be like snow.
beautiful, but

continue →


I didn't know I was l o n e l y until I saw your face

i. i wanna get better - bleachers // ii. feel again - onerepublic // iii. sleepwalker ( up all night ) - owl city // iv. something i need - onerepublic // v. a sky full of stars - coldplay // vi. on our way - the royal concept // vii. gone gone gone - phillip phillips // viii. a little too much - natasha bedingfield // 

                                                           { butterscotch;; ii }

Tue, 26th August  18
◤ ♚ ᴠ﹕ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs; no.;
onemansinsanity-onecatsreality replied to your post: “how do novella”:
you dont do novella, novella do you.

does novella know it’s suppose to do me

Tue, 26th August  2

how do novella

Tue, 26th August  7
i forGOT; ◤ ♚ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ;


     There is a nondescript manila envelope on his side table when he once again arrives at his flat. For most, there would be immediate questions upon the sighting of the parcel: where did it come from; who brought it; who broke into my flat to leave it; what’s inside? 

     For Sherlock Holmes, there are no questions. There are only immediate and heart-stopping answers, spinning with dizzying clarity to the forefront of his head. In the doorway he freezes, one hand hovering slightly off of the cool metal of the knob, the other twitching long fingers at his side. Sharp eyes immediately catalogue the contents of the envelope. Three standard-sized pieces of paper and seven to nine photographs.

     With one decisive step forward, the detective simultaneously allows his mind to settle and the door to close behind him. Normally this would be the time in which he would consume the tea left by Mrs Hudson, but tonight that tea - and the accompanying biscuits - would go cold and stale.

     Four more steps bring him level with the table, and it hardly takes even a small reach to grasp the envelope with his long fingers. 

                            Do those fingers — always so sure, so confident —
                            t r e m b l e as they remove the papers?
                              He refuses to ponder it.

     It takes three minutes for him to grasp thoroughly the implications of the papers’ contents; his only reaction to the news is the slightest narrowing of cool cerulean eyes and a thinning of full lips. Should one possess extraordinary hearing, an increase in heartbeat is a far more obvious giveaway as to the emotion raging beneath stony exterior.

     It takes him far longer to peruse the photographs.

                                               There is a sudden sinking sensation
                                         as his discerning gaze falls upon
                                    a familiar palace — a place which
                                 his body has come to think of as a
                                 home. An ache so piercing and strong
                                    it is nauseating enters his abdomen 
                                        when the second photo is revealed;
                                               that braid of silken hair is the only
                                         stimulus his mind needs to send a
                                     shudder through limbs which have 
                                 grown far too thin due to malnutrition
                                — there is an audible click as weakened
                                     knees buckle to send him backward into
                                          his chair.
                                                                     There could never have been
                                                                     preparation         for         this.


     The text message alert does not come as a surprise; Mycroft has booked him on a flight which leaves in an hour.

     Three hours after that, Sherlock once again sets foot in that most fanciful of kingdoms, a place so picturesque that the detective had hated it on sight… And hated leaving somehow more.

     Six hours on top of that, Sherlock has dispatched the threat — yet another attempt on Elsa’s h e r life averted.

                                Perhaps she sees the flap of a black coat or a familiar
                                scarf, but it is as fleeting as a dream, gone as soon
                                as her mind recognises it. That is what he must remain
                               now — a dream, a nightmare, long faded and eventually
                                                          f   o   r   g   o   t   t   e   n.

     His heart yearns so strongly for some form of contact that it becomes painful. His head, always the victor, forces him in the opposite direction — back to the place he calls home and the place which will never feel like home again.

                                the weeks & months since have felt like a life-time; long, endless days that
                          blend together despite her best efforts to avoid the monotony. it had been
            much easier to do so, once; when there were awaiting arms to wrap around her.
  now there is nothing. expectantly, her sister is off planning her own life, 
          enjoying the prospect of the future it will bring. and while there is nothing more
                she wishes to be than happy for the good fortune anna has found, it is difficult.

                                                                           how could it not be, when happiness had
                                                                 been effectively ripped from her chest?

                how can she stand to be within the same room as
                         the blushing bride-to-be, listening to stories of romance
                                      & excitement that were like salt on an open wound?

                                            perhaps they had not been overtly romantic was most would define 
                      the word, but within their own right, it had been. unexpected and all consuming.
                but, despite what she thought was known                it had all been a lie.

while no needles were stuck into her skin, while
               she was not held captive, she had been an
                         experiment all the same. a variable to base a thesis off of.

                                  just another game to be played, with information as the reward. she
                                                  shouldn’t have been surprised, given his renowned reputation
                                                                that detailed far more than merely his astounding skills.

     but he had played it too well and convincingly, and in
          the end, the hurt was monumental. how stupid she had been!
                      naive; childish. not at all the [ queen ] she was raised to be.

                                                   festivities are abound in the kingdom; summer inspiring social
                                           events to which she always receives an invitation. on some days
                             she prefers to stay indoors; but this day, she has accepts the invite.

                                     though her distance is still, mostly, kept.

          not out of any fear they have of her, of course; it
                    is simply too difficult to pretend to be as carefree as
                            they are up close. from the side lines, she can watch.

                                                  envious at the ease in which they relate to one another.      
                                    such things for her, it seems, was simply not meant to be.  

                   & yet the flutter of indigo in the corner
                               of her eye does not go unnoticed.            

                                                                               it is too familiar, too real.

                           but, does she trust her eyes to relay the truth?
                                             and, more importantly still, does she trust herself, if it is?  

    her feet move without her consent;
                 her fingers twitch at her sides.          

                                                           and in an instant, ice curls through the air,
                                                 almost surrounding him in playful curves —- but the edges
                                           are all wrong. sharp & distraught. they seek to cage him in….

                                         not offer a welcoming embrace.              


                     ’did you forget an insult
                                               you wanted to use 

                                        or, perhaps you were bored enough to
                               check on the aftermath of your success ?

Tue, 26th August  8
casecraving; ◤ ♚ ᴠ﹕ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs; i want you to know; this is the longest thing i've written on any blog in months;


i saw this on my insta feed three weeks ago and screenshotted it bc it reminded me of casecraving​ and regaliis​ and today, one of my favorite ships sails again.


Tue, 26th August  13
tHIS SHIP SAILS ITSELF I S2G; ◤ ♚ ʜᴇʀ ᴍᴀᴊᴇsᴛʏ; ◤ ♚ ᴄᴏɴsᴜʟᴛɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ;



     There is some approximation of a smile on his face, though it seems unsure and tremulous — as though his muscles have yet to memorise the movement when it is not feigned. His lips brush ever so slightly across the velvet and chill curve of the shell of her ear as he whispers into it.

          “Are your requirements concluded for the day?”

                 the fine, baby hairs upon the back of her neck
                            raise on instinct; yet the action itself breeds no
                                     alarm within the queen. quite the opposite, in fact.

                                         after all, she does not need to guess as to whom
                            is responsible for the slight ( but welcomed ) disturbance.
                         a smile  is offered, & her head turns faintly to the side,
                    fingers brushing gently against a defined jaw.

                                             ’they may as well be              
                                                                      i cannot focus on them any longer. 

Tue, 26th August  6
casecraving; crASHES THROUGH THE WINDOW LIKE; ◤ ♚ ᴠ﹕ᴛʙᴅ;


Tue, 26th August  4
◤ ♚ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ;
Wow I am so sorry that you got that message. I do not approve of those type of confession blogs like ugh no. I think it doesn't bother you? but its still not cool to even get a message like that :c - from a follower that loves your blog but shy to get off anon! ;o;

psh, it’s no skin off my back. if anything i’m insulted that they didn’t put more effort into their ‘burn’ tbqh. it wasn’t even a burn. it was a lazy paper cut that barely breaks the surface. but i appreciate your love nevertheless!

Mon, 25th August  6
◤ ♚ ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜs; ◤ ♚ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ;

gracias 8)

Mon, 25th August  2
anbrxten; ◤ ♚ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ;
How did I /just/ find your blog now? Oh my goodness I'm in love. You write beautifully. <3

aw, thank you so much lovely! ♥

Mon, 25th August  1
theduskmonarch; ◤ ♚ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ;
coded by ifallontragedy