#chainedcriminal

[postmxrtems-blog]

❖

Send me a ❖ and my muse will kiss yours

       She didn’t want to do this. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, or her kindness. Quite frankly - he didn’t deserve one thing from her. He had lied to her, manipulated her, played her. But…she wanted to be kind. She didn’t want to hate him, despite everything he had done. She didn’t want to hate anyone. Pausing for a second, she swallowed, before leaning over and pressing a small kiss to his cheek.

                      "I forgive you Jim, but leave me alone"

[famousdetective]

❖

Send me a ❖ and my muse will kiss yours

Sherlock clearly wasn't keen, but it was only a game; the two never seemed to stop playing. Bending with obvious reluctance Sherlock pressed a swift kiss to his cheek and retreated immediately, "Have a... whatever day."

[xtwin]

Do it.

i f  y o u ’ r e  b r a v e  e n o u g h,  s e n d  m e  ” d o  i t. “1. my muse gives yours a strip tease

[ too much alcohol, yet again - the taste is delicious enough to keep richard’s mind away from a potential no more. he doesn’t even remember when the drinking session with sebastian started, but the dim memory makes him grateful for the reactions occuring in his still swaying body; it’s warm and nice, making the storyteller smile at every possible detail of life he can spot around, when the world is spinning so fast. breathing reminds him of sweet salvation, one he is eager to accept, while thinking remains a higher mystery. no, the poor little thing is unable to go that far. reaching for another bottle, he opens it with clumsy movements and immediately greets his throat with fresh dose of liquid happiness, purring. it’s his newly discovered, favourite sound; no wonder why he does that statistically two times per minute. ][ and then it happens. one of the most terrible ideas strike the leftovers of consciousness, encouraging richard to stand up from the safe couch and stumble down the corridor. jim is here, somewhere, probably working like he’s used to do most of the time (at least in the actor’s opinion), so this is the only chance to lead the older twin to the relaxation. richie feels like a hero, as his shoulder lands against the stable surface of the door and pushes it open, inviting him to a whole another world. neat, alcohol-free one. the utter need to change that burns through his veins like fire. ]            ❝—surps— surprise, jimmy! i’ve go-ot… a surprise for you.❞[ the exclamation is louder than it should have been, while, god knows where from, richard finds a remote in his hand and clicks a green button, allowing a rather slow song to escape from the nearest player. oh, that’s good. exactly how he wants it to be. with the widening smile he steps forward, careful enough to find himself in the consulting criminal’s sight, and presses hands to his slightly wrinkled shirt, playing with it for a longer moment. like a cat. seductively, as much as he is able to in a state like this. and then the material reveal skin. richie’s chest is free, when the prison of top clothes fall to the ground, and the attention slides furhter down, right to the edge of his trousers. even the hips never stop moving, as he wants the show to be good. ]

[snipersmoran-archive]

blessed-dissimulator

chainedcriminal

'Evening, boss. About the new files you've given me--you don't really expect me to spend days decoding this information, do you?

[thisismyhostage]

+5 need an answer.

                " ------ Ah, Jim..."

                       "Well, I really have missed you."

[famousdetective]

I’d rather die.

Send me a sentence for my character’s reaction:

"Which raises the question... why didn't you stay dead?"

[hlecter-psyd]

+9 in the waiting room

you-will-fall-for-me

bbcthestoryteller 

thecosmologicalgodsarehere

runningxfast

hannahs-reasons-why

chainedcriminal

dontscratchtheimpala

knightinshiningimpala

imreallyjustanactor

regentofasgard

 Hannibal was sitting serenely at his desk and leisurely working on writing up his notes from previous sessions into his computer, translating them from his adapted doctor's shorthand as well as from his native Lithuanian. He tended to write in his native language if only to keep people from catching curious, casual glances of what he was writing about the session. It helped in the long run, he knew and, by now, translation was effortless. It also helped him keep a firm grasp on his first language as no one really spoke it in America, that he had found at least.

Then, the phone rang, interrupting him. A sigh and a glance at the clock. Not a patient running late, of course, he was done for the day. Perhaps a cancellation. He glanced balefully at the empty reception room. He needed to make getting another secretary a priority again. Perhaps he ought to post the ad in the newspaper again, as well as online where it had been left to simply collect virtual dust...

"Hello?" He asked with a kind voice, betraying nothing.

[thisismyhostage]

"Sherlock... Sweet, darling Sherlock. Whatever are you doing, Sherlock? Are you feeling quite alright, Sherlock?"

                      The detective glared at Jim, before his eyes rolled back into his head, his arousal almost painful. "I swear to -- uh," he cut himself, moaning, as a hand, that he did not realise was his own, found its way to his crotch, fondling the package that was growing, ever-more prominent, between his legs. "Stop."