#n1atruc

[talentforlying]

have you ever been to krispy kreme, john?

under protest, yeah. why? you takin' orders, @n1atruc?

[burnedtoacrisp-a]

@n1atruc sent : "are you making conversation?"

Three victims. Two weeks. Each corpse left in a summoning circle of sorts. Herbs burned, bones broken, and ritualistic exsanguination.

Yes, someone is trying to phone the Devil. (Unusual even if uncreative.)

Sherlock walks the perimeter of the summoning circle before flattening to the floorboards, chiseling away at the bright red paint to collect the sample in a petri dish for further examination.

❝ Stop thinking so loudly, ❞ he snaps at Lestrade, who hasn't said a single word in the last four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. With a sigh, the Detective Inspector decides to leave Sherlock to be, well, Sherlock in his lonesome, and the door slams shut.

So, when the additional voice presents behind him, Sherlock's head whips around to see just exactly who is speaking. His brow furrows, eyes rapidly scanning Crowley up and down as his mind races to make sense of what appears to be his mind's best projection of Satan himself.

( Yes, he clean, and yes, he's certainly hallucinated worse. The source of this one would have to wait, however. )

❝ No, ending it, ❞ Sherlock says, choosing to amuse his restless mind. It's better company than most.

Upon finishing the evidence collection, he rises to feet, and his eyes meet the darkened lenses of Crowley's glasses. He gestures to the body with the tip of his pocket knife.

❝ I don't suppose you know who's so desperate to come in contact with you? ❞ he asks rhetorically.

[butscrewmefirst]

❝ out of everything you could say to me, you chose that? ❞ she stares at @n1atruc, a rather displeased look on her face.

[sanguilta]

@n1atruc asked: ❛  there is a certain amount of truth behind everything that people do.  everything they do tells you a little something about them.   ❜

"what   if   you   don't   want   just   a   part   of   the   truth?"   when   did   his   life   become   this,   he   wonders?   where   when   he   speaks,   it's   parts   of   the   truth   laced   with   lies   or   dishonest   remarks.   louis   had   always   hid   a   part   of   himself   for   the   benefit   of   others   but   it   seems   that   death   had   not   stopped   him   from   continuing   that   delicate   part   of   himself.   emerald   eyes   stare   back   to   the   sky   above   instead   of   his   companion   before   him.   the   night   is   his   one   true   friend,   and   when   he   closes   his   eyes   he   dreams   it's   sunlight   on   his   skin   and   not   the   moonlight,   as   it   had   been   for   years   now.   "how   can   you   distinguish   the   truth   from   the   lies?   perhaps   we   chose   whatever   fit   us   better."

[krakensmaw]

𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒 ever closer to an easy smirk. a practiced twist of mouth, so casual in its inhibition. the skin crinkles about his eyes and crows feet stretch their reach, all encompassing but that glint never quite pierces the depths of a dark and smouldering gaze. " HEY NOW, 'm not the one going on about your ... er, prickle. " eyes flit to the glass, the bottle, and back. but there's a fresh distance and a madness drawn behind them as all those murky leagues below. " the devil's a gentleman, they say ... s'pose i'll hold you t'dinner. "

the wooden chair creaks its protest as he shifts for the whiskey. one filled to the brim for his own bottomless gut, and they top crowley's off for good measure ; BLACKBEARD can be a gentleman as well, when the mood strikes him so. " am i to believe you're just here to thrill me with your latest exploits then, mate? a drink, to the good ol' days? " half a glass down the gullet, and it burns like an old friend. his own exploits remain unspoken, for the carnage left in the captain's recent wake was better left to the froth ( to wash up 'pon the barren shore & be forgotten ).

" thrill me then, cap'n. i'm in DIRE need of a distraction. "

@n1atruc / cont.

[slasharch]

carlisle was afraid of very little. the thing he feared the most was losing his children, his family, and he did not take kindly to threats against them. but crowley wasn't a threat. in theory, sure, but not in practice. as long as carlisle had known him, the demon hadn't so much as hinted at hurting him or any of those he cared about. as much as crowley liked to act as if he was some evil entity, the vampire saw far through that. being born one thing does not define you. carlisle should know - his rebirth had left him with fangs and a thirst for blood, but he tried to be kind and compassionate every single day. eyes move up to meet crowley's, a near gentle grin on his lips, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. 'you don't have to act like that. not with me,' @n1atruc.

[cstarling]

she knows she should call jack. anyone on her team, really. she should report what had happened to her several streets down from where she was now. but the attacker was long gone, having smashed clarice's head against a wall, bloodying her nose, lip, and cheek. she'd barely had time to pull her gun, let along chase after him - not with how dizzy she was. not with how blurred her vision became. alert enough to realize where she was, she walked the several blocks it took to find crowley's apartment. hand lifts, clarice using the last of her energy to knock on the door. when he answers, she blinks up at him, her breath slow but shallow. 'need t'clear my head for a second. didn't know where else t'go,' clarice sways a bit where she stands, but to her merit, she does continue standing. 'got a first aid kit?' @n1atruc.

[untilthcyrot]

❝ Can you turn on the shower for me? I need to wash the blood off. ❞

♡ ───── OPEN STARTER FOR NADJA KATTS, VAMPIRE OC.