Look how upset Sherlock is over the fact that someone has put his John in an explosives vest. Bless.
❊ I want to roleplay with you
✸ I want to plot with you
✤ I want to ship with you
✥ I have roleplayed with you and it was great
❦ I sort of secretly ship a thing with your muse(s)
✷ I wish our characters were friends
✢ I like your characters
✱ I don’t like your characters
✣ I like the way you express your muse(s)
✫ I don’t like the way you express your muse(s)
☬ I feel like your characters are underdeveloped
❂ I don’t agree on all your headcanons
✡ I agree on all your headcanons
❋ Your blog is one of my favs
✦ I like seeing you on my dash
✵ I don’t follow you for roleplay
✧ I wish you would notice me
✩ You intimidate me
✪ You seem like a cool person
✺ You’re hard to approach
✻ I wish you weren’t so shy
❄ I look up to you
❆ I love your art
❇ I love the way you write
* I want to learn to know you
# I’m too shy to approach to you
☓ We should talk!
♥ *Your choice what to write*
If I ever post a meme that you want to send to me: SEND THE MEME.
I don’t care if our muses have never met.
I don’t care if our muses hate each other.
I don’t care if we have stuff plotted, but haven’t interacted much.
I don’t care if it means I have to skip ahead in our plot.
I don’t care if it means I have to go a bit AU.
Send in the meme if you want to send in the meme. Because trust me, I want you to send in the meme.
Happy 38th Birthday Andrew Scott (October 21st 1976)
If he was going to be honest-which he was, Sherlock was /not/ expecting blood. His first instinct was to panic, but his mind was greater than that--and he managed to push the panic back so he could try and hold John up, not wanting to move him too much from where he was so that he wouldn't make things any worse than it already was. "It's okay, just breath?" He tried to comfort him, chewing his lip and trying to figure out why he threw up /blood/ of all things. [[ hope you don't mind ;-; ]]
Your muse discovers mine on the floor clutching their stomach. Your muse tries to comfort mine, asking what’s wrong, when suddenly my muse throws up blood. What’s your muses reaction.
Pain, severe pain was all John could process as this point as he lay there on the ground, clutching his stomach in pain, hearing as Sherlock came over, and trying to talk to the man before he vomited. Blood. That was just… fantastic, vomiting blood, very bad. He reached out to grip Sherlock’s shirt tightly in one of his hands, doing his best to breath through all the coughing feeling more blood spill from his lips. “Hospital..” He managed to wheeze out, still clinging tightly to the consulting detective. They’d just gotten back from being in their own fair share of trouble, he was hoping this was only from the hits he had taken to his stomach, not something worse, there were so many things it could be, he hoped it was this.
Sighing to himself, Sherlock looked down at John and made sure to support him all the way towards the chair, not wanting to drop the other man and cause the issue to grow or get worse than he wanted. He made sure that John would feel comfortable, nudging a small blanket over him to keep him warm in case the blood was actually from internal bleeding. Of course Sherlock had been hurt in his own way, but John was clearly hurt worse and Sherlock had to prioritize that over anything that he was suffering. He dug out his mobile and dialled 999, keeping a watch on John closely to see if he was getting worse or to see if he had any considerable need for something that Sherlock could offer. He swallowed thickly and let himself sit on the armchair of the seat, being careful not to nudge John or to surprise him too much that he would jump and injure himself. “It’s okay, John.” He mumbled quietly, before settling for answering the questions that the woman on the other end was asking. It only took a few moments longer before he hung up after telling her where they were and how bad it was, before shoving his phone back to the side and kneeling down in front of John, moving two fingers to John’s neck to find his pulse. It was…unnaturally slow, and he pressed his lips together tightly before he moved back and looked at him. “They’ll be here soon. Keep breathing. Should I get a bucket? I mean, if you throw up more blood. I doubt Mrs. Hudson is going to enjoy blood all over her carpets.”
John shuddered a little as Sherlock put a blanket on him, hand moving out after a moment to grip the item and pull it closer. He watched Sherlock blearily as the man moved about some, seeing him pull out his mobile and moving his head to lean against the younger man’s thigh, which felt warm,warmer than he was, and listened to him speak, his name and the sound washing over him. At this rate he was sure of some kind of internal bleeding, finding it taxing to keep his eyes open, even when Sherlock kneeled before him. The doctor felt the fingers on his pulse, saw the other man purse his lips, never really a good sign, in fact he didn’t really feel like talking when Sherlock did but forced out an answer anyway. “Bucket might be safe.” He mumbled, feeling bad for the blood he had left on one of the carpets, doubtless Mrs. Hudson would have to throw it out if she couldn’t get the blood out. He rested his eyes a little, making sure to open them often enough so that he wouldn’t panic anyone, and finally looked up with the paramedics arrived..
[LOVE/LUST POTION MEME] He didn't waste any time for the moment he stopped the doctor, grabbing his arm to pull him behind a tent roughly. "Where th' fuck have you been, Johnny?" he pressed, lining their bodies up so he could smell him, scent him and feel the hard lines of the shorter man against him. His body was burning up, desperate for any kind of attention.
Your character accidentally drank a love potion and is now dying to have my character. Go into my askbox and come on to them like crazy! See how my character deals with the situation.
John grunted as Moran grabbed him, physically ripping him from his place and forcing him into another, pressing up against him. Why the hell was he scenting him? Was he aroused too? And he had a fever? “What the hell Sebastian? Where the fuck else would I be but patrol? Ya’ daft?” He physically forced the other man away from him some, putting some space between him so he could check the other man’s temperature with his hand, automatically checking his pulse. “You’re running a fever and your heart-rate is elevated. Severly. We need to get you in a cot. Got that?”
His eyes were full of fire, though it was more a sexual fire than a fury, but it was fire nonetheless as he dragged his face down to look at him, trying to look as appealing as possible though he was so aroused it was painful. “I’ll be mad at you if you don’t get a move on, you sod. Of all the bleedin’ people out there, you’re th’ only one I want takin’ advantage of me while I’m like this, don’t you get it?” he told him, still rutting a little against his thigh, which was doing little to keep the edge off. “Fuck it, Watson this isn’t th’ time to listen to you soddin’ conscience.”
John almost looked lost as he stared at Moran a moment, pushing his leg more firmly between the other man’s legs before he came back to his senses with a nod. “Get on the cot. I’ll get the lube.” He stripped his clothes as he grabbed the bottle, coming back to Sebastian, as he drizzled the liquid on his fingers making sure to warm it before he gripped the taller man’s legs, pushing them before his fingers found home in Moran’s entrance, sliding in and preparing him quickly, first with one, then two, taking a moment before adding a third digit. “Touch yourself if you want, let me know when you know you’re ready.” He wanted to prepare him fast, but not overly so.
[Text]: Hey Sebastian, it's John. How long do you think I would have to ask for off? That's if you still want me to go? -JW
[Text] I’d say perhaps three or four days. There’s a festival a couple days after we get there, so it really depends on if you want to go to that or not. -SM
[Text] Surprised he doesn’t have some kind of hacking device to figure that out. Or is he just a mental giant, and not a tech wizard as well?
[Text] I won’t get you killed, unless it’s from having the time of your life.
[Text]: He probably does, just to lazy to get up and get it. Or knows he’ll be in deep shit with me if he does. -JW
[Text]: You do realize that, that was rather cheesy, even for you? -JW
Send me “Grab!” for my muse’s reaction to yours grabbing their ass unexpectedly.
"Molly." John reprimanded with a chuckle as his wife grabbed his arse, arm moving to quickly circle around her waist and pull her close. "I do hope you didn’t expect to get away scott-free with that."
Molly sighed, but still smiled. “Well he’ll have to sleep eventually. I can be patient.” She teased, brushing discreetly against him, then pulled away even though she knew Sammy wouldn’t notice.
"Yes, I bet you can." John breathed out, hand reaching up as Molly pulled away to land a good swat to her rear as he pulled away to go to the kettle. He would have to wait a moment before he could hang out with Sammy and this would give him a good reason.