watch him if he did get through the door to Catherine and River. He had likely already cut down Shirley and Marcus if he had made it this far. But there was no reaction, not even a flicker, on the face of her assailant. And then her body went through the door. Louisa felt the full force of the solid wood against her shoulder and then it gave way with a swift kick next to her hip.

No pressure tagging @fatrainbowcat @tarttygoodness @cartwrong @nativestarwrites @joecountry

[ashen-crest]

I can do it. I can write a chapter. I am capable of putting sentences together. I know what a comma is. I am Aware of the Character.

[cartwrong]

I'm really struggling with writing so does anyone want to send me a prompt to write for? I will love you forever. Might be a drabble, might be more, who knows. Get as specific as you want. Here's a list of some prompts if you need some ideas.

things i won't write for under the cut

anything with SA

anything that is based only on a ship with no real other plot

anything with any of the slow horses dying (that don't die in canon)

detailed smut (i'm just not good at it)

[lorespill]

i cant even remember if i posted some of these memes yet but whatever here you go

(i call this one Shirley's Defense Class)

[cartwrong]

I really want to write....why can't i fucking write??????????

[whumptober]

Trope Vote 2026

It's July! That means this years trope vote is now OPEN!

It's open for everyone to vote on their favourite tropes - including many highly-requested additions from your 2025 honourable mentions!

The vote will be open until the 27th of July.

We aim to have the prompts list ready for the end of August.

If you want to chat about your favourite tropes, the Discord Server is always active for our wonderful community of whumpers.

Finally, if you're looking for a comprehensive list of the tropes, then here are the A-Z lists that Surro put together some time ago:

The Grand List of Whump A-H [X]

The Grand List of Whump I-Q [X]

The Grand List of Whump R-Z [X]

We can't wait to get the WT ball rolling this year!

-Mods Surro, Yenn, Vanne and Kitty <3

Whumptober 2026 Trope Vote

The Trope Vote is back! Choose as many - or as few - of your favourite prompts as you like from the list below. This helps us greatly when d

[loreartisan]

well, Slow Horses has officially reached a new level of special in my heart. Because I completed my first commission for someone who loves Slow Horses and wanted fanart of the book!

Super super thankful for this amazing commissioner, EvanMonroe, i felt super happy and fulfilled from this art piece! (it does contain a scene from book 6 and isn't too spoilery i think, but just in case I placed it under the cut)

[tenderlywicked]

River Cartwright at work.

(A mood board to accompany Until You Get to the Sea  😉)

[thetempestechoes]

you know that meme thats like "do you have any idea in the slightest how little that narrows it down". that but for "which season of slow horses are you on" "the one where River gets beat up"