Apologies, my friends.

So, as I'm sure you've noticed, there was nothing posted on Monday. Sadly, there will be nothing posted on Mondays for a long while.

My ingenious husband and I managed to muck up the screen a bit. We set a full cup of lemonade on my closed laptop and it leaked bad. We dumped the entire laptop in a large box of rice (which now sits in our dining room... Gotta find a use for it soon) and it managed to save everything but the screen.

So, I won't be posting the rest of my Camp NaNoWriMo stuff for a bit nor will I be able to post NaNoWriMo stuff either. I'm currently working on my iPad, but it's a bit harder to "Copy/Paste" things here.

I apologize and hope that I can get this problem solved soon.

Until next time, my lovelies!

Happy Halloween!

Surprise, surprise! I actually managed to get a Halloween story done in time for the holiday this year! I've always wanted to do one, but could never get it to work right. This year, thanks to one of those lovely headcanons floating around Pinterest, I was able to get this done back in July! I couldn't be happier.

The headcanon: Sherlock likes to pretend not to see himself in mirrors, be averse to garlic and crosses etc., just to freak Anderson out. John caught on and started reminding Sherlock to stay out of direct sunlight when Anderson's around. They have a bet on when Anderson will break and start carrying around a wooden stake at work.

It's a bit rough, but it's not horrid. Makes me giggle anyway. I hope you enjoy it!

A Vampire for Halloween -- an original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     “What’s that look for?”

     Sherlock blinked and turned to John. “What look?”

     “You know the look.” John sighed as Sherlock raised a brow. “The ‘I have something devious planned’ look. You were wearing it not a minute ago.”

     “Halloween, John.”

     “Is next month. What about it?” John frowned and folded his paper, setting it aside for later. Sherlock was wearing that look again. It worried him a bit. “Murders will go up. Is that what’s got you all excited?”

     The tall detective groaned and stood, pacing in the living room. “Obvious, John, but something far more entertaining. You’d enjoy it too, I suppose. It does target Anderson.”

     “Anderson? What’s gotten into you?”

     “Halloween!”

     Sherlock stood on the coffee table and grinned widely. It was a bit haunting, that look, but John couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. He waved a hand at his flatmate.

     “Out with it, then. What are you up to?”

     “Something devious, John, something wonderfully fun!”

-

     October first came and John should have been prepared for Sherlock’s game. He’d started bits of it at Baker Street, but John had been on the lookout for cases deemed interesting enough for the great Sherlock Holmes. So when they pulled up at the crime scene and Lestrade looked amused, it caught him a bit by surprise.

     “Careful, Sherlock,” Lestrade called out. “Heard this one loved her crosses.”

     Anderson’s head popped up, eyes narrowed as he watched the tall man stride into the room, close enough to the victim, but well away from the kitschy collection of bedazzled crosses. He muttered darkly as he paused at the jewelry around the woman’s neck.

     “John!” Sherlock straightened, turning to look at the doctor. “Kindly remove her jewelry and give it Lestrade. Can’t touch the bloody corpse like this!”

     John looked to Lestrade who nodded, looking a bit put-out, and he sighed. “Really, Sherlock? Do you have to touch her? Can’t you get close enough for a good look and give your deductions that way?”

     “You know my methods, John.”

     “Of course, you bloody git.” He smirked as he did as he was asked, handing the evidence to another officer who’d stepped up to take it. “There you go, free of any blessed items.”

     Sherlock quickly then began his usual manner of determining the death of the woman and who the killer was and where they were hiding. John glanced at Anderson to see the man wearing a confused and concerned scowl. Sergeant Donovan wasn’t sure what to make of it either.

-

     “If you’re not going to take the bloody umbrella, then stay out of the light, you bloody idiot.” John snapped, swinging the umbrella he was carrying. He’d never admit he’d brought it both to annoy Sherlock and to watch Anderson panic a bit more. “I can’t patch you up, remember?”

     “Don’t be stupid,” Sherlock muttered, frowning at the mirrored glass. “Wouldn’t dream of going into the sunlight; would ruin my complexion. How’s my hair? Do I need a trim? Can’t see a blasted thing in these mirrors.”

     “Your hair’s fine,” Lestrade spoke up. “If you’re done here, bugger off, yeah?”

     “Can’t see your hair?” Anderson huffed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

     Sherlock spun and gave the medical examiner a dark grin. “Oh, I don’t know, Anderson. What do the facts tell you?” He laughed as the man backed up a pace.

     “Vampires aren’t real, you know!”

     “Oh, have proof of that, do you?”

     “Sherlock, come on,” John rolled his eyes. “You may not eat, I sure as hell do! I’m leaving to head to Angelo’s, you coming or not?”

     Anderson paled a bit more at John’s comment, though it was unintentional. He swallowed a laugh as he took off down the sidewalk, not waiting for Sherlock to catch up. He was hungry, that much was true, and if Anderson wanted to add that tidbit to his list of ‘facts’ then who was John to stop him?

     “Now you’ve done it,” Sherlock chuckled, catching up. He’d pulled his Belstaff around his ears, “hiding” himself from the sun. “Did you really have to bring the umbrella? You know how much I despise Mycroft and his.”

     “Oh, it was a bit of fun,” John giggled. “I’ll leave it home next time. And Anderson can think what he wants. I was telling the truth that time. I am hungry and you rarely eat unless I force upon you.”

     “Delightful. He’s nervous, going to start carrying a stake at the next crime scene.”

     “Nah,” John shook his head. “Not yet. He’s definitely far more scared of you now than before. By Halloween, though, he’ll be carrying one. Sally too?”

     “Oh, she’s got Holy Water in her pocket and has started to wear a cross around her neck. Haven’t you been paying attention to how she holds her head up when I get close to insult her?”

     “Right. Still having fun, then? Halfway through the month, ought to make sure you’re still not bored.”

     Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Hardly dull. Lestrade plays along well, you know. Did you tell him? Why did you tell him?”

     “Because one of them should know at least and Greg can help you before you get to the scene, you know, with the crosses, and garlic, and all.” John shrugged. “Plus, he enjoys watching Anderson freak out a bit too.”

     “Marvelous.” Sherlock grinned. “Best idea ever.”

-

     Three days until Halloween and there it was, on the medical examiner’s waist: a wooden stake. John blinked at it for a moment before realizing that Anderson wasn’t the only who had one. Sally and a few other officers carried various ‘anti-Vampire’ kits on their sides.

     “Greg,” John stood next to the DI, his voice low, “How many officers have you told about Sherlock’s little prank?”

     “Most of them. Not Donovan or Anderson, since those were his targets, I presume.” Lestrade shrugged. “Some still think he’s not acting, so I let them think what they will. He’ll get bored of it soon, right?”

     “Oh, no doubt, Detective Inspector,” Sherlock said, strolling up to them. “But, I do have one final scheme to bother Anderson with, with your permission, of course. And your assistance?”

     “Oi, your hearing that good?”

     “Nope, read your lips. Bit boring, really.” The taller man shrugged. “Will you help me or no?”

     “Of course. What do you have planned?” At Sherlock’s grin, the DI frowned. “Do you know your face does that? Does he know his face does that?”

     “Does what?”

     “That ‘I have something devious planned’ look? No, he doesn’t. Makes him look a bit mad, though.” John chuckled.

     “Which is nothing new, John. Everyone thinks I’m mad.”

     “Only a bit,” Lestrade said. “Some of us think you’re only a bit mad. Know you, is all. Your plan?”

     “Of course,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “The plan.”

-

     ‘The plan’ would have waited until after Halloween night, but as luck would have it, a ‘fresh body’ showed up Halloween night and put it all into motion. Bless Molly and her wonderful ways. After a bit of an argument, Sherlock agreed to wear the vest under his clothing, just as a precaution. John didn’t want a trip to the A&E just because the idiot wasn’t willing to be prepared. They met Lestrade and most of his team outside the scene. Sally stood a bit off from the group, watching Sherlock with narrowed eyes as they wandered into the house. Lestrade grinned at her before the door shut behind them.

     “She wonders why you don’t get attacked, either of you since I’m a psychopath.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Thinks you’re working for me, under some spell, Lestrade. Should really set that one straight.”

     “It’ll sort itself out tonight,” Lestrade waved a hand, dismissing it all. “No crosses and this one was allergic to garlic. Everything else is in place outside, Anderson will be out in a bit. So, what happened?”

     Sherlock took in the room and gave his deductions at rapid speed. John rolled his eyes as he steered away from the mirrors. He gave his solution to Lestrade (heart attack, not murder, boring) before stalking his way outside, clearly in a dark mood.

     John and Lestrade were close on his heels as the younger Holmes brother threw open the door and practically flew at Anderson. The medical examiner squealed and fumbled for the wooden stake at his side, but it was a bit late for that. Sherlock had his mouth around Anderson’s shoulder, ‘biting’ as hard as he could.

     At Lestrade’s shout of “Sherlock!” another officer threw a bucket of faux blood at the detective and medical examiner, causing Anderson to rip himself away from Sherlock. John stepped up, simply to make sure neither man was actually injured (beyond Anderson’s fall – he’d tripped and landed on his backside in his hurry to get away).

     “Brilliant!” Sherlock crowed, ignoring the fact he was covered in red corn syrup. “Wonderful! It’s Christmas day! Look at him!”

     John and Lestrade shared a look before dissolving into laughter along with nearly the entire squad. Sally had rushed to Anderson’s side only to be brushed off as the medical examiner stood to glare at them.

     “What the hell what that about!” He snapped, stalking up to Sherlock. “You trying to kill me or something!”

     “Hardly, Anderson,” Sherlock grinned. “Bored, needed entertainment and you were the easiest to fool. Should have suspected Sergeant Donovan as well, but that wasn’t the point, really. Thank you for playing along.”

     “Playing along – what do you mean by that?”

     “Just that, Anderson,” Lestrade managed over his laughter. “Bloody good trick, it was. Should have seen your face! Squealed like a girl!”

     “I do not squeal!” Anderson denied adamantly, stomping his foot, “Besides, I was only trying to protect myself from that bloody Vampire!”

     “Oi, you do, mate!” John grinned. “And Sherlock’s no Vampire. He could see himself in those mirrors just fine and none of your stuff would have worked on him.”

     “Well, the stake, John, but that hardly matters. Stab anyone with a stake and they’d die. Obvious.” Sherlock said. “Come on, I’d like to get home before this sets in too horribly. Afraid it’ll ruin my Belstaff.”

     “Don’t drip on the floor, Mrs. Hudson will kill us,” John looked at his flatmate and sighed. “Oh, we’re going to have to walk. No cabbie will let you in like that.”

     “Fair enough, come on then.” Sherlock strode ahead, waving a hand as they left the DI and half the Yard behind them. “Happy Halloween, Lestrade. Do try and have something more interesting next time please!”

     “Of course, you git.” Lestrade laughed. “Happy Halloween to you too!”

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

Tone is Everything when Speaking

I worked on this one for a long while. In the beginning I wasn't sure if I wanted this to be Sherlock/John or my own characters. Of course, as I started writing, Sherlock simply took over and decided for me. Not that I mind, of course. It's nice to have characters help out now and again.

I'm not fully thrilled with this one as I think it could be a whole lot more, but again, the thought was to put words on a page and move on. Which I did. It turned out well enough, but if I have time during NaNoWriMo, I may go back and edit it a bit. We'll see.

There is a companion piece to this. Two, actually. I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to post them here or not yet. If I don't, I will definitely link them to my deviantArt page. One is in the middle of this and the other is floating around through time and space, but it fits in this AU.

Without further ado, I give you the story inspired by the prompt: Don't sign to me in that tone.

Don't Sign to Me in That Tone -- An original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     His hands flew quickly, signing in an angry tone if his face was anything to go by. Damn it! I nearly had it that time! You should know better than to interrupt me!

     I rolled my eyes and signed back just as quick, speaking aloud as I did so, “Don’t you sign to me in that tone. Be nice, your hair was about to catch fire.”

     To hell with my hair! A scowl settled on his face as he sat back and glared at me.

    “You say that now,” I huffed, “But you love your hair. You’d sulk even more if you’d burnt your damn hair.”

     The tall man snorted and pushed away from the table angrily. He stalked off towards his room and the door slammed shut. I sighed and rolled my eyes, not bothering to walk down the hall and find out how upset he was with me. He’d probably forget to sign and simply make rude gestures instead.

     I cleared the table off and threw away the burnt bits. He’d sulk now, but he’d be fine later and, if I was extremely lucky, I’d get some sort of apology. He really did love his bloody hair, but the experiment was probably just as important. I’d find a way to make it up to him.

     A few hours later, the dark haired man finally decided to grace our living room with his presence. He sat in his chair, legs curled up beneath him as he looked at me, studying me. I didn’t look up from my paper beyond that initial look, waiting for him to make some noise to get my attention. I didn’t have to wait long.

     I… He snorted, frowning. I’m sorry, John. I would have had an awful strop over my hair, thank you for preventing me from setting it aflame.

     “You’re welcome, Sherlock,” I gave my response and raised an eyebrow, on hand on the paper.

     Fine, go back to reading. I’ll entertain myself then.

     “Just don’t set anything else on fire,” I mumbled, returning to my paper.

-

     “Damn it, Sherlock! Stop signing to me in that bloody tone!” I snapped, forgetting to sign this time. He rolled his eyes, pretending he couldn’t understand me, but I knew the idiot could read lips. “Keep it up and I will leave you here! Greg can take you home and he’s horrible at signing.”

     He wrinkled his nose before blowing out a steam of air. Fine. Tell them. He paused for a moment before adding a Please at the end.

     I turned to the DI and outlined what the detective had said, leaving out the insults and ‘obvious’ remarks. Sherlock gave a sort of growl, something he always did when I didn’t repeat what he said exactly as he’d told it to me, but I ignored it.

     Sally opened her mouth and Sherlock made a handful of gestures and I let out a hissed, “Sherlock!” before turning to the sergeant and shaking my head. “Please, don’t, Sally. I’d rather not repeat that.”

     She blinked, turning a shade darker from blushing most likely, and shut her mouth with a click of teeth. A quick look toward Lestrade and she spun, disappearing behind a car, probably to mutter darkly where the tall man couldn’t see her.

     Sherlock spun and took off, signaling the end of our help and I sighed, following closely behind with a shout to the DI. I had to nearly jog to keep up to his long legs and ridiculously billowing coat, but when I caught up he signed a simple thank you which I smiled at.

     He wasn’t so bad, not really.

-

     “Don’t sign to me in that tone, John.”

     That was the first time I had ever heard Sherlock’s voice beyond a handful of grunts, growls, and irritated noises. I had also been wrapped up in semtex at the time, signing back what Moriarty was spouting off in my ear. I’d been so startled that I stopped and stared at him like some idiot.

     “So the great Sherlock Holmes can speak!” Moriarty appeared around the corner, delight rolling off his tongue as he laughed and clapped his hands together. “How interesting!”

     “Don’t be stupid,” Holmes rolled his eyes, gun pointed at the madman, “Talking is boring.”

     “You bloody git!” I hissed, glaring at him, but he didn’t spare me more than a glance. If we survived this, I would strangle him myself for forcing me to put up with him for this long.

     They both continued to ignore me, I assumed because I was no longer useful to either of them at the moment, which gave me time to prepare an attack. Of course my meager attempt was useless and we eventually got away with our lives, all three of us that bastard, and we headed back to Baker Street.

     Once there I simply headed to my room and locked myself in, effectively ignoring my flatmate. I went about doing so for several weeks, during which Sherlock spent his time obsessing over his new puzzle (one Jim Moriarty) or sending Lestrade frustrated texts because I refused to accompany him during his consultations with the Yard. He could just talk to Greg anyway, so why did he need me?

     I ignored his off-handed remarks and piss-poor attempts to explain why he refused to talk since childhood. I found a reason to be out of the flat: work at the surgery or need to get some air, might go see what Mike’s up to today. Hell, I’d put up with Harry if it meant I didn’t have to spend time with that lying bastard. Whatever reason I could come up with, I used, no matter how stupid it seemed.

     It was only after Mycroft interfered with a black car pulling up to the curb and driving me away from the flat that I begin to think that I should probably listen to what Sherlock had to say. Blessfully, the elder Holmes simply insisted that I listen to his brother than explain the whole thing for him. He sent me back with a smile I knew was fake, and I stalked up the stairs and demanded an explanation.

-

     “For the thousandth time, do not sign to me in that tone, you bloody git!” I snapped at the crime scene. I signed rapidly, if you keep up your attitude, I’ll out your damn arse to the entire Yard.

     Sherlock hesitated and stared at me, eyes wide. You would. He decided. His lip raised in annoyance. That would be not good, John, you know that. It would ruin everything.

     “Exactly,” I muttered. But I wouldn’t be the only one putting up with your insults and foul signs.

Lestrade guesses, or knows, haven’t decided yet. Need more data. He doesn’t care though, either way. Likes it when you take charge of me. Interesting. He began wondering if he’d prefer Mycroft more because of how controlling his brother was and I blushed.

     “Oi! Case!” I snapped.

     Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “I saw my name and his brother’s a few times. What’s going on?”

     I shook my head as he switched gears and began to outline his deductions. I repeated them back, glad for the change in topic. The DI said nothing as I accepted the switch of conversation and shouted orders to his officers.

     Come along, John! Sherlock signed, The game is on!

-

     Don’t sign it, I smiled, stilling his hands, “Please?”

     He sighed and rolled his eyes. For several long moments, there was silence before Sherlock took a breath and spoke,

     “I do.”

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

Only Angels Have Wings

This story... I love it so much, but it was a pain to write. I've had this prompt for AGES, but it just wasn't coming out right. So I took a break from it for a while and I finally came up with something that I just fell in love with.

The prompt for this was: "Dude you have wings! I thought you were just really into trench coats."

Because I've been binging Supernatural lately (during July and now to catch up for the new season, of course), I couldn't help coming up with this. Because, seriously, it's Castiel. How was this prompt not made for Cas?

Title is uninspired, but I don't care. The story is fantastic! Working on continuing this lovely little AU.

Trench Coats and Wings -- an original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     Castiel groaned as he rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand, wishing that he’d left school a bit earlier. It was getting dark and Lucifer would start to worry if he wasn’t home soon. Gabriel, Castiel guessed, was either home or off on his own adventure; he hadn’t seen his older brother leave.

     He pulled his coat higher over his shoulders as he stared at the ground, trying to hurry his pace without seeming like he was rushing off somewhere. He knew the school’s bullies were still around this time of day, and he really didn’t want to attract any more attention to himself. Yet, he should have known something was likely to happen as his foot caught on a raised bit of sidewalk, throwing him forward.

     A few things happened at once: an aborted, strangled shout escaped his throat and someone else hollered “hey!” as a hand grabbed the collar of his coat. A startled “no!” slipped from his mouth as the coat was yanked off his back. He tried to steady himself by force, but instinct took over and a hidden pair of wings flicked out to help regain his balance.

     It’s okay, it’s fine, Castiel tried to tell himself as his eyes shut, feet finally resting firmly on the ground beneath him. No one can see them anyway, it’s fine. I have nothing to worry about.

     “Dude, you have wings!”

     Castiel’s eyes shot open as the blood drained from his face. He knew that voice from school. That voice belonged to one of Dekon High’s notorious ‘bad boy’ bullies, one Dean Winchester. Of course Dean could see his wings; of course, he’d see them after he’d inadvertently helped Castiel from falling.

     Castiel closed his eyes and wished for all the world that it was not Dean Winchester standing behind him and that he was simply hearing voices. It was late, he’d skipped lunch, he was tired – any excuse as to why he was hearing voices.

     “I thought you were just really into trench coats.” It was said with a snicker, but it didn’t feel vicious or heated. Simply amused.

     “I, uh,” Castiel turned, biting the inside of his cheek, unsure.

     Dean stood there with the coat loosely held in his hand as he stared openly at the two black appendages sticking out from the other boy’s body. Castiel blinked as heat crawled up his neck and he pulled the wings as tight to his back as he could. Dean raised an eyebrow as he turned his gaze to the angel.

     “Uh, thanks?”

     “Is that a question?” Dean grinned. He held out the jacket. “Here, you can have this back if it makes you feel better.”

     Castiel took it, dropping his gaze as he nodded. He shifted on his feet, tempted to put the coat back on, but it seemed a little stupid at this point. He draped it over his arm instead and tried to smile.

     “Thanks for saving me. I, uh, I have to go.”

     He spun and started walking off, tugging on the coat as he did so. Dean wasn’t a rare case. Castiel had met several people over his lifetime and heard about others from Gabriel and Lucifer, who could see his wings. He really didn’t want a repeat performance.

     “Wait!” Dean called, jogging to catch up. “Seriously, you spring those things on me and think you can ditch me like that?”

     “I wasn’t--.” Castiel shook his head. “I have to get home. Lucifer doesn’t like us staying out too late.”

     “Us? Oh, you and Gabe, then.”

     Castiel nodded but said nothing as he stalked down the street. Dean plodded along alongside him, casting curious glances now and again at his back, but saying nothing. Castiel endured it for several long moments before he stopped and glared at the older boy.

     “Why are you following me? Going to jump and beat me when it’s dark enough? Going to get your fill so you can run off and tell someone about me? Going to try and touch them to see what they feel like? To see if I can feel it?” Castiel snapped, his voice on the edge of a growl and near to the point of breaking. “What. Do. You. Want?”

     Dean took a few steps back, putting distance between him and the younger boy. He frowned, trying to figure out what had set him off. He raised his hands slowly, a gesture of surrender.

     “Um,” Dean frowned further, “I was actually just going walk you home, or at least part way. Don’t want you tripping again, shit. But, you know, if you’re just going to freak the fuck out, I’ll leave.”

     Castiel groaned as Dean spun around and headed back the way they’d come. He huffed and chased after Dean, calling out,

     “Dean, wait, I’m sorry!”

     “Oh, so you know my name,” Dean snorted, not stopping. He had slowed down a bit, though.

     “Everyone knows your name,” Castiel muttered. “You’re one of the hottest guys at school and a well-known bully, so why wouldn’t I know your name. Stupid.”

     Dean paused, raising an eyebrow at him. “Only one of the hottest guys, huh?”

     Castiel’s mouth dropped open as a blush crept up his face. He spluttered, trying to come up with an excuse or something. Of all the things out of that sentence, of course, he’d pick up on the ‘hottest guy’ bit.

     “I know of you, Gabe talks about his baby brother fondly, but I don’t think I actually caught your name.”

     “Cas.” It came out as a squeak and Castiel ducked his head, clearing his throat. “Castiel. Name’s Castiel.”

     “Cas,” Dean hummed, smirking as he watched the angel fidget. “That’s where he gets Cassy from then.”

     “Cassy?” Oh, he was going to murder Gabriel when he got home.

     Dean slid up to Castiel, grinning wider. “Yup. Says you’re the sweetest little thing ever, his baby brother Cassy. I totally have to agree with him.”

     Castiel spun and nearly ran to get away from Dean, who simply laughed as he chased after the younger boy. Gabriel was going to die in the most horrid way he could think of. Castiel was going to pull on his wings until he begged for mercy. He was going-.

     “Why are you following me now!”

     “Because you’re going to break your neck at that speed, Cas, chill.” Dean rolled his eyes. “I was serious about walking you home or even part way. You tripped over air and at this point, I’m a little worried you’ll fall on your face trying to get back on your own.”

     “Fine,” Castiel grumbled, deciding it was better to let Dean follow than trying to argue otherwise. He knew Gabriel, so it couldn’t be all bad, right? “You might as well ask.”

     Dean blinked, caught off guard. Castiel smothered a smile and shrugged. “The wings and if Gabriel has them. Questions?”

     “Well, that was a good one. Gabe’s got them, right? And Luci?”

     “Yes. Gabriel’s are golden and Lucifer’s are usually an opal white. You know, has a sort of rainbow sheen on them in the light?” Castiel shrugged as Dean nodded. “And you’re not supposed to be able to see them. But people do. People who are gifted.”

     “Gifted? Really?” Dean snorted. “Sounds kinda stupid put it that way.”

     “Well, I was going to say touched, but it’s clear that you’re touched in the head.” Castiel sniffed, pretending to be hurt by Dean’s remark. “But yeah, it’s hard to explain, really. Something about being chosen by God or what-not and it’s supposed to be super rare.”

     “Wonder if Sammy could see ‘em,” Dean muttered, more to himself than anything. Castiel said nothing to this as they continued to walk. “So, I’m guessing you can fly with ‘em since you righted yourself. Also, how the hell are they hiding under that coat?”

     “Magic,” Castiel replied immediately but laughed at Dean’s expression. “No, serious. Angel magic. Gabriel wears his leather jacket and Lucifer has a few clothing items he can use. Each piece suppresses the space behind our backs, making it seem as if there was nothing there.”

     “Time lord tech, huh?”

     Castiel tilted his head and frowned. “I, I don’t get that…”

     “Never mind,” Dean shook his head. “Seriously, though, can you fly?”

     “Haven’t in ages, but yes. We can fly with them.”

     “Sweet.”

     Silence fell between them for some time. Castiel could see thoughts and questions flicking across the older Winchester’s face, but he didn’t say anything. And Castiel had no words to offer him, so the angel just kept his mouth shut.

     After a while, Castiel stopped outside a house, hands stuck in his pockets. Dean frowned for a moment before raising an eyebrow at the house he’d stopped at. He looked at Castiel and tried to keep a smile hidden.

     “White picket fence? Seriously?” Dean shook his head. “That is so not what I pictured when I thought of a bunch of angels living in town.”

     “Lucifer likes it. So does Anna, so Gabriel and I don’t say anything.” Castiel shrugged. “I’ve, uh, I’ve got to go. Lucifer’s going to be upset I’m home this late as it is and-.”

     Dean walked over and planted a kiss on the angel’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cassy,” he grinned, walking away. “Say hi to Gabe for me!”

     Castiel stood, stunned for a long while as he watched the older boy leave, a hand pressed to his cheek. God above, today was weird, but not unpleasant. Suddenly, Castiel smiled. Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be so bad either.

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

Change is Normal, Darling

I'm rather thrilled about this piece, believe it or not. I really kinda like this one. It's a follow-up piece to another one of my stories, and actually is a follow-up piece of its own. The third piece was started in July, however, I haven't finished it yet, so it won't be in the line of "Camp NaNoWriMo" postings. Perhaps I'll upload it later when it's finished.

The first of these three pieces can be found here, called Change is Coming and involves the characters from Always for Eternity. You'll notice I use them a lot. They're my favorite characters, believe it or not. I love them to death.

The prompt for this was: “It’s okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around her as she shook with terror. “It’s over now.” - “No, it’s not,” she whispered back. “It hasn’t even begun…”

This story wasn't entirely planned out when I began writing it. It came from a role-play story (where two people write back and forth to create a story, each one having control over everything but the other writer's character), and I just fell in love with it. Which is how it tumbled into a trilogy of its own. Rather fun.

Times Change -- An original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     I knew it was coming. Had known for a while, in fact.

     Didn’t matter, though, that I knew it was coming. It hit me hard, harder than the shock that had forced me to keep my human form long after I should have shifted into my wolf form for the first time.

     This, this hurt worse than anything I’d ever felt. My body shook with tremors I couldn’t control, though it was mostly from the fear I felt.

     I was afraid to become a Vampire.

     Gods honest truth, that. Victor had abandoned me shortly after the shaking had begun, fueled by fear himself, I guessed. Eli had taken his place, watching me transform from one monster to another.

     I reached out to my longtime friend, seeking comfort, though it would help little to none.

     “It’s okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around me as another quiver of terror wracked my body. “It’s over now.”

     I laughed, humorless and loud before curling into his body. I was amused he thought it would be over so quickly.

     “No, it’s not,” I managed to whisper back. “It hasn’t even begun…”

     I felt him startle into stillness, the kind that if I hadn’t been in his arms or couldn’t see him, I would wonder if he was still there. The kind of stillness that only Vampires somehow managed.

     “Oh, Mickey…” he murmured into my hair, hands rubbing my arm, my back, trying to be soothing. “I’m so sorry…”

     Horribly bitter words bubbled up my throat. You should be. It’s your fault Josiah came after me. If you hadn’t come back, I’d be just fine. I hate you. Josiah did this because of his petty hatred for you, I got caught in the crossfire. I was just a tool for him, but you didn’t stop him.

     I bit them back, all of them and let them sit in my stomach, bitter and nauseating. I wouldn’t say them, not now, not ever.

     “Doesn’t matter.”

     Hopeless words that fell flat really. He said nothing.

     I don’t know how long he held me as my body shivered and quaked in his grasp. Too long.

     I stilled.

     He pulled back.

     There, on the edge of my consciousness, I could feel the urge to eat. That wasn’t the right word, but it fit.

     It wasn’t over, the change from beast to a monster, but it was finished in its attempt to tear me apart.

     “Hungry,” I muttered darkly, staring at the Vampire in front of me.

     He stood and disappeared for several moments, returning with something I knew to be blood.

     My nose wrinkled. Part of me was repulsed by the scent sitting in a glass while the other part…

     It hungered for the liquid so hard I blanched.

     “Sorry,” Elijah muttered, helping me drink the lukewarm fluid. “You’ll have to get fresher stuff later. This is the best I could do on such short notice.”

     I glared at him over the glass. Short notice? He was the one that had come to warn me about…

     I huffed and ignored it. It didn’t matter.

     Everything had changed.

     Nothing mattered.

--

     I stared at the bar in front of me. I could feel the pulse of hundreds of people in the area, but could taste nothing of what were now my own kin.

     Vampire, nearly whole.

     Wolf still sat within me, but I lacked the ability to shift. Yet, I kept the senses – wasn’t that part of the vampiric package as well?

     Probably.

     Reflexes too. Gods, how was I supposed to separate the two? Did it matter?

     Probably not.

     New start, free from the chains that bound you in Dekon, Mick… I strode into the bar and smirked darkly. A place to mark as your own, the strange half-breed you are. Make it good…

     My smile grew wider as I strode to the bar. This dinky arena would be mine. I would take as I wanted, there would be none to stop me.

     Not that it mattered if there was.

     This was mine and I would take it, and keep it, by force if need be.

     Eli had given me tips and tricks to make it better, to help me and I thanked him.

     I thanked him by leaving.

     Victor had never returned and I couldn’t care. He could barely handle me when I was a wolf, why did I think that he could have handled me now that I was some sort of new monster?

     My family didn’t know, couldn’t know. Ty wouldn’t be able to handle it either, in the end. He’d hated Eli long before he knew the Vampire’s true nature.

     Didn’t matter.

     Not really.

     This was who I was now, no going back.

     I wasn’t sure if I wanted to thank Josiah or continue to curse his name until I died. Did I live forever as a Vampire or just have a lengthened lifespan like the Lycans? He was the reason for this, the reason why I was no longer certain of myself.

     Fucking bastard.

     I sighed, settling down at the bar. Might as well get used to this. The change was ever present, fighting between wolf and undead, probably for as long as I lived.

     It ached, my body, as it fought itself. But it wouldn’t kill me. Not now.

     There was nothing I could do now.

     Didn’t matter.

     I was born a monster and I’ll die a monster.

     It’s all I knew how to be…

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

Resistance is Impossible

Again, I promised to share all the things I wrote for Camp NaNoWriMo, so here's this... Whatever this is. I'm moderately okay with this, but it's very strange.

The prompt for this was: "Five things your antagonist cannot resist."

Moderately proud of this one. Got to play with my villain for a bit, which I haven't done in AGES. Had fun with this. Again with the bit of odd writing, trying different things out. Somewhere along the way, it was decided that Josiah likes chocolate. Nearly as much as he likes number 1. He is a strange creature, but I love him anyway.

Impossible to Resist -- an original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     List five things you cannot resist.
     Josiah frowned as he stared at the page. No one knew where it had come from or who had delivered it to his room. He snorted, dropping the page back onto the desk where he’d spotted it, ignoring the message.

-

     Two days. It took him a total of two days to come back to it. He hadn’t wanted to, resisted quite well actually, but two days was suddenly torture. He had to look at it again and try and figure out who was demanding such ridiculous things from him.
     List five things you cannot resist.
     “Number one,” he muttered darkly at the page, “Blood drained fresh from my victim.”
     When nothing happened, he snarled and balled the sheet up, tossing it across the room. He questioned the servants again, demanding they try harder to figure out where the stupid thing had come from.
     Once that was finished, he proceeded to indulge in number one. He was feeling particularly hungry tonight.

-

     Days passed and the letter slipped from his mind. He resumed his daily life, which, of course, included the tormenting of his dear cousin. He was rather upset with his aunt and uncle for allowing Elijah to just waltz right back into their lives, but after his near attempt at killing the woman his cousin fancied, Josiah was forced to ignore it.
     “You know she’s going to hate you again,” Josiah leaned against a shelf in the library.
     Elijah looked up and scowled. “Shut up, Josiah. No one asked you.”
     “She was so angry you left the first time, wasn’t she? Why would she take you back a second time?” He rolled his eyes. “How many second chances can you get, cousin, before she decides you’re not worth her time?”
     Josiah grinned as Elijah paled. The younger Vampire straightened and darted from the room, forcing a laugh from Josiah. He grinned darkly. He turned and left the library, heading back to his room, pausing only for a moment as the letter came to mind.
     “Number two,” he hummed, “Tormenting my cousin.”
     It was rather delightful. Perhaps he should do it again soon.

-

     The horse reared as it reached the edge of the field, sides heaving as Josiah reigned her in. He turned the mare back towards the center of the clearing and dismounted, dropping the reins. She huffed and dropped her head, following slowly behind him as he walked into the middle of the clearing.
     “Number three,” he exhaled as he let his legs fold beneath him so that he sank to the ground. “Being able to escape the manor and the idiots who reside there…”
     He let himself fall back so that he could stare at the sky. The stars above seemed to mock him as they shone down on the Earth. He was unsure of the Lycan territory, but he assumed that they would avoid the area for a bit. Or, so he hoped.
     Time alone was a blessing, no matter how much he enjoyed bothering his cousin. The strain of social requirements with his aunt, uncle, and grandfather was far too much on occasion. Tonight was no exception. A party in honor of a possible union between the furred beasts and his family.
     Michaele and Elijah had gotten quite close since her appearance at the manor. They were quite sickening, actually, holding hands and longing looks. He would have to leave soon, it was becoming far too much to handle.
     Jealousy was a possibility, but he didn’t want to think on that too much. Not since that night, he fucked up. No.
     He sighed and closed his eyes. He would rather just enjoy the silence.

-

     He’d made a list of his own now, just below the words List five things you cannot resist. Number one – blood, preferably draining his victim to death but wasn’t a necessity. Number two – tormenting the hell out of his cousin. Number three – being able to escape the manor and the people who lived there. Number four – …
     Josiah stared at the list and frowned. He wasn’t sure what else to add to his list. He had plenty of impulses, though nothing he couldn’t resist. His frown deepened as he briefly thought to write do something stupid just to spite my elders but that wasn’t quite true. He could resist that if the effort was strong enough.
     “My lord?”
     The Vampire turned his head towards the servant who held out a box. “What?”
     “Your sister returned and asked me to deliver this to you, my lord.”
     He raised an eyebrow and took the box, shooing the man away as he did so. He removed the lid and blinked in surprise. It was nothing more than a box of chocolates – the ‘oh so expensive’ sort from Paris.
     He let out a laugh, shaking his head. Of course, in the middle of the madness that this list was creating, his sister would, of course, bring him something he couldn’t resist. She was brilliant when she chose to be. It was a pity they weren’t closer sometimes.
     Number four – expensive chocolates from Paris. Especially if they were purchased by his sibling.

-

     He watched them run into the forest, hand in hand. He snarled softly as he hid among the eaves of the manor, knowing it wouldn’t be last he would see of the damned woman who haunted his waking hours as much as she haunted his dreams.
     Josiah was tempted to follow her, tempted to tell her that he’d killed the man in the hall for her so that she would remember that she had loved him, once and that it was possible she could love him again.
     The fifth and final thing he could not resist, no matter how much he tried, was her – Lycan and lover to the Alpha of the forest and keeper of his cousin.
     The woman he’d lost once before, the woman he’d lost again…                                
     Michaele Sencor.

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

Dead Again.

Good morning, good morning! I do hope you've been enjoying all the silly little things I've been posting so far! I know I'm having fun sharing them with you.

No backstory for this one, really. These characters may or may not be from my WIP novel Always for Eternity. My muse couldn't make up its mind. But they're fun to play with anyway.

The prompt for this story is: You stumble across an article online detailing a brutal murder. There are pictures of the victim. It's you.

Front Page News -- an original story by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     I stumbled from the bedroom with a groan. I stretched as I made my way through the hall to the living room where my housemate sat, staring at her computer with a frown on her face. I tilted my head as I folded myself into a chair.
     “Something the matter, Mika?”
     Her head shot up and she glared at me. “You haven’t seen the headlines this morning yet, have you?”
     I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “Of course not. I just got up, why? Has some horrible thing befallen us all?”
     “Just your brutal murder,” she quipped, spinning the laptop to face me. “You’re front page news in fact.”
     I shared her frown. I gathered the electronic device and set in my lap, scrolling down the page as the cover story did, in fact, detail the gruesome murder of a man fitting my exact description. The photograph they’d taken was a little harder to study – most of it had been blurred in a pitiful attempt to pretend the death wasn’t as violent as they said.
     “That’s you, Vik,” Mika said. “The photo isn’t great, but that’s you. You died last night and yet here you are, in our living room as if nothing’s even happened.”
     “Immortal,” I murmured, studying the details again. She knew that it was something we shared. But it did pose a bit of a problem in the digital age where everything hit the media faster than a person could blink.
     “What are you going to do about it?”
     “Nothing.”
     “Bullshit.”
     I looked up and frowned harder. She was giving me that lovely you’re an idiot if you think you can keep this hidden look. I rolled my eyes and returned to the laptop, looking for other news articles that had covered the same story.
     “Are you going to try the old ‘I have a twin brother’ thing again?” Mika asked. I could feel her gaze on me. “Because that’s not going to work if there’s not a body at the morgue and you know it.”
     I let the insult slip past as I stood and returned the device to her. I wandered back to my room, wondering if I’d returned late last night and crawled into bed or the shower first. There were bloodstains on the floor near the window leading to a pile of ruined clothing on the floor. A quick glance at the bedsheets told me that I had, luckily, remembered to shower before sliding into clean clothing and into bed.
     “So what do you suggest I tell the kind officers who will no doubt find my appearance rather startling?” Turning, I found the young woman standing in my doorway. “After all, I can only do so much with dirty linens. The blood trail leading to my window? The blood in my room? I might as well be considered the murderer as well, Mika. What would you have me tell them?”
     She blinked as she took in the room, heading to the window to make sure there was a blood trail leading to my room. Of course, there would be, I had managed to make quite a mess of my floorboards, why wouldn’t there be a trail to my room?
     “The truth?”
     “You don’t sound very certain of that fact, my dear.”
     “That’s because it’ll make things so much harder on the lot of us, you idiot!” Her tone was snappish, but I couldn’t blame her. “What the hell even happened to you last night?”
     I shrugged, unable to remember much beyond visiting a bar and chatting up a seemingly nice young man. He did seem like a bit of a strange fellow, but I allowed him to buy me a drink anyway.
     “You were drugged at a bar and he killed you.” Mika shook her head in disbelief. “Christ, Vik. One of these days that might actually kill you.”
     “Hardly,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It’s far more likely that I’ll find my death in the hands of another immortal rather than some strange mortal offering me a bit to drink and dragging me off to my ‘death’. Someone like you, my darling.”
     Mika raised an eyebrow and a ghost of a smile graced her lips briefly. “Well, I’d be the first and most obvious choice after all. Who better than your own housemate, the very one you’ve been living with for centuries?”
     “Precisely.”
     “Well, Vik, you’d better think of something to tell those cops. They’ll be looking for you shortly, I assume. After all, you’re missing from the morgue and you've got a blood trail to your room. Surely they’ve got some questions they’d like answers to. And you better have them.”
     I nodded and made my way back to the living room. “Of course, Mika. Have no worries. And, of course, it’ll be better than the truth.”
     I curled up in my seat again and sipped on my morning coffee. I would come up with a grand story in the end, should they come to my door. But until then, I would just enjoy my morning as I usually did and wait for the next century turn.

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

Smile, My Friend, for Death has Come to Visit

So, I made a promise to myself that I would share the good and the bad. And I'm not ovely fond of this particular story, but a promise is a promise. Ugh. Please forgive me in advance. The prompt for this was: "We go to war with a smile on our face because we are friends of Death himself."

Bit of backstory-ish on the main character - one Victor Ragnorock. He's not "my" character per say, but a friend of mine has offered him up to me so often to use in my stories (especially Always for Eternity), so I am quite fond of him and don't mind using him for my "personal gain" (read as: emotional abuse, personal slave, etc. Love Victor anyhow).

He's a lovely character, Victor, one with a wide range of backstories for me to use. However, he is a soldier first and foremost in all of my stories, and in my friend's stories as well. So, this is how he's portrayed most often. War, soldiers, etc. - these are things that I can draw out this particular character.

Smile, We're Friends of Death -- an original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     The new boots were nervous as they stared at the veterans who wore smiles and laughed, never mind the fact that a war was happening just outside of the perimeter of tents and vehicles. One even took to frowning as she stared at a few of the older men who were laughing particularly hard at a joke someone had said.
     “Why are they laughing?” She hissed as she glared at them. “Don’t they know there’s a war going on outside?”
     Victor rolled his eyes as he stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder to prevent the inevitable movement forward. He raised an eyebrow as she turned that crystal blue glare on him, but he smirked anyway. She could be intimidating, in her own way, but it wouldn’t do any good out here.
     “Take it easy, new boots,” He raised his voice to be heard to the entire group of new cadets – Only ten? Why didn’t they send more? – “Yes, we are very well aware of the war not too far away from our only little paradise. Trust me, we’d love nothing more than to forget about it, but—.”
     Gunfire echoed from outside the thin walls and for a moment, the whole battalion tensed, waiting to be called into action. When it ceased, a collective inaudible sigh filled the room before the laughter and general merriment resumed.
     “But that’s life, kiddos.” Victor shrugged, motioning the new recruits to follow him through the maze of tents and temporary buildings.
     This wasn’t an assigned job, leading them around and instructing them on where everything was, but it made it easier. Things ran here extremely well and the sooner the new boots understood as much as they could, the better off everyone would be.
     The last place on their “tour” was the infirmary, the one place everyone tended to avoid if they could, even the doctors. He paused a few feet inside the door as the small group gathered around. The frowns they’d lost as they’d wandered returned and a few even looked a bit green. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
     “You’ve seen how we act during our down time,” Victor’s voice was soft, almost gentle now. “How we laugh and play and pretend that the war is something that doesn’t exist beyond the four walls of our shelter.
     “I don’t know what anyone’s told you about going to war with a smile. Yes, it’s a gruesome, bloody, horrible place to be where everyone you loves dies or goes home broken in more ways than you can count.”
     Haunted looks stared back at him and a few of the new boots paled. Feet shuffled and a young man whimpered. Victor turned his gaze to the blue-eyed recruit and smirked humorlessly.
     “We got to war with a smile on our faces because we are friends of Death himself. We do the work that he cannot and in return, we are rewarded with moments of peace where we can laugh and pretend nothing is wrong.
     “We are nothing but the reapers of this world, new boots, smile while you can.”
     He dismissed them and most scurried away, out of the infirmary, possibly off to find their own bolt holes within the compound. Only the woman who’d been angry before now stood before him.
     “How can you still smile even knowing that you’re nothing more than a pawn for Death?” Her voice mirrored his, though he couldn’t be sure if was on purpose. She did seem far more frightened than angry, and at this point, it was to be expected.
     “Because I’m still breathing, recruit. Because one day, Death will come for me too and I, personally, will welcome him with open arms.” Victor chuckled, patting her shoulder. “Best learn to love him, kid. Sometimes, he’s the only friend you’ll get in a place like this.”
     He left her standing there, wandering off to his own bed. She’d understand in time, they all would. Victor chuckled as he shook his head.
     “Much more than a friend you are, Death, old buddy,” he sighed, flopping on his bed with a sigh. “Friend, teacher, lover… They’ll understand one day.”

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

30 Day Challenge - Day 18

Day 18: Your beliefs.

Okay, give me a broad topic to ramble/rant about. Sure. Oh boy.

I'm pretty sure I've already done enough about my religious beliefs (Day 4 if you want to reread) though I do have to say this has changed a bit... I believe in a higher power, but I'm not certain it's a "Christian" God. Or if it's not more than one God... I don't know anymore. It's complicated and I'd rather not go there.

I'm actually sort of at a loss for this one. What do you want me to say? Bullets on what I believe?

• I believe that standardized testing is stupid and useless.
• I believe that college should be cheaper, if not free.
• I believe that a college degree should be worth something, but it's not anymore. So many of us have one now, they're almost as good as not having one.

I mean, I could go on and on in that fashion. But I'm not sure if that's what the prompt wants me to do or... I'm not really feeling this one, so I'll just add more to the list below.

• I believe mental illnesses should be taken more seriously and not looked at as something that we should just "get over".
• I believe people should think more about who they're voting for when it comes to presidential candidates. At least more than the surface value... (No, I won't go too far into this.)
• I believe people who are on food stamps should actually need it - same for child support - and use it for it's intended purpose. (Also something I'm not willing to go too far into for a simple blog.)
• I believe that our government could use a lot of work.
• I believe that I am not good at a lot of things, no matter how much people tell me I'm good at something.
• I believe that I write but no one reads. Makes me wonder why I bother.

I think this is meant to be a deeper subject and perhaps I'll try it again when I can fathom it's meaning. Until then... Have whatever this was.

Grey not Gray

So, when I was writing this, I vaguely remembered that I have this GIANT list of writing prompts. Okay, giant is perhaps a bit much, but that hardly matters. It's called 100 Themes Writing Challenge. It's still a huge work in progress, but it's full of fun stuff.

This week's story isn't really based on a "prompt" per say, but rather a fun little ficlet I found on Pinterest (because I find nearly 100% of my prompts there). The link to this can be found here, as a photo, (please, PLEASE, PLEASE let me know if this disappears, I can link it from another source).

The work below, titled "Shades of Grey" has ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with that blasted book series. It was number 34 on the list of 100 (as can be found above), so please don't bother with those sorts of jokes. Besides, this is actually rather sad and a bit depressing. I killed John (sorta).

Shades of Grey - An original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     The sky was grey. The clouds were grey. His bloody Belstaff was grey. The man standing next to him was grey, or rather his clothing and hair were grey. The damn stone was grey. It was as if the colour was stolen from the world and it made him sick. He could only pray it didn’t bleed into his mind palace.

     “Lestrade,” he murmured, his deep voice soft with confusion. “What is this?”

     The DI looked over at the tall man huddled in his coat briefly before looking back at the stone in front of them. He sighed and ran a hand through his ever-greying hair. Sherlock now wore the same look that John had when the taller man…

     “He waited every day for you, Sherlock,” Lestrade huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his feet uneasily.

     “It,” The consulting detective paused, sounding choked. “It says John Holmes on the stone. Why?”

     Lestrade laughed.

     It sounded dead.

     It felt dead.

     He felt empty.

     “He loved you, Sherlock. He really did.”

     “Why haven’t you changed your name?”

     Lestrade blinked, reeling slightly from the change of topic. “What?”

     Sherlock’s multifaceted gaze flicked over him. “You and my brother,” another strangled sound. “Sentiment, Lestrade. Surely you two have done something about it now.”

     “That doesn’t matter,” Lestrade hissed. “John is what matters right now, you idiot! And he’s gone.”

     “Obvious!”

     The word shattered the silence, yet pulled in more, something worse than silence.

     “Mycroft did this, Sherlock, changed his name as he was…” Lestrade broke off, dropping his gaze to his shoes. “He signed the paperwork, you two are, were legally wed for a bit.”

     Sherlock whimpered.

     Lestrade said nothing.

     “I can’t hear anything,” he muttered after a moment. “The noise in my head is silent and there’s so much damn grey everywhere.”

     The DI had no reply to that. What do you tell the man who clearly couldn’t see that the man in front of him was utterly smitten with him?

     Nothing.

     “I’m, uh,” Lestrade sighed. “I’m going to visit your brother. You’ll, you’ll be alright here?”

     “I’m fine. It’s fine,” Sherlock huffed, waving at hand at the older man. A clear dismissal. “I just… A few moments, alone, yes.”

     He stood, listening as Lestrade was driven away by one of Mycroft’s minions, leaving him in silence and utterly alone as he stared at the name on the stone. Underneath his birthday and day of death was etched a few lines of sentiment.

     John Watson was beloved by many, loved by few, and cared for only one. He saved many lives while he was alive and we’ll miss him when he’s gone. May God bless his soul.

     “John,” Sherlock shuddered, dropping to his knees. “Damn it, John… Why couldn’t you wait a few more days? I was coming home, John, I was coming home…”

     He stayed that way for hours, hand pressed against the name, letting tears flow freely from his cheeks as the world became grey. Who was he without his blogger?

     The sky had no answer, nor did the stone. And, as he had feared, even the walls of his mind palace had become grey to match the world around him.

     “Goodbye, John…”

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

A Sorry Vampire (Sort of)

This week is another full original from me, a sort of 'what if' excerpt from the eternally in progress novel I'm writing called Always for Eternity. One of these days I'll get around to finishing it and stop rewriting it. Making progress on that front, a little, at least.

The prompt for this lovely little piece of work was: Write a scene that begins with "I have nothing to apologize for." So, of course, I thought of my own character, Josiah, who isn't fond of apologizing for things, let alone things that may or may not have been his fault.

Piss Poor Apologies - An original story by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     “I have nothing to apologize for!”
      She blinked at him, surprise flashing across her face before it settled into something darker. He returned her gaze, hands fisted at his side as he tried to keep his anger contained.
     “Nothing to apologize for?” She hissed. “What about fucking up my entire life, hmm? This all started because of you, you idiot!”
     Silence stretched before them for several moments. The Vampire raised his lip in a snarl, debating on whether or not the consequences of his actions would be worth her death. Her actual death, not some mix where she stands on the same edge between worlds as he did.
     “My fault? You think that my bite was what caused your infernal wolf to just show up?” He barked a humorless laugh. “No, my dear. That would have happened anyway, it was simply a matter of time. Sped it up, perhaps, but did not cause this.”
     “Maybe,” she replied. “But I might have been able to live a normal life. One that did not involve you and the two idiots who have been chasing me since the dawn of creation!”
     “Hey!” Victor’s voice rose up from behind her, but she chose to ignore it. Nothing he said would change the fact that they’d been doing to this same old song and dance for far too long. Even he would admit he might have enjoyed a century or two off.
     “No,” The Vampire smirked darkly. “That’s not how it works. Your soul, spirit guide, whatever the hell you’d like to call it, showed up and your fate was sealed, Michaele! The moment you laid eyes on him, you were doomed.”
     “Only because I’d gone home after you’d bitten me!”
     “Shut up, both of you!” Victor glared at both the man and woman. “You don’t know anything, either of you. Yes, Josiah could have started all of this with a simple bite, set the whole damn thing into motion, but we don’t know that. Ioten could have shown up later or maybe even never, but we don’t know that. We don’t know anything at this point. It’s too late to argue what might have been or what could have happened. It’s done.”
     “Hakuna Matata?”
     “Not now, Matthias!” Michaele and Victor spun to yell at the younger man who, despite the angry looks he was receiving, looked quite pleased with himself.
     Josiah snorted. “I get that reference.”
     “Oh, shut up!” Michaele snapped. “Just leave. If you won’t apologize, then I don’t want to see your sorry ass around here anymore. Leave and stay gone.”
     “I have nothing to apologize for!” Josiah hissed but spun on his heel. “But fine, you want me gone, I’ll go. However, this will not be the last you see of me!”
     They watched him leave for several moments before the silence was invaded by Matthias’s soft laughter. Michaele and Victor turned to glare at him again, torn between confusion and anger.
     “If he was a villain in a story, he’d say that. Of course, he would because that’s what they all say when they’re in a mood and don’t think they’re wrong,” the younger man laughed. “Gods, what an idiot! It’s lines like that that bring men like him to their knees!”
     “Oh, shut up, Matti,” Victor groaned.
     Michaele rolled her eyes. “It’s true, though, you’ll have to admit.”
     “Not going there,” Victor huffed. “Nope.”
     Matthias laughed harder, clutching his sides. Victor rolled his eyes. Michaele huffed. This hadn’t gone to plan at all, but it was something. It wasn’t, after all, the last time they’d see him. That was true, perhaps too true.
     “Fucking idiots,” she muttered, turning away. “The lot of you.”

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

I Beg Your Pardon...

The prompt for the story this week was, of course, from Tumblr/Pinterest. "Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you've caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the 'girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft' and I'm trying to figure out how to break it to you that we're on our way to a graveyard."

Of course, with this prompt, I immediately thought of Lynn Anderson's song, "I Beg Your Pardon, I Never Promised You a Rose Garden". Hence the title of the story itself.

I was struck by John to steal flowers from Sherlock's garden. And, of course, Sherlock has bees because it's Sherlock and of course he's got bees. This was a fun little AU (alternative universe) where perhaps they didn't meet at Bart's, but rather on the way to visit the ex-army soldier's parents.

I had fun with it and hope you enjoy it.

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden - An original story by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     It was nearly a weekly routine. He’d make his way to the cemetery, occasionally pause at the edge of a large field of wildflowers to pick a small bouquet, and finish his walk. He’d stop by the stone that held their names and places the flowers, spending a brief amount of time there, sometimes talking, sometimes silent.
     His return home was by far much quicker. He’d walk quickly through the cemetery, past the field, and return home to lock himself away for another week, maybe two if he thought he could get away with it.
     It went on this way for months, until he hesitated at the edge of the field, suddenly wary of the tall man who stood in the middle of the wildflowers. He had a scowl on his face and quicksilver eyes seemed to bore into his mind.
     “You’re the one stealing flowers from my garden.”
     He blinked rapidly for a moment, mouth hanging open in surprise. His garden? It was just a field of wildflowers, not a garden. Wasn’t it?
     “Once a week you wander past here, sometimes stopping to gather a small amount of flowers, particularly the dimorphotheca aurantiaca and nemophila menziesii.” The man’s frown deepened. “I do not know why, though I suspect it’s for some female, to gain her attention and affections, and those two, in particular, seem to be her favorites. Or your favorites, since the later does seem to deepen the blue of your own eyes. A point in your favor, perhaps, since women do seem to favor tall, dark, and handsome, which trait you only carry one.”
     “I, uh,” he blinked, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was your garden. Didn’t realize it was a garden at all, in fact.”
     “No, of course not. People rarely seem to think. Flowers growing next to a manicured lawn, surely nothing odd about that. The bees would take unkindly to you if they carried such mental capacity.” The taller man rolled his eyes. “However, I will admit I am curious to see if your token of sentiment works or not. Gather what you will and I will determine if you are to be allowed to continue or if I should call the police after you.”
     “The police!” He shook his head, “There’s no need for that! I didn’t know, honest! I won’t do it again!”
     The man waved a hand. “For me to decide. You have your instructions. Pick what this woman of yours desires and let’s get on with it, yes? I do not have all day.”
     He huffed and gathered a handful of flowers, tempted to stay away from the daisies and baby blue eyes, but they were a favorite, though not for the reason the taller man suspected. He grit his teeth and stood, waving a hand towards the path he usually took.
     “Sherlock Holmes,” the man said once he’d caught up.
     He looked over at the taller man, frowning for a moment, before offering up his own name.
     “John Watson,” he stared at the path. “I am sorry, Mr. Holmes-.”
     “Sherlock,” the tall man muttered.
     “Sherlock, then,” John huffed, “I didn’t realize it was a garden. I’ll just drop by the florist next time.”
     “Perhaps,” Sherlock interrupted. “But that is if I decide not to press charges for your theft. Constant, I must say. My brother can probably fetch plenty of evidence against you, which would be a pity for you and this relationship you’re in.”
     “Now see here, Mr. Holmes!” John bristled, pausing for a moment.
     “Sherlock, please,” the taller man looked down at John. “Stand down, soldier, I won’t bite. If nothing else, you have alleviated my boredom for the day. Perhaps I shall leave the Yard out of this should it be interesting enough.”
     “Boredom?” John frowned. What was this madman playing at? He blinked and gaped at Sherlock, the thought of telling the taller man that they were in fact on their way to the graveyard instead of seeing some woman slipped his mind. “Stand down, soldier? What the hell was that?”
     “You were a soldier, the way you hold yourself when confronted with a thought you don’t like or a threat. I suppose that limp you’ve now got is entirely in your head, but I do believe you’ve been told that by your therapist enough that you finally believed it. I suppose it comes out at moments of great duress, such as this – a complete stranger accompanying you to your significant other to deliver flowers and to be put under scrutiny. Hardly commonplace.”
     “And you got that how?”
     “Your tan lines. Nearly gone now, but still visible. Cuffs and collar, not enough of you tanned to be a vacation and, as I do hate repeating myself, the way you hold yourself. I have seen enough military men in my line of work to know how they stand at attention. You hold yourself much like them, even if you’ve been discharged for quite some time.” Sherlock glanced at him, a small smile playing on his lips. “Like I said, interesting.”
     “Brilliant,” John muttered, forgetting to be annoyed for a moment or two.
     Sherlock frowned. “That’s not what people usually say.”
     “No?” John chuckled. “What do they usually say?”
     Sherlock smirked. "Piss off."
     John nodded, laughter dying as he stood outside the gates to the graveyard. Sherlock blinked a few times, his frown returning. He stared at John, who merely shrugged and made his way to the familiar stone, the taller man trailing close behind.
     “Hey Mum, hey Da,” John murmured, staring at the stone. “Made a new friend today on the way here. Found out the flowers I’ve been picking actually belong in his garden. Didn’t know. May have to bring you fancier ones next time if he doesn’t have me tossed in jail.”
     His eyes flicked towards Sherlock who stood next to him, staring at the stone with a surprised and confused look on his face. His lips twitched up in a smile before disappearing as he looked back at the worn headstone.
     “His name’s Sherlock Holmes,” John cleared his throat, continuing, “Guessed about my service, and my limp, though that’s hardly surprising, right?” A soft laugh escaped. “Thought I was getting flowers for a date, the silly man. But, he was right. You’ve always loved daisies and baby blues, haven’t you, Mum?”
     John knelt for a moment, placing the bundle of flowers he’d picked from Sherlock’s garden in front of the stone before standing and turning to the tall man. He grinned tightly, waving a hand down at the names.
     “Meet my parents, Sherlock,” he chuckled, “The lucky lady who knew which flowers would best match my eyes.”
     “John,” Sherlock blinked, finally turning to look at the man before him. “I – I apologize, I had no clue that this is what you, where you were going. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have said anything.”
     John laughed, waving him off. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Now you can come visit them with me. Mum would have liked you, I think, with your brilliant wit and fast tongue. Would have given her a run for her money in the gossip circles.”
     For several moments, they stood in silence around the stone before John snapped to attention, saluting the stone. With easy precision, he spun and marched a few steps away before slumping into an easier pace.
     Sherlock jogged to catch up, wondering if John had followed in his father’s footsteps, going into the military. It was a good possibility, but it was not a question he’d ask at this moment, not when the memory was still sore.
     They walked in silence until they reached the edge of Sherlock’s vast garden of wildflowers. John smirked, smiling up at him with his hands in his pockets.
     “So, do I need to wait around for the police, or was my girl pretty enough for you?”
     Sherlock looked down at John, confusion, and horror flicking across his face for a moment before he schooled his expression into a neutral one.
     “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.” Sherlock waved a hand to brush off the notion. “However, I would like to invite you in for tea. I’d love to learn more about your parents. Weekly visits? Why is that? I’ve plenty of questions if you’re willing.”
     John grinned, relaxing and nodding. “Tea sounds fantastic.”

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )