#and no wonder Holmes fell for such a man!

[amypihcs]

Guess what? Watson again!

I was re-rewatching copper beeches at dinner, and i noticed this scene

Watson has barely finished to work on Mr Rucastle and managing to keep him on this side of the river Styx with what he had on hand.

Now, as Holmes is questioning Mrs Toller he is there with his notepad taking note and slipping right into his rose as detective colleague and writer without batting an eye!

My friends, this. THIS is the reason why he's Three Continents Watson.

Look at him! Devastatingly handsome (i know, it's difficult to look past the beautiful Jeremy on just in front of our eyes, but Burke is also SO handsome!), keeping his focus hopping from task to task with equal skills and concentration, good improvisation skills... And he can probably even iron his clothes!

What a man, ladies, gentlemen and all the rest, what a man!

[vintagetvstars]

LeVar Burton Vs. Jeremy Brett

Propaganda

LeVar Burton - (Star Trek: The Next Generation, Roots) - as well as his wonderful performance as geordi laforge in next generation, levar burton had his breakout role starring as kunta kinte in the 1977 miniseries roots which set records for television viewership (its finale was estimated to have been watched by 130 million+ viewers, more than half the U.S. population at the time). he also directed numerous episodes of tng, ds9 (including the one where rom unionizes quark's), voyager and enterprise, and promoted literacy with his beloved pbs show reading rainbow, which he hosted for 23 years!

Jeremy Brett - (The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, The Three Musketeers, BBC Play of the Month) - "Listen, I fell in love with One Man when I was 16 and have never regretted it. Jeremy Brett is Everything. Handsome, charming, sweet, amazing voice, delightfully eccentric. Shakespearean actor best known for playing Sherlock Holmes in the 80s, he is widely considered the definitive Holmes and for good reason. Bisexual and bipolar, devoted husband, he was known to serenade friends at restraunts and hold scavenger hunts in his home, where he hid the plunger in a chandelier. Often pigeonholed into period pieces, he owned them. He was a pretty young man who became not just handsome but arresting. He was one of those people who walked into a room and instantly commanded attention, and I for one have never regretted giving him my attention." Full text propaganda included below the cut

- No Negative Propaganda Please -

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

LeVar Burton:

Jeremy Brett:

“The superbly handsome Jeremy Brett, the regularity of his features made dramatic by a broken nose, the mellifluousness of his voice made arresting by a slight vocal impediment, presented a ravaged and romantic Holmes, a man who had suffered deeply and whose recourse to the syringe was the compulsion of a self-destroying temperament. His relationship with Edward Hardwicke’s transparently decent Watson was that of a drowning man clinging to a raft. The authenticity of the performance was unmistakable.” — “The man who created a monster; Conan Doyle hated the fame of his suave hero, but he couldn’t kill him”, Simon Callow, The Times, 18 December 2009.

Listen, I fell in love with One Man when I was 16 and have never regretted it. Jeremy Brett is Everything. Handsome, charming, sweet, amazing voice, delightfully eccentric. Shakespearean actor best known for playing Sherlock Holmes in the 80s, he is widely considered the definitive Holmes and for good reason. Bisexual and bipolar, devoted husband, he was known to serenade friends at restaurants and hold scavenger hunts in his home, where he hid the plunger in a chandelier. He also practiced archery in the middle of London. He could sing, he acted alongside Audrey Hepburn twice. He wanted to be a jockey when he was young but then grew a foot too tall. He had rheumatic fever as a child and was told he would never climb stairs. Dear Reader, he jumped over couches on film. In War and Peace he is very clearly the only actor riding a real horse, and is one of few actors who played both Sherlock Holmes and Watson. Often pigeonholed into period pieces, he owned them. He was a pretty young man who became not just handsome but arresting. He was one of those people who walked into a room and instantly commanded attention, and I for one have never regretted giving him my attention.

[ranposbabe]

You Dangle The Mistletoe

summary: how some mtp men react when you dangle the mistletoe above you ;)

warnings: slightly suggestive in all except louis n herder (??)

WILLIAM JAMES MORIARTY

William had spent the entire day locked in his study

He didn’t mind as the hours flew by but you begged to differ

All was quiet while he continued to read his book until he heard a rather loud knock at the door.

He wonders who it is (not)

He expected you to simply walk in and yet when he didn’t hear your footsteps or was only then did he turn around.

You stood there with the mistletoe laying on top of your head

Like a statue waiting for his reaction first

He attempted to hide his smirk but of course you saw right through

“Take that off your head, y/n” He sighs, his eyes still stuck to the page.

You don’t even think he was actually reading at this point, surely it doesn’t take that long to read one page

“I will if only you-

“If only I what ?”

“Take off your clothes first”

William could no longer hide his smirk

ALBERT JAMES MORIARTY

It was late eventing and Albert had finally returned from his military duties

But what you didn’t expect was to find Albert still in his uniform.

But it was a good surprise

You always thought he looked good in any colour but he something about him in red had you hot and bothered-i always get carried away when writing about Albert plss

Anyways he’s standing there looking proud and you’re dangling that mistletoe with your shaking hands and all is well

He then joins you by your side and does not hesitate in kissing you

You both enjoy yourself as you spend hours minutes kissing

When I say enjoy I mean like really enjoy

But next thing you know he’s groping your chest :0

“Albert !” You gasp at the sudden pleasurable sensations

He apologizes but he doesn’t mean it

He looks down at you with this mesmising emerald eyes that are glazed over with lust as he chuckles at the sight of your face becoming hot-

“You were holding it rather low, y/n”

LOUIS JAMES MORIARTY

Louis stood rather anxiously in the kitchen as he listed to himself the ingredients he needed to gather to prepare supper

As always you were prepared to lighten the mood

Of course it never made him feel better you just got a laugh out of it most of the time

With his back facing you, you did spend quite some time simply watching him as he worked.

You were about to make him stress even more

“I think you’re missing something.”

He acts like he knew you were there but he didn’t (at least the whole time you were there)

“What is it ?” He rather blunt while you giggle showing off the mistletoe

He just stands there looking at you and you’re starting to get freaked out by his judgemental stare

He can’t help it though he struggles with expressing himself :(

He quickly catches on and trust me he wants to give you a little kiss but what if moran walks in ???!

Nobody is ever in the mood to deal with that man

Eventually he does come to your side and gently presses a kiss to your cheek

He does look behind your back to make sure no one is there

“Here” You hand him a napkin from the kitchen counter only for him to raise a brow in confusion at you

“You have a squished berry on your cheek”

SHERLOCK HOLMES

Sherlock had mentioned to you earlier in the day that his day would be filled with jobs so he of course told you not to wait up for him

Of course you never listen to him

To be far as it was already late you didn’t think you’d have to wait long for his return.

You were so wrong

You decided to wait up holding the mistletoe above your head waiting

Sherlock was gone so long you literally fell asleep

Some time went by Sherlock was busy :(

Your eyes flutter open to see the room in complete darkness except for a candle keeping the room in a dimly light

“What’s this ?”

You jump up in shock to see the sight of Sherlock standing over you holding the mistletoe as if to inspect it

“Nothing !” You laugh, without hesitation you grab it right from the detective

But still Sherlock observed it, noticing immediately how hot your face became as you twiddled with it nervously

“Perhaps it should be lower.”

Next thing you know the mistletoe is laying on your stomach ;)

Let’s just say…Sherly knows where to place his kisses <3

VON HERDER

You didn’t have to search far when it came to looking for Herder

“Herder !!!” You called, of course not surprised to see the man hunched over working on something you could only guess was an invention or so

With his back facing you as he was sat in his chair you didn’t hesitate to make your presence more known

“Oh hello” He smirks at slight ticklish sensation of the mistletoe touching the tip of his nose

Still sitting, he looked straight up tilting his head back already anticipating exactly what you came for

He couldn’t help but chuckle as you rather hastily pressed a quick kiss against his lips

“Well thank you for my present, y/n” He stands up from his seat.

He could tell you were blushing

With his figure now standing in front of the table tho truly did begin to wonder what exactly he was working on

But with Herder you were never left wondering long

“Here’s your present !”

Your jaw dropped as soon as you saw what was laid out on the table

“My very own gun !!!!”

[yourobedientserpent]

Athelind Long's Superhero Chronology

Cross-Published from my Blogspot blog, Kirby Dots & Ditko Ribbons. INTRODUCTION  There's a tendency to divide the different eras of comic book superheroes into "Golden," "Silver", and "Modern," with occasional, tentative attempts to parcel off the Bronze Age, as well.

Let's just say that this lacks nuance. The Superhero Genre has gone through a lot of trends and phases and distinctive cultures over the years, and lumping almost half of its history into some concept of "The Modern Age" is just phoning it in. 

Some notes: 

This is not quite the same as the ages of COMICS, though there's similar nomenclature, largely because comics history tends to focus on the superhero genre even when it tries not to. This is about SUPERHEROES, in more than just a single medium; the "Ages" only indirectly impact other genres. 

All dates are approximate. 

There's plenty of overlap between Silver/Bronze, Bronze/Iron, and Iron/Aluminum, but when I started looking a keystone events, I was astonished by how neatly everything fell into 15-year chunks! 

THE CHRONOLOGY

Prelude (1830s-1938): The dawn of mass-produced popular culture: penny dreadfuls, dime novels, pulp magazines, newspaper comic strips. Folk heroes and detectives start sharing the pages with costumed adventurers, some with peak-human or superhuman abilities. Professor Challenger, Sherlock Holmes, The Nyctalope, The Shadow, Doc Savage. 

Golden Age (1938-1953): Begins with Superman, of course; ends with Post-War Superhero Implosion and Frederic Wertham's anti-comics crusade. The JSA stopped appearing in All-Star Comics in 1951. Fawcett stopped publishing Captain Marvel in 1953. 

Interregnum (1950ish-1960ish): A lot of historians make much of the gap between the Golden and Silver Ages, but, in retrospect, it's surprisingly brief. Superheroes never really go away, but they are de-emphasized in favor of other genres in comics, including horror, romance, and science fiction. Even at DC, other than Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman, superheroes are relegated to back-up stories in anthology titles. Still, The Adventures of Superman with George Reeves remained popular throughout this period. 

Silver Age (1954-1970): The Reign of the Comics Code Authority (est. 1954). Really starts to roll with the demise of EC Comics and the reboot of The Flash; peaks with the "camp" craze popularized by the 1966 Batman TV series; ends when Kirby Moves to DC and Marvel publishes the Spider-Man Drug Stories without the Code Stamp. Early on, formerly-anonymous creators start getting openly credited on the title pages of their stories; this starts at Marvel, but DC eventually follows suit. 

Bronze Age (1971-1985): Begins with O'Neil and Adams revamping Batman and Green Lantern; Ends with the Crisis on Infinite Earths. Both DC and Marvel start paying closer attention to continuity and "relevance", and the most successful titles are the ones that most fully embrace an ongoing serial storyline (Legion of Super-Heroes, X-Men, The New Teen Titans). The specialty comic book shop starts becoming more common at the beginning of the era, and the closing years of the era herald a growing Creator's Rights movement, the birth of the Direct Market -- and the dawn of the independent publishers. 

Iron Age (1986-2000): Begins with Deconstruction: Elementals, The Dark Knight Returns, Watchmen, and the Wild Cards "mosaic novel" series. Ends with Reconstruction: Morrison's JLA, among others. Dominated by a determined effort to Take Superhero Comics Seriously. The Big Two kill off or "reinvent" goofy, campy Silver Age characters. DC tries very hard to bring coherency and consistency to its new, Post-Crisis timeline. Several independent publishers try cold-starting superhero "universes" of their own; most of them fail, but a lucky few manage to sell their characters to the Big Two (Ultraverse, Wildstorm). 

Aluminum Age (2000-2015): When Everything is Recycled. Marvel starts the Ultimate Universe. DC resurrects Silver Age characters who got killed off in the Bronze and Iron Age. The Comics Code finally dies in 2011. DC does a succession of "sequels" to Crisis on Infinite Earths: Identity Crisis (2004), Infinite Crisis (2005-2006), and the deceptively-named Final Crisis (2008), culminating in another Hard Reboot with the New 52 in 2011. Marvel does its own version of Crisis with the Multiverse Incursion story arc in New Avengers from 2013-2015. "Decompression" and "writing for the trade" become common as trade-paperback collections become more economically important than the traditional monthly comic magazines ("floppies"). 

Digital Age (2015-Current): Superhero not only become mainstream, but actually dominate movies and TV for several years -- this starts in the Aluminum Age, with the MCU in 2008, but is solidly codified by the debut of Arrow in 2015 and an explosion of weekly prime-time superhero shows that lasts almost a decade.

Comments are welcome, but be civil! This is intended to provoke conversations, not fights.

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my March 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

Sunshine, Baby! by staybeautiful / @harruandlou (106k)

Louis was the first one down the row for their group. If he hadn’t been they would have never met.

He was turned around, walking backwards and saying to Liam, “No, I’ll get you to a real footie match next,” when he bumped into someone.

“Oops,” Louis laughed, tripping over his own feet. A hand curled around his upper arm as he nearly fell over the seat in front of him. “Sorry about that, mate.”

He turned around, still teetering in his vans, to apologize again, but the words dried in his throat. Another hand gripped his other elbow, steadying him, but all Louis could see were green eyes and dimples.

“Hi,” the man laughed, a bright, bubbling sound. “Are you okay?”

Or Louis is in his first year of law school, Harry is a junior on the swim team dreaming of the Olympics, and they both agree that they don't have time for anything more than friends with benefits... right?

Follow Your Arrow by Anonymous (78k)

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one. 

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

Where We Landed by blueskiesrry / @blueskiesrry (70k)

The leaves were green the last time Harry stepped foot in Holmes Chapel, a stark contrast to the candy apple, butterscotch painting them now, years later. Harry first notices them on the train, gazing out the window with a downturned mouth. A warm something floods his stomach–memories, Harry imagines, of him as a boy, longing for the days when he’d live elsewhere and have to take this very train home for the holidays. He wonders how it’s possible to have once felt eager and euphoric at the sight of changing leaves yet now to feel nothing but tired. He sighs softly, turning away from the trees to look at his daughter, half-curled in his lap, asleep.

or: harry returns to his hometown with his sick daughter and more reminders than he bargained for of the boy he once loved when he left a handful of years ago

You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home by styleandsin / @styleandsin (43k)

Now, as he’s standing in the doorway, he’s trying not to get choked up. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this: the smell of his mother’s baking, the sounds of each of his family members, the sight of some of his old toys scattered about the foyer where his littlest siblings had presumably left them. All these things scream home, and he hadn’t felt at home since he left this house eight years ago.

 Louis needs a break from everything, from acting and the constant pressure of life in LA. He decides to move back home for a bit, some time with his family is exactly what can lift his spirits. What he doesn't expect is to fall in love. Both with the town he hated so much so that he couldn't wait to leave it years ago and with a curly haired florist that was the complete opposite of the guys he'd often meet in LA.

Something About Liminal Spaces by kingsofeverything / @kingsofeverything (34k)

Searching for inspiration for his latest book, and hoping distance will help heal his broken heart, Louis Tomlinson heads to the village of Piha on the west coast of New Zealand’s north island.

There he meets Harry Styles.

Fifteen years older than Harry, Louis tries to keep his distance, but Harry is impossible to avoid and harder to ignore.

At Risk, I Fold by clare328 / @bearmustard (15k)

2015 is a stream of hotel rooms and whisky on the rocks, tired glances and touching hands under tables. It’s the bears and the bees under a rainbow sky, and Harry and Louis have to figure out how to grow up together, instead of apart.

Wedding Bells Will Never Ring For Me by lousmoonshine / @lousmoonshine (14k)

After a failed proposal a few years back, Louis gets an unexpected invitation to his ex - Harry’s – wedding

Some Kind of Night Into Your Darkness (Colors Your Eyes With What's Not There) by larryismylifesource (5k)

Harry’s body buzzes with heat, like a current underneath his skin, because it’s been too long and his husband is right here and for once they have no obligations other than each other and he just wants.

“Lou.”

And Louis must sense it, the way the atmosphere shifts against him, the way Harry’s eyes get all big and dark with need, because he meets Harry’s gaze and then yanks him down for another kiss.

or, the boys get a day off in the middle of tour and harry and louis use it to their advantage

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: All's Fair In Love And Serial Killing

Detective Inspector Crowley is 99.999 percent sure that Aziraphale Fell is a serial killer. The trouble is only that the remaining 0.001 percent are deeply in love with the man…

Length: 10,216 Words

AO3 Rating: Mature

Best for: Safe in Public, Human AU, Humor, Pick-Me-Up

Triggers: Dark Humor/Violence

Read it here, fic by WyvernQuill

*Minor Spoilers* Ahh the infamous serial killer tale! I won't label this as crack, but I will say it's silly and fun as hell! DI Crowley is positive that Aziraphale is a serial killer, it's just that unfortunately, DI Crowley also thinks that Aziraphale is charming, sexy, and irresistible-damn it.

I had actual, out loud laughter while reading this one. It's the silly version of Hannibal just with less...eating people. Or the more sexually charged version of Holmes and Moriarty. It'll keep you on your toes, playing with you and making you wonder what the truth really is. This is so much fun, especially if you're someone who enjoys dark humor. Perfect for a casual read if you're out and about or a little mood booster read!

Read it here, fic by WyvernQuill

[asherloki]

Until I found you

Sherlock x reader

Word count:- 815

Fluff

"oh how wonderful indeed" I exclaimed as I touched each string of violin in order with my index finger, making it buzz. Sherlock was still stuck with his microscope, examining the specimen he's been given by Hopkins recently. This officer, Stella Hopkins, she's a huge fan of Sherlock and to our surprise Sherlock doesn't mind her, he says "this young officer has potential". I took his violin as no response came from the man with the microscope. Imitating how Sherlock holds his violin I took the bow in other hand. When I let it touch the strings, it made an awful sound. That's when I turned and found out the detective lifted his head from it.

"You didn't hold any chord did you?" he enquired getting up from his chair, leaving the kitchen table as it is, messy.

"I don't play violin detective, so I don't know the chords" I replied putting the violin down. As I turned back again I saw my man was walking towards me or was he walking towards the violin?

"perhaps you'd be interested in learning it?" he offered as he stood infront of me.

"how many times have I offered you to learn a bit of piano from me Mr Holmes?" I teased him and I was delighted at how he pouted at my teasing. Whenever we visit my mum's I always play my old piano, perhaps I've asked him to play it a thousand times and he didn't agree to do so for once. Even though I caught him once or twice admiring it, as he pressed a few keys with his index finger.

"I'm not a pianist, sorry Mrs Holmes" him referring me as Mrs Holmes has never failed to make me giggle, "guitar, Ukulele, all the instruments you own" he said walking past me and grabbing his violin, "I'm fascinated by you" he praised holding his violin over his shoulder, then spinning the knobs as he tuned it.

"you were?" I enquired, sitting on the arm of his chair as he faced the window.

"wrong" he replied taking the bow in hand, "I still am, very much fascinated".

I smiled, did he smile too? who knows. Even after being his wife I can't always tell what's going on in his head, the mystery that he is, the man that he is.

"I always wanted to learn violin next" I said for I've always been drawn to how wonderful this musical instrument sounds.

"why didn't you?" Sherlock asked staring at his dearest violin.

"here you are" I replied, the only musical instrument I knew not how to play, my husband does, and he does it wonderfully, "you can, maybe one day I'll have enough courage to ask you to teach me too".

He gave me a hum in response, as if he wondered 'when will you be genuinely willing?'

"what will you play Sherlock?" I enquired, wanting to know if he has prepared anything, he loves to compose sometimes, he did one for me, the day we were married, three years ago, twenty second November, he made a rather happy melody for me. It was so joyous that everyone asked about it, like what is the inspiration behind it. He replied "my sunshine", he named it so as well. For he says he's never truly been happy, until I came one day, while he was playing with Rosie, John's daughter. He says he felt as if the sunrise for which he waited for a long time, rose that day.

"something my wife would love" he replied turning a bit to me, his smile indicated he will play my favourite song. A song that sounds beautiful when he plays it for me. And then his bow touched the strings, and the buzz was perfect, for the man held the right chords, unlike me. With Swift movements of his fingers, as if they were dancing on the chords and the bow sliding over the strings he started the part that goes,

heaven, when I held you again....

I smiled widely as my guess was correct, the song he says is ours, for he never fell in love, true love, in his entire life until he found me. Seriously though, the cold, grumpy detective, melted for someone like me, immature they say, childish too, young, alot younger than him, but then, I love him, so does he.

"would you mind humming with me?" he asked turning to me, with a nod I agreed and started singing,

"I would never fall in love again until I found her" he hummed as I sung then the next line, he joined me,

"I said I will never fall unless it's you.."

"I'm falling to" I continued,

"I was lost within the darkness" we sung together, looking at eachother, for we dedicated these lines to one another, "but then I found her... I found you..."

[starkraivennemad]

Tell Me It's Not True

TW: Homophobic slur

Greg Lestrade stood with Philip Anderson, who was doing his usual griping about the genius. Greg half ignored the forensic doctor as they watched Sherlock Holmes at the crime scene. It was the part that half listened but fully observed, which was the problem now. Sherlock wavered dangerously on his feet as he fixated on a stain on the pavement. Sherlock looked tired, as if a feather could knock him over.  There was only one other time he had seen Sherlock look like that. And the memory of that time had Greg stalk up to Sherlock, grab roughly him by the arm, and haul him to the side away from others’, specifically Anderson’s, earshot.

“Tell me it’s not true. Say you’re not fucking high!” Greg snarled in Sherlock’s face.

Bleary, seafoam eyes focused on him. “I could say it, but you’ve been listening to your sniffer dog, Anderson; would you believe me?”

“You have never lied to me before. Why would you start now?” Greg countered, then sighed as he released Sherlock’s arm, already knowing the answer. “Actually, don’t speak. Don’t say anything because you know I can’t use any of it in my investigation. And if you ever come to mine or anyone else’s crime scene even partially impaired again, I will have you blacklisted across The Met. Try me!”

Greg could not hide his disappointment as Sherlock gave him a sad little shrug and silently walked off the scene.  

-----------------------------------------

Greg sat in the dark in his boxers.

He jumped as the hot ash from the cigarette he held with fell onto his leg.

It was the third one he had only puffed enough to light, then idly held until it burned itself down.

Greg had stormed into the flat he shared with his wife of sixteen years.

“This PE teacher, he’s just the latest, isn’t he? Tell me it’s not true.!”

He stormed out with a packed suitcase an hour later, the proverbial last to know.

He ignored the phone that had rung all day until he could not take it anymore and turned it off. He and his wife were supposed to be with his sister’s family in Dorset. So much for that. He could have, maybe still should have gone, but he could not deal with a long holiday weekend of pitying looks for his failed marriage.

Instead, he sat in a budget hotel in the dark, in his undies, not really smoking, but definitely drinking.

He binned the first bottle, opened the next, and downed the amber liquor directly from the bottle with a salute to no one.

"Merry fucking Christmas."

-----------------------------------------

“Pardon moi?” Greg stopped and turned back around to face his eldest uncle. “What did you call me?”

He had not heard what he thought he heard. He could not have.

Since his teens, Greg never had a good relationship with the old man. Henri was set in his ways, that was true, but Greg had never heard such a thing from him before. He had no idea he thought like that.

“Uncle Henri!” Greg’s sister Lissette, immediately placed herself between her uncle and her brother, but everyone in the room knew it was already too late.

“I did not stutter. I was proud of him! He married a woman like he should and stopped being that… bi…” Henri spat the word out, “…nonsense. Now he’s telling me he’s…” he waved a dismissive hand  “…that way again.”

Greg took a breath and spoke carefully in deference to the elder man. “Uncle, it doesn’t work like that. I never stopped being bisexual. I stopped looking at men when I fell in love. It just happened to be with a woman. When I married, I stopped looking at anyone of any gender because I loved my wife and, unlike her, honored my vows. My falling in love with a man now…”

Greg mentally winced; he had not meant to say that out loud. Mainly because the man Greg had fallen in love with did not, and was not likely to ever, know.

“You’ve fallen in love again? That’s wonderful!” Greg’s mother, Giselle, cooed at the news. “What’s his name?”

Her joy was interrupted by her brother.

“Oh, you bastard!” The hate on his uncle’s accusatory face was intense. “You turned Lissette’s young Jack to his nasty ways! I knew it! I told Gisselle to keep them away from each other. You disgust me!”

“Henri Lestrade!” Giselle snapped at her brother. “Jack being gay has nothing to do with Gregory being bi!”

“What?! Uncle, no!” Lissette gasped, stunned.

Greg held up a hand for quiet. He now understood the decades of tension between him and his uncle. He never knew and was appalled that the man would think much of him, even if it were possible to turn someone.

“I’ve disgusted you ever since my teens when you first learned I also like men, haven’t you?” Greg asked sadly. “Tell me it’s not true.”  

“I’ll not have a faggot, not even a part-time one, under my roof. That’s what’s true!” Henri snarled. “And whoever of you don’t like it can go too.

He was grateful his young nephew, unlike him, had wisely chosen not to attend the octogenarian’s birthday celebration. Now Greg suspected why and made a mental note to ask Jack about it as he headed for the door, Lissette silently behind him.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Giselle followed her children. “Goodbye, Henri.”

-----------------------------------------

Greg rolled over and nearly jumped out of his skin to find a beautiful woman in his bead. The only reason he did not jump, or scream for that matter, was because he was naked, and the beautiful woman had a knife to his throat and a cocked gun to his bollocks.

“Um… Is this what I think it is?” he nervously cleared his throat as his eyes flicked around the bedroom. "...If I hurt him...?"

“Of course it is. Have I made myself clear then?” Her soft voice did nothing to belie the edge to it.

Greg blinked, completely gobsmacked, as the ramifications of his situation began to penetrate his brain.

“You certainly have.” He carefully leaned up on his elbows and air-kissed the woman. "You’ve given him the same visit on my behalf, haven’t you? Tell me it’s not true…”

“Let’s just say I am certain a repeat visit from me like this will never come to pass for either of you,” Anthea chuckled as she stood and returned her weapons to their respective holders.

“And how many minutes do we have?” Greg grinned, understanding the precise timing. She knew her boss well. He made no move to hide the nakedness he did not expose.

“It’s been a good morning,” Anthea smirked as he let her eyes roam Greg’s body before she tossed the duvet over him, “A very good morning, so about eight before the water shuts off. Then another five after that.”

“If you can call my boss about why I won’t be in, I can promise your boss won’t be in, and he will have not just a good morning but a very good day.”

They looked at the bathroom as the shower shut off.

“It’s a deal.” Anthea slipped out of Greg’s bedroom only slightly less stealthily than she entered.

He sauntered into the bathroom, snatched the towel from Mycroft’s hands, and let it fall to the floor.

Greg’s enthused full-body press into the wall kiss swallowed any protest Mycroft may have had.

And no, neither man made it to work that day.

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[wordywarriorwrites]

Mystery

Title: Mystery A03 | Master List | Rating: E Summary: A spoiled Duchess, a famous Detective, and a bathtub built for two. Written For: Milestone '23 Prompt: Sleepy/lazy, Sherlock, Bath or Shower Sex Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader Warnings: Smut. PWP.

As a Duchess in your own right, as well as the sole heiress to a vast fortune, you had access to the very best. Clothes, jewelry, theatres, art, food, even stationary. You catered to your own whims and spoiled yourself whenever you saw fit - which, to be honest, was quite often.  

One of your most recent indulgences was your newly remodeled bathroom, with a waffle ceiling, tile-covered walls, a custom toilet, and a separate shower. There was also a double sink, with a mirrored, multi-drawered vanity that housed a variety of towels, robes, scents, oils, sponges, and brushes, but the crown jewel was the custom-made bathtub.  

Instead of having it tucked away into the wall, the porcelain-lined, pool-like behemoth was the centerpiece. It offered a perfect view of the estate gardens, was deep enough to submerge yourself in, and the swaths of fabric bolted to the ceiling could be pulled around it for additional privacy.

You chose to leave the curtain open and observe a late afternoon storm build along the horizon. The clouds rolled in and darkened the skies, which prompted the gardeners to head for cover and the servants to light the lamps. Once your hair had been washed, you refreshed the water, dismissed your lady’s maid, and ensconced yourself in the bath’s rose-scented depths.

Finally, you were alone, and able to have a private moment with your thoughts. And there were many things on your mind - after all, you were solely in charge of your household and had a lot to attend to before the London season got underway. You intended to host a ball next month, and there were several details to iron out, but the combination of steam and heavy rainfall quieted your racing mind and soothed you.

Sleep beckoned, but just as you began to nod off, a soft knock roused you. Perturbed by the disturbance, you opened your mouth to send whoever it was away, but then, the door creaked open without your permission, and you knew of only one person - one man - who had the audacity to do such a thing.

“Detective,” you murmured.

“Duchess,” he greeted as he bolted the door. 

You were fortunate. Privileged. Your title alone commanded respect, but you didn’t always behave as a lady of well-breeding should. Unmarried, with no children, and no guardian to watch over you? An independent woman of wealth and breeding who wasn’t a widow? It was unheard of, even obscene in some circles, but you were determined to retain your freedom for as long as you possibly could.  

There were many suitors vying for your hand, but none who genuinely cared for you beyond your position and wealth. It was why you’d decided to forego the marriage market and take a lover instead. But only someone who understood the necessity for absolute discretion could be considered a candidate, and Sherlock Holmes certainly fit the bill.

But being alone with a man who was not your husband or familial relation was forbidden. Enjoying a man’s company was unseemly. Being naked in a tub, while watching a man undress and ready himself to join you, was also a wicked offense - one that would surely result in damnation should anyone learn of it.  

Sherlock lowered himself in across from you and sighed, “Forgive me for my tardiness.”

You quirked a brow and dropped your foot between his pectorals, “Why should I?”

He grinned. Pressed a kiss to your ankle. Massaged from heel to arch while he shared his good news. Another case successfully closed, this time by his extensive knowledge of perfume and pipe ash. You laughed and reheated the water as he washed and regaled you with the tale. After a while, Sherlock fell silent, which prompted you to sit up and press a hand to his chest.

“Hungry?” you wondered. 

“Famished,” he replied.

“Tired?”

“Exhausted.”

You straddled his lap and cupped his face in your hands, “Let me make love you?”

Sherlock sat up and brushed his lips across your chin and cheeks, “Please.”

For all the dangerous, social landmines the two of you navigated, what you and Sherlock had was surprisingly uncomplicated. Your impeccable reputation and his unshakable honor afforded you both a lot of privacy and leeway. You also shared mutual acquaintances and occasionally saw each other at the same soirees, but neither of you made any overtures or public displays other than simple politeness. No flirting, no dancing, and absolutely no calls or gifts or letters. You were also friendly with his sister, Enola, and her close connection with Viscount Tewkesbury squashed any potential rumors and prevented tongues from wagging.

Besides, you were aware that Sherlock was married to his work. And he knew you wanted to remain independent for as long as possible. Yet, you also recognized the loneliness in each other.

And the desire for connection, too.

“You smell wonderful,” he observed gruffly between kisses. “Taste good, too. Like strawberries and hazelnuts.”

You grinned and dipped your tongue into his mouth, “You taste like beer. And cheddar cheese?”

“Such powers of observation, Duchess. You’ll put me out of a job.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock’s chuckles morphed to contented groans the moment you wrapped your hand around him. You stroked him with the firm grip he preferred, with a twist of the wrist at the tip, and felt his hips lift slightly with every tug. Your front row seat to the beginnings of his undoing excited you, and when you took him inside, he moaned and gripped your waist tight.

This wasn’t the first time - far from it, in fact - but it still managed to stun you both. You took a moment before you allowed your head to fall back and your body to move. You used his shoulders for leverage as you built a steady rhythm. You weren’t sure how long you had. Didn’t know if he was staying the night or taking off right away. How long it would be until you saw him again? If your lady’s maid came searching…

“Slowly, Duchess. We have time.”

You met his eyes and frowned slightly, “Of course. I’m just--”

“I know,” he interjected quietly, reassuringly. “Me, too.”

Another kiss was all it took to distract you both. The water sloshed with every movement and threatened to spill onto the floor. You watched his pupils expand and his tongue dart out to lick wayward droplets from his lips. His nipples were pebbled, and the spread of his thighs beneath yours ensured you remained wide open and able to take him to the hilt. As you languidly sought your peak, he helped you along - slipped his hand beneath the water, right between your legs, and used his skilled fingers to stroke and pat at your clit.

Sherlock was massive and warm and beautiful beneath you. Plump mouth and flushed cheeks and curls even more riotous from the movement and heat. His shoulders rolled and his arms flexed as he maneuvered your legs around his waist and twined your arms over his shoulders. Once you were settled, he splayed one hand on the small of your back, planted the other on the bottom of the tub, and drove up and into you with considerable force. Still drawn-out, of course, but much sharper than you were capable of, and precisely what you needed.

You came undone embarrassingly fast. So fast, in fact, that you were dumbfounded into utter stillness. Sherlock was delighted, perhaps even charmed, because he laughed into your slack mouth and made a low, pleased sound deep in his chest. The spark in his eye was akin to the one you’d often seen when he’d unraveled a particularly difficult riddle, but it wasn’t smugness or male pride. He was satisfied simply because he’d satisfied you, and that was one of his most endearing and appealing qualities.

Sherlock hummed and nipped at your breast, “Another?”

You moaned against the crown of his head. Gripped the sides of the tub with both hands. Allowed him to give you more of what you both wanted, however he wanted, because it felt good.

Sherlock Holmes made you feel good, and even though you knew the two of you were well on your way to getting a bit too carried away, you had no desire to stop. You muffled the sounds of your pleasure in the crook of his neck, and each of his ragged exhales were interspersed with throaty growls and pointed thrusts that made you delirious.

Some time later - after you’d fed him, made love again, and put him to bed for the night in the guest room across from yours - you put on a nightgown, and slipped beneath your own sheets.

Sherlock would be gone before daybreak. You’d be up early, too, because you also had things to do. You’d enjoyed a rare night with him. You’d indulged in each other and made tentative plans to see each other once more before your time was taken up with early morning callers, afternoon teas, and balls that ran late into the night. 

You were happy - even if weren’t sure how long your affair with Sherlock would last.

But then again, you supposed it was just another mystery yet to be solved. 

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi again! Oh yeah! I guess its request time then😂 (Also I love that gif😂) also right after I sent the first ask I had an idea for another Henry Sherlock x Peaky and I can't decide which to send so I'll send both separately and you can choose which one you like better! The original idea I had was for a Shelby sister Reader and the other is a Holmes sister Reader. But the first idea is this: 

What if another Shelby sister moves to London and ends up being Sherlock's neighbor but he ignores her at first (or pretends to) even when she becomes friends with Enola. Then one day a man looking for revenge against the Blinders breaks into her home and almost succeeds in kidnapping/killling her but suddenly Sherlock appears and saves her. Then right as he's helping patch her up like half of the Shelby Company Limited +Co show up because they got the call reader was threatened. And after that reader and Sherlock gee closer and like Ada and Enola are constantly working to set them up! And yeah that's the first idea I had if you were interested!❤️❤️

Hey Love,

This request is just - I'm not worthy. But I hope this makes you happy. I have three extra pieces that I'll try to post tonight. Thanks for sending this in, I'm having a lot of fun with it!

Warnings: Reader is assaulted, kissing, fluff,

EXTRAS: Little extra bits of the story that give more context. I figured they might make it too long but I'm still super attached to them.

Kissing - Additional Short about kissing

You looked around the sun bathed flat in amazement, a sound you could never recall rang in your ears. Silence. It was quiet and only the furniture was put in place. Aunt Pol and Ada insisted on staying with you for the first night, in your world that was a party so naturally, Esme was in toe with them when they showed up. You all listened to records and drank yourselves silly. Gin and dancing, laughing and gossiping, your heart was soaring high when you eventually fell asleep on a pile of cushions. 

However, in the morning, it was a different feeling entirely. You woke up first wondering how on earth you all could make a mess out of a practically unpacked apartment, but there it was. The anxiety from the booze started to hit you and laying still became impossible. Your stomach turned violently and your mind started to race with unwanted memories. Time to get busy, you groaned and got up for the day. 

You ran out to get some bread and eggs for breakfast. The street was brutally loud and you were grateful for the little shop as the door closed and the sound was muffled. Eggs and bread turned into a large and heavy paper bag full of all sorts of things. You managed it well enough till you got to the top of the front steps. You nestled the large paper bag in one arm and struggled to get your keys out of your coat pocket.  The door swung open suddenly and a very tall man glared down at you. The paper bag fell from your arm as the man's gaze held you. He was very tall and broad, looking down at you with a displeased face.

“So-” You stopped yourself and shook your head this was not your fault. You picked the bag up and tried to hold your head high while walking around the large man, something that would have been possible if his shoulders didn't take up the entire doorway. 

Your eyes rested on his collar bones that poked out of his nightshirt and you wondered how on earth someone could have shoulders so…. 

“221C?” His voice was deep and velvety and would have been very pleasing if he had sounded less grumpy. His crumpled hair and long sweeping robe made you wonder why he was going out at all. 

You turned your head to the side as you met his eyes again, a move you regretted instantly. 

“Normally people refer to me by my name.” You told him your name and reached out to shake his hand. He gave you a firm handshake and gave you another look over. 

“Last night was a terrible experience. My work requires a large amount of concentration and -” 

“Are you the new woman?” An overly cheery voice called out from behind the hulking man. He let out an exasperated sigh. A girl with long brown curly hair fought her way out of the doorway and bent down to grab a tin of coffee that had escaped in the fall. 

“Im Enola - Holmes! This is my brother” She looked between the two of you and registered her brother's deep glare “he’s hungover - completely ignore him.” She said with a beaming smile. She ushered you past him into the hallway and started chattering. Your head was pounding but you tried to follow along with what she was saying. 

“It sounded like a wild night, I don't think I’ve ever heard so much laughing.” She held onto your arm with the tin of coffee in the other hand and you felt weird being walked to your apartment by the girl. She must have been about 14 or so, something in her eagerness to speak with you made you feel she was lonely.

“You know I love parties, I know lots of jokes, and oh- do you run your own business. Your mail here has a company stamp with your last name. That’s really something, I’m excellent with numbers if you ever need accounting - not that you aren't good with numbers if you own your own business- ” 

“Enola” The man called from their door across the hall. 

“Sorry!” She gave you another big smile. 

“Do you want a cup of coffee or tea?” You don't know why you asked her, caffeine was the very last thing that girl needed. But her eyes were lonely and you remembered what it was like at that age. 

“No” 

“YES!” they answered at the same time. The man looked at you almost apologetically.

“She wouldn't be any trouble. My sisters are here with my aunt, ah tonight was sort of a one-off. Sorry about the noise and everything.” You fumbled and your face flushed. 

“No,” He said awkwardly. “ Not a problem I just - as long as it's not every night. I’m sure we can be just as loud.”  You gave him a nod and then opened the door to your apartment. 

“Behave Enola” He called out before stepping into his flat with his mail in hand. She made an exasperated face and rolled her eyes. 

_________________________________________________

You laughed as you came into the kitchen to see all three of them sat at the table in various positions that showed their hungover-ness. 

“Everyone this is my neighbor Enola.” Esme didn't lift her head from the wooden table but a groan of acknowledgment rang out from a mess of dark curly hair. 

Polly looked the girl over and lit a cigarette, then her eyes looked to you with a question. 

“She bumped into me in the hallway. Enola this is my Aunt Pol and my sisters Esme and Ada.” 

She gave them a wave and whispered a soft hello. Aunt Pol looked at her for a long while then gave a kind smile. 

“So you live across the hall then?” 

“Yes with my brother Sherlock Holmes - he’s a detective and I’m technically in training but I am taking clients,” Enola said proudly. 

Sherlock Holmes, you thought to yourself for a moment brain foggy as ever. The detective from the papers? You didn't know what to think of the information as you put the kettle on the stove.

“A detective eh?” Pol gave her a nod. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on this one for me?” 

“Sure thing. She can count on us.- You mentioned it’s just you living here now?” 

You nodded as you started to unpack a box of mugs. 

“I live in the neighborhood, but we are all from Birmingham,” Ada answered with a small smile. 

“Birmingham! Holy - I haven't been before but I read this article once -” And off she went quietly rattling on and on. You got some eggs, ham, toast, and coffee on the table. Pol took Enola’s mug and filled it with milk before she could grab some coffee. 

“It’s a dreadful habit dear. Have some milk.” She said knowing full well that she didn't need anything to wake her up. 

The morning passed into the afternoon and eventually, Esme raised her head and ate up her breakfast. They made Enola laugh loudly and you felt she fit in with your girl gang well enough. 

“You have a boyfriend then? How old are ya? Should call Finn over if not.” 

“No” You and Pol answered at the same time. Finn was a good 3 years older than her and the last thing you wanted was her caught up in whatever he was working on these days. 

“He’s my litter brother but he’s a hell of a troublemaker and a good few years too old for you.” You gave Esme a look and she shrugged. 

“I do as it turns out. Well - Erm - don’t mention that to my brother if you don't mind?”  You gave her a big smile. 

“Secret is safe with me.” 

“As long as we get to meet him of course,” Ada added sensibly. 

Soon enough the day passed by and you were left with a messy apartment to clean and many boxes to unpack. You said your goodbyes and enjoyed watching Enola light up as the women hugged her goodbye, with promises of saying hello the next time they came over to stay. 

You closed the door and looked at the girl who jumped slightly.

“You probably want me to leave - sorry!” She looked flustered.

“Stay or go, I’m going to do some unpacking then start on dinner. You are welcome to stay if you like” 

Enola took that invitation as a welcome to come over whenever she pleased. You thought it would start to bother you, but coming from such a big and loud family you found it comforting. 

You watched her interactions with her brother closely the few times you happened to run into him. They would fight over all sorts of things and you weren't happy about it. It was one thing to argue with family but he was an adult and she, whether her family liked it or not, was still just a girl. 

“Love, what happened to your parents?” You asked on a spring evening when you were both absorbed in books. They had been shouting at each other all morning and the question was burning a hole in your mind. 

“Ah, do I annoy you?” She asked in a voice you rarely ever heard her use. 

“No, you and Sherlock argue often I just - It’s none of my business but I -.” 

“We argue a lot because we're both too smart.” She sighed like it was a heavy burden. “We see equally important things, but different things when we assess situations and whatnot. He hates it when I get involved in his cases, hates it even more when I’m right but deep down I know he doesn't mind all that much.” 

You thought about her words and she let out another deep sigh. 

“My mum felt it was her time to be on her own again, my father died ages ago. My other brother Mycroft - he’s a real twat. Tried to put me in finishing school - but you know about that from my first case.” 

You gave a nod remembering the story. “Your mum felt you were okay to be on your own?” You looked at the girl and shuddered. London was a big city, and she was incredibly smart but she was still obviously more of a girl than a woman. 

“Yep,” She said it firmly like she was trying to be proud but there was a sadness etched into her posture that you couldn't unsee. You thought of your own mother and something sank in your stomach. 

“Well, I think you are entirely too much fun to be left alone. The world is big and lonely. Better to stick together with those who are worthy.” You said watching her face light up slightly. “Aunt Pol was calling to see if I’d met your fella by the way.” Pol had not mentioned it in her phone calls, but you said it anyway to make her feel like she was a part of things. She beamed. 

“I’ll take you and Ada to see him.” 

“Excellent. Baking cookies tomorrow, if you want to help?” she gave you a big smile. 

“Despite my extensive knowledge of chemistry, I’m awful at baking.” 

“Eh, you just need to learn.” You shrugged. “One more chapter then we best be off to bed.” A lie that was told frequently in your house. You both read until the wee hours of the morning, multiple cups of peppermint tea made and drank. 

You jumped out of your chair when a hand lightly nudged your shoulder. Out of instinct, you threw the book at the man. Sherlock was there and Enola was happily asleep on the couch open book resting on her chest. 

“Sorry!” You whispered. Sherlock only picked up the book you were reading and then gave you a long look. A thick flush covered your face as you accepted the book back from him. He always made you feel embarrassed and with both of them having all that fancy pants knowledge you really wished he would have caught you reading something of substance. 

“Erm-I” You fumbled. “What time is it?”

“Round six,” He said, still staring at you intensely. 

“Ah, sorry I told her one more chapter - “ You looked at the stack of books “Two books ago - Sorry” 

“It’s alright. I should be the one to apologize. Thanks for spending time with her. If it’s too much-” 

“She’s not a problem.” You said with a finality that showed too much emotion. “I - things are complicated with your family - I only know because I also come from a complex family. But really she’s not a burden or someone that’s better left behind.” 

Sherlock gave you a strange look and you found it impossible to look away from his deep blue eyes. 

“Complicated is a good way of describing it.” He looked around your apartment and you felt extremely uncomfortable. “She’s going to be smarter than all of us soon enough though, I guarantee you she won't be forgotten.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll make it into the public’s eye sooner or later. I’m referring to your mother leaving her-” 

“I won’t,” He said firmly and with his full attention turned to you. “Our mother had her own business to attend to, but I assure you Enola is safe with me.” His eyes held you in place and you hated how he made you feel like he could see everything that you were thinking and feeling. 

“You shouldn't shout at her so much.” The words toppled from your mouth as you held his stare. This made the corner of his mouth stand up slightly. He looked like he was debating whether he wanted to start an argument with you or not. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He kept looking at you and you were surprised at his response. You knew deep down Enola’s situation reminded you of yourself a great deal. Mother gone, and many fights with Thomas, but you had Pol to back you up, and the rest of them looking out for you all the time. 

“Here - she can stay the night no point in moving her.” You got up and grabbed the thick blanket you left on the edge of the sofa for her. You expected him to already be out the door. He often abruptly ended conversations that is if he didn't ignore you completely. 

“Why are you in London?” His voice made you jump. 

“Wanted some space from the family.” 

“Your sister lives here and your Aunt calls frequently? Space from your family or from your brother?” 

“What do you know about my brother?” The hair on the back of your neck shot up. 

“He gives my bother a hard time in Parliament. Really his arch rival of sorts.” Sherlock said and you wondered if he had been drinking. 

“That pleases you?” You smiled at his unusual expression. 

“Very much so. Although I know you lot had to struggle to get to where you are now.” His voice was back to its usual neat grumpy tone. “I don’t think it's a lifestyle you engage in?” He looked around your colorful apartment again.

“No. It’s not.” You said hoping he believed you. Sure you had gotten into your fair share of grim situations but the company had been legal for a long while now. 

“Good.” He cocked his head towards you and his tone was light again. Something deep inside you wanted to do just about anything to keep his attention on you. With a small smile, he made his way out of your apparent closing the door softly. 

____

Enola was gone to stay with her mother for the night. You knew that something inside you had run over the boundaries of a friend or neighbor when you lay in bed tossing and turning. You knew she was perfectly capable of protecting herself and it really wasn't your place, but something in your mind wouldn't rest. 

Ada had gone back home to stay with Pol for a while, no one was answering the phone today. Now that you thought about it that was probably the main reason you felt worried. You thought about walking across the hall to see if Sherlock wanted help with whatever he was working on. 

In the last case, Enola insisted on your help as all the clues were in Romani. This was probably a normal case that would be over your head but maybe he’d have you for tea anyway. You sighed and got out of bed grabbing your thick robe and wrapping it around yourself. 

Opening your bedroom door you looked across the small flat and could see that the front door was open. Your first instinct was to move back into the bedroom but dark eyes fell on you before you could move. 

“Just come with us quietly love, no fighting” two men made their way towards you. Your fingers wrapped around the poker for the fire and you made careful notes of their appearance before the fighting started. 

You thought about the bedroom window behind you but the drop would guarantee your death. The front door was the only option. You held the iron poker in your grip tightly then the most sensible idea floated into your mind. If fighting didn't go as planned you were sure that screaming your head off would alert someone in the building. 

The two men came towards you and you got the first one across the side of the face before jabbing him in the eye. The second man proved harder to smack no matter how determined you were. Eventually, he got the upper hand and a hard smack landed across your face. You took a deep inhale but his hand closed around your neck before you could scream. You tried to scratch and hit his face but your arms became too heavy before any substantial damage was done. 

Your vision went hazy just as the man let out a loud cry. His hand released you and you watched a hulking figure pull screams from his body. Blood was spilled before the beast made his way toward you. 

You tried to move away unsure of anything, still unable to see or hear properly. Big arms gathered you up and lifted you into the air. 

“Calm down.” His voice was rough and you wondered how your body could switch from so panicked to letting go entirely. 

He carried you across the hall and into his flat. It was the complete opposite color scheme but just as cluttered with books. He placed you down on the countertop in the bathroom. He switched the lights on and you let out a groan covering your eyes. 

You watched him look you over for damage while your voice was stuck somewhere deep inside you. His rough hands traced the bruise on your neck and you let out a soft hum. He didn't move his hand and you looked up into his piercing blue eyes. A different type of tension settled between the two of you one that caused your bones to ache. Without further thought and with no one but God to judge you, you leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to his lips. 

A part of you expected him to recoil in disgust or offense, but he pulled away placing his thumb over your lips. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, and you struggled slightly. You wanted him so badly it hurt to breathe. 

“You’re in shock.” He whispered with a softness you didn't know he possessed. 

“So?” You mumbled against his thumb. 

“So, see how you feel in the morning then try again.” He smiled slightly and you noticed how much blood had splattered up his arms. He got you settled in his bed and gave you some tea. He made some phone calls and after a long while, he came back.

Without any questions or stress, he started reading the book that he must have grabbed from your night table. 

You thought you should tell him to stop but enjoyed the way his nose crinkled and how he started to argue about the character's motives. 

“Men don’t think that way - surely you must know this?” he said looking down at you curled up in his blankets. The sun was just starting to come up and you were wishing there was a way for you to keep stuck in this moment. 

“I have no idea how men think” You whispered up at him. Right then there was a commotion in the hallway. 

“Oh, NO.” Enola’s voice had called out and you both shot up. You winced in pain as you followed him out of the room.

“Who are you lot? You need to tell me where she is right now.” Enola commanded in a voice that would have made the average person crumple. 

Thomas, the man standing across from her was not the average person. His eyes flicked from her to you standing behind Sherlock. You caught the relief flooding his features and Arthur let out a deep breath from the living room.  

“There she is. Tough girl.” Arthur came towards you and you let him pull you into a big hug. 

Sherlock and Thomas stood still staring at each other in a way that made you worry. 

“This going to be a regular occurrence?” Sherlock asked in a cold tone. John had squared up his chest when you noticed Ada seemed deeply pleased about something as she looked at you from your bedroom doorway. 

“No,” Thomas said easily. “This is for you.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper. 

Sherlock accepted the paper and sighed when Enola grabbed onto his forearm angling it so she could read it better. 

“Moriarty!” She gasped. “Oh, Sherlock this makes perfect sense! The last case was in Romani, he must have known we had her help. We never ask anyone for help so -” 

“So we put a gigantic target on her back.” He looked down at her with an icy expression and you hated the way it hit her. 

“I take partial responsibility for that,” Thomas called out taking some of the blame off of the girl's shoulders. Not something you would have expected from him. “Moriarty has been pestering me for a meeting for a long while now. I assume this was his way of grabbing our attention.”

“Can she stay with you?” Ada asked in a sweet voice. 

“Of course.” Sherlock and Enola both said at the same time in very different tones. 

“She should come home, Tom,” Arthur said tightening his arm around your shoulders. 

“She would be more help on the case here,” Enola said in a quiet voice. 

“She won't be any safer back home. Plus she’s the only one Alfie enjoys working with. Lord knows we will need his help.” Ada added. 

“If it's not any trouble” You looked at Sherlock. “I’d rather stay here and help.” You added moving your gaze to Tommy. 

“Fuck.” he sighed. “You stay here, deal with Alfie.” 

You smiled at the thought of how much it bothered your brother that Alfie would always keep his word if you asked him to. 

“If that’s settled I should be off.” Thomas gave you a quick hug then Arthur and John followed him out with glances of warning to Sherlock. 

“Alright, two of you go do your thing - with less shouting than usual. We will start on the mess in here.” You looked at Ada and she nodded. 

“No, It’s technically a crime scene or whatever?” Ada looked at Enloa. 

“Yes, she's right you should just move over to our side and leave everything as is.” Enola gave a serious nod and you couldn't help but think they were up to something. 

“We will have to review the last case to see how it relates to this. You need to rest.” Sherlock put his arm around out and gilded you towards his apartment. 

“Don't.” He said before you could start arguing. “Please just rest a bit for me.” 

“Did you just say please?” You said caught off guard by his choice of words. 

“Go to sleep.” He turned on his heel and left you to curl up in his bed. You got up for a while before falling asleep again on the couch listening to him and Enola go back and forth with different theories.

You felt him carry you back to bed and felt a moment of guilt realizing you shouldn't have made him carry you. He placed you back on the bed and you mumbled thanks. There was a moment of complete silence before you felt the bed dip under his weight. 

“My brother has guards covering the building, I don't think there’s any more evidence in my flat if you want me to -” You said realizing there really wasn't a reason for you to stay in his space. 

“I want you to stay.” He murmured into your hair and you felt his arm wrap around you. A heavy peaceful weight crept over you and you were very grateful to give him what he wanted.  

“Then I’ll stay.” You whispered and he pulled you tight against his chest. You thought about that kiss, but you felt his breath even out. With sleep washing over you, you made a note to revisit that kiss in the morning.

____

I feel really nervous about this one so let me know what you think <3

[victorianitt]

"I feel safe in your arms"

Jim Moriarty/Sebastian Moran, fluff, comfort fic, au

*** Disclaimer - fanfiction translated to English by ChatGPT ***

Sebastian Moran had long since grown accustomed to James Moriarty's strange behavior. The sniper sometimes wondered if Jim suffered from some form of schizophrenia or split personality. His boss could be a criminal mastermind, a consulting criminal in one moment, and the next, he behaved like a child, desperately seeking a moment of closeness.

It was the same now—Jim nestled into his broad chest, wrapping his thin arms around him.

Sebastian set his laptop aside and hugged Moriarty back.

“Jim...?” he asked cautiously.

The smaller man mumbled something incoherent in response.

“Hey, Jim, what’s going on? Is it about that thing with Holmes? I told you he’s not interested in you.”

Moriarty sat up and looked at Moran.

“But he solved my puzzles. Why wasn’t he interested in playing my game?”

Sebastian sighed softly. Jim was still hung up on his encounter with Holmes. Sherlock had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t care about the game Moriarty had crafted but rather about saving the people Jim had used as pawns. Their meeting at the pool hadn’t gone as Moriarty had planned. The consulting detective had deduced Jim’s boredom and obsession with him with disdain. He promised that if Moriarty ever tried to pull him into another game, all Sherlock would do was focus on rescuing hostages, leaving the puzzles unsolved. Sebastian’s boss hadn’t taken it well. He sulked, ignored emails, refused new jobs, and if not for Moran, he probably wouldn’t have eaten at all.

Sebastian was grateful Jim had invited him to his apartment before his obsession with Holmes took over. In his current state, Jim might not have thought of him otherwise.

“Jim, you couldn’t have known. People aren’t always who we want them to be. Sometimes, we have to adapt.”

Moriarty sighed softly.

They lay in silence for a moment, crammed together on the small couch. Jim started tracing his finger along Sebastian’s jaw, watching his reactions.

“Will you tell me a story?” he asked, not breaking his gaze.

“What kind of story?” Sebastian replied, a bit surprised.

“I don’t know... something to cheer me up?”

Sebastian pondered for a moment. Then he remembered how, as a child, his mother used to tell him stories from her own childhood. Maybe that would work?

“When I was a kid…” he began hesitantly, “I once found a dog. It was small and skinny, tied to a tree in the woods, left to die. If it weren’t for me, it probably would have. Luckily, during one of our mushroom-picking trips, my father and I heard barking. The dog was calling for help with its last strength. We untied it and brought it home. At first, my mother was against it, you know?” Sebastian smiled nostalgically, stroking Jim’s hair. “But later, she grew attached to it. The dog became her only companion when my father and I went on mountain trips. Dad loved those trips…”

Sebastian felt Jim stiffen beside him.

“Hey, Sebby…” Moriarty said softly. “You had a wonderful family, didn’t you?”

Sebastian chuckled quietly.

“Yeah, they were wonderful. My mom was a nurse, and my dad, like my granddad, was a soldier. He’s the reason I chose this career path.”

“They were? What happened to them?”

“They died in a car accident. It was entirely random, years after the war. Despite what I suspected for a long time, it wasn’t planned.”

Silence fell again, broken only by the sound of their breathing.

“What was the dog’s name?” Jim asked quietly.

Sebastian laughed, this time louder.

“His name was Queen.”

“Queen? Was it a female?”

“No, though we thought so at first. I named him after the band.”

Jim’s eyes lit up.

“I Want to Break Free?” he hummed inquisitively.

“I Want to Break Free,” Sebastian confirmed. “Didn’t think you were a fan. It’s a love song, after all, and you don’t strike me as the romantic type.”

“Excuse me! My bookshelf is graced with every Jane Austen novel!” Jim feigned indignation.

“Only because you stole them from Sherlock’s apartment,” the sniper shot back.

Jim giggled and snuggled into Moran’s chest.

“I like lying here with you, you know?”

“I... I like it too,” Sebastian replied, slightly embarrassed. “Back to the song—why do you like it?”

“The idea of a love you can’t escape…” Moriarty said quietly. “Even so, I’d like to fall in love like that someday.”

“Wouldn’t you be afraid the person you love might use you?”

Jim flashed a predatory smile.

“Me?”

Sebastian laughed and looked at his boss, grinning.

“Alright, fair point. But I didn’t expect you to be such a romantic.”

“Maybe deep down, I am. Jane Austen, remember?”

“I’d have to see you actually reading her to believe it.”

“Maybe you will... someday,” Jim said, giving Sebastian a tender smile.

They lay together, pressed close on the small couch, smiling warmly at each other. But eventually, their moment of peace had to end. Moriarty sat up and stretched with a sigh.

“Hey, Sebby... will you make me some sandwiches? Please?”

“Got your appetite back all of a sudden?”

“Maaaybe…” Jim teased, enjoying a bit of banter with his sniper.

Sebastian rolled his eyes but got up and headed to the kitchen to make sandwiches.

As he spread butter, the sound of I Want to Break Free filled the apartment. Sebastian smiled widely. He picked up the plate of sandwiches and returned to the living room.

The sight made him burst out laughing—Jim was dancing, raising his arms with every repetition of the chorus. He spun around, facing Sebastian with a mischievous grin, then pirouetted straight into him. Sebastian barely managed to save the sandwiches.

“Hey, Jim! You almost knocked over the sandwiches!” he scolded, though he wasn’t really angry. In fact, he was glad to see his boss smiling again.

Jim grinned, his face close to Sebastian’s chest.

“Sebby...?”

“Yeah, Jim?”

“With you, I wouldn’t be afraid. I wouldn’t fear being used.”

Sebastian froze for a moment, then wrapped his arms around Jim.

“I wouldn’t be afraid either, Jim. I wouldn’t,” he murmured, his face buried in Moriarty’s hair.

Jim tilted his head up, prompting Sebastian to meet his gaze.

“Hey, Seb? Sometimes I feel like kissing you. And you know what?” He paused. “I’ve just decided… I’m going to do it.”

And he did.

Their lips met, and Sebastian closed his eyes, his hands tightening on Jim’s back.

They kissed for what felt like forever, until they were both out of breath. Moriarty stood on tiptoes, clutching Sebastian’s shoulders, pressing as much of himself against him as possible.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both flushed and breathing heavily.

“I feel safe with you, Seb. Safe in your arms. Safe when you hold me, when you’re here.”

Sebastian smiled at the smaller man.

“I know, Jim. And I’m glad you feel safe with me. I feel happy protecting you. It’s my job, after all.” They both chuckled softly.

They stood there, in the middle of the living room, with I Want to Break Free playing in the background, holding each other tightly. Time seemed to stand still.

Eventually, though, Sebastian let Jim go, fed him the sandwiches, and felt a happiness he hadn’t known before. Later that evening, when he came out of the shower and found Jim on the couch with Pride and Prejudice in hand, he wasn’t even surprised. He simply smiled and walked over.

“So it really is Jane Austen. One more step, and I might believe in your inner romantic.”

“You haven’t already?” Jim quipped. “I’ve been trying so hard…”

“Maybe a little. Throw a ball, and we’ll talk.”

Moriarty’s eyes sparkled mischievously, and Sebastian knew he’d regret those words. Jim Moriarty hosting a ball? It couldn’t happen.

Right?!

[sandcobangevent]

Please Don’t Say You Love Me

Written by @ratinavan, Illustrated by @silliestofg33sevik

Read Here on AO3

If this was how the podcast was going to end, so be it. Don’t let John be the one to stop it, obviously The Great Sherlock Holmes is just too good at what he does to want to associate with the likes of poor old John Watson. It doesn’t matter that he worked damn hard to get them where they were, it doesn’t matter that he hung onto every word that fell from the detective’s mouth, it doesn’t matter that he would throw his life away for that bastard man. None of it matters because the detective decided that the cases were the only thing that needed his consideration, the only thing that warranted even a scrap of his attention.

John had done everything, everything for this man. He followed that tall silhouette wherever it may go for weeks, months, God! He had watched that back for nigh on a year and what did he get in return? Abandoned, kicked to the curb like he was a bloody dog - homeless, broke, and heartbroken. Sherlock is- no, was , his everything. His reason to keep going after being shipped back from Ukraine, his reason to get up in the morning, his reason to not grab as many of those stupid chemical experiments and shove them down his throat when his own mind got too harsh. All of this - all of this - and it got him the sum total of nothing. His dedication, his life, his everything, had been turned away in disgust by the detective.

“Sherlock I-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Watson. I wish to end our acquaintance here, you may have a week to find alternative lodgings.”

The blood rushing past John’s ears at this moment was definitely unhealthy, but he was too busy trying to both stay upright and prevent himself from vomiting all over the living room floor. What had he done to deserve this, you may wonder? Well, the answer was simple. He had believed that Sher- Holmes would reciprocate, or at least not hate him for, his feelings toward the younger man.

Oh how wrong he was.

That conversation had been dreadful . There was no screaming or shouting. There had been no objects thrown. Just a curled lip and quiet scorn, both of which hurt more than if there had been physical retaliation. So now here he was, shoving his meagre belongings into his duffle bag and attempting to plan his next steps now that his life was over. He had already convinced Mariana to continue to care for Archie - if he was going to be out of a steady home for a while, he was in no position to give the poor boy the life he deserved. She had tried to say no, tried to convince him that this was just one of Holmes’ black moods and he would never truly wish him to leave. It was no use. She hadn’t seen the look on his face after the confession, the deep-rooted hatred that surfaced from seemingly nowhere. 

Maybe the detective had never liked John as much as he had assumed, maybe he was just tolerating him to fill the hole of a companion -  someone to worship the ground he walked on. Well. Not anymore. John was leaving, he refused to live with someone who had such an issue with his sexuality.

Did he feel like shite? Yes. Was he going to miss everything that they had developed in the past years? Absolutely. But he could already tell that his mental health was taking a nosedive back to pre-221B levels and he refused to sit around and let Holmes witness his downfall. If that meant leaving everything and running away? Fine, he’d rather be a coward than a cripple.

Sherlock was busy running through another one of the menial experiments that he was using in an attempt to push all thoughts of Wat- John from his mind. It had been just shy of a week since the Doctor had disappeared from the flat and the detective had devoted himself to his work. Eating, resting, anything that wasn’t one of his experiments had been thrown to the wayside and were only partaken under the scornful gaze of Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock knew why she disapproved, he knew that he had messed up by rejecting John, by doing anything other than falling at his feet and assuring him the feeling was reciprocated. He should have screamed it from the rooftops, posted it in the papers, told anyone and everyone that would have listened. But he didn’t. Instead, he had emotionally broken the best man the world had ever given him. He had done it without a second thought and with the ease that came only from someone as self-assured and arrogant as himself.

As he continued to experiment, his phone began to ring from its place on the coffee table. As usual, he ignored it as the ringtone indicated that it wasn’t the Yard calling. If Lestrade didn’t have a new case for him, he was in no mood to talk. Leaving the call to ring out, he turned his attention back to the samples, however, much to his dismay the phone began ringing again. An irritated sigh escaped his lips, but he made no move to answer it. After three more rings, Mariana barged through the door to 221B with a face like thunder.

“Dios mio, Sherlock! If you aren’t going to answer it, at least leave it somewhere so that it doesn’t echo down to my flat!” The woman stomped over to the phone and picked it up, “Hello, how can I help?” A pause, “He’s here, can I ask who is speaking, please? My name is Mariana, I’m… his flatmate.”

Presumably, the person on the other end replied. Sherlock spotted Mrs Hudson turning to look at him from the corner of his eye - she had gone pale, so pale the detective thought she might faint. 

“Sit down, Mrs Hudson, and hand me the phone.” Sherlock guided her down onto the sofa and pried his mobile from her trembling hands.

“Hello? Sherlock Holmes speaking.” He was now invested in what could have caused such a reaction from the usually strong-willed woman, almost like a pseudo-case.

“Oh, hello, Mister Holmes. My name is Miss Haye and I’m calling from Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital.” Well, this was unusual, how did Saint Bart’s end up with his number? Why would they need to be calling him?

“I see, and what do you need from me? Scotland Yard usually contacts me directly if there is a body that needs examining.” 

“Unfortunately, Sir, this is not a business call. I’m calling regarding Mr John Watson? You’re listed as his emergency contact and he was admitted late last night after being fished out of the Thames in what we presume was a suicide attempt.” Sherlock understood now why Mrs Hudson reacted the way she did. He was sure that he was in much the same state. He reached out behind him to steady his way to sitting, not trusting his legs to support him for the rest of the phone call.

“O-Okay.” He coughed, rueing the tremble in his voice, “Is he still there? What is his condition? Is he allowed visitors?” The questions continued to fall from his mouth in quite possibly the worst case of word-vomit he had ever experienced.

The guilt Sherlock was feeling was insurmountable, this was his fault. If he had just been honest with John rather than prioritising his image of stone this all could have been avoided. Why could he not just admit that John’s affection scared him - Sherlock was so worried about disappointing his podcaster that he immediately shut down any chance of a relationship. He had let John leave, blocked his number, and denied him any chance of contact with him in a fit of unexplainable terror.

“Yes, Mister Holmes, he is available for visitors but he is currently unconscious so may not be responsive by the time you arrive if you plan on coming over immediately.” Sherlock jumped, he had almost forgotten about the woman over the phone. He was quick to finish up the conversation, assuring her that they would be there promptly before hanging up the call.

“What have I done?” Sherlock murmured into his fist, staring at his phone. He navigated over to his contacts and, after a steadying breath, unblocked John’s contact and put his phone face-down on the table.

Immediately, the tone of John’s messages began to come through one after another after another. Each ping of the phone, each vibration against the table only worked to further embed the spear of guilt further into Sherlock’s chest. Nothing had ever gotten to the detective as acutely as this had. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He picked up the phone and read the texts.

John: Why did you have to hate me, was my love really that horrible?

John: I miss you, y’know? And I miss Archie and Mariana…

John: I don’t know what to do with myself now, and my phone is going to die soon

John: Not easy to charge your phone on the streets haha

John: I’m sorry, I wish I had never said anything. If I could take it all back, I would.

John: I won’t bother you anymore, I love you, I’m sorry.

Sherlock barely made it through the first messages before his eyes clouded over and tears were carving paths down his cheeks. The consequences of his inconsiderate actions were finally starting to unravel, and he would have to do some serious legwork to even begin fixing what he had done.

The next hour felt more like a daze. Both Sherlock and Mariana managed to flag down a cab and direct it to Saint Barts, all without really registering doing any of it. Climbing out of the cab and approaching the front desk, the woman from the phone directed them to the correct ward with a small smile, informing them that John had woken up just five minutes prior so may still be groggy.

This news spurred the pair of them to hurry in the correct direction, only getting lost once on their way there. When they finally made it to the door of John’s room, Sherlock stopped short, hesitating just before the door could open. “I- I don’t think I can do this Mrs- no, Mariana. I don’t deserve to see him like this, you should go in without me.”

Mariana grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to look her in the eye. “You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. You will go into that room, you will face your best friend, and you will tell him how unimaginably sorry you are, AND you will tell him about your feelings. Those are the reasons we’re in this position in the first place.” The no-nonsense tone was enough to force him through the door, stopping a couple of paces inside and locking gazes with the groggy Doctor.

His hair was a mess, his usually well-kept facial hair was now much less flattering than usual, the bags under his eyes were several times the size they should be, and the amount of weight he had lost in just over a week was more than concerning. John’s softer belly was one of Sherlock’s favourite things to admire - it was both effective at disguising his underlying strength and at being the best replacement for Sherlock’s hugging machine.

  When John met Sherlock’s eyes, the only thing that escaped his mouth was, “I’m sorry…” The doctor looked so small on that hospital bed and now he was apologising?

“ Stop . Just… stop, John.” Sherlock could feel the tears building again. He looked at John, and slowly made his way towards the hospital bed. “Words can never describe the disaster that your loss would have caused me. I may-” He choked on his words, “I may be a genius, but I am also a colossal imbecile, an idiot, the worst man on Baker Street. Believe me when I say that I would never have wished this on you. I would never have wanted you to take your own life, especially not over me .” He was sobbing at this point, fallen to his knees at John’s bedside and trying to put the sheer pain of his agony into words.

“I-” Sherlock hesitated, debating on whether he should continue. A swift kick to the back from Mariana set him to rights and he carried on, “I love you, John Watson.” The pair locked eyes, suspended in time for what felt like an eternity, shame in the gaze of one and disbelief in the gaze of the other.

“Why would you say that to me, Sherlock? After everything that’s happened, why would you taunt me like this?” The doctor was crying now as well, salty tears following well-worn paths down his cheeks and neck. He raised his hands, in practice to wipe away his emotions, but truthfully it was more out of a child-like need to hide. The detective held his heart in his hands - the ability to crush or care hanging in the balance.

The detective rose, “No, no, John. You must believe me, I am not lying to you now. I see how utterly foolish I was to push you away to try and save face - I should never have thought myself above feelings, especially not your own. I will do whatever it takes to reassure you that my words are the truth, I would throw myself at your feet for another chance at us. Please, hear my words and try to find it within yourself to give me another chance. I love you, John Hamish Watson, and I will continue to do so for the rest of my days.”

Sherlock’s world narrowed to nothing but John, the look in his eyes, the words that may leave his mouth.

“You, Sherlock Holmes, are the biggest bastard to walk this Earth.”

His stomach plummeted.

“Get up here and kiss me you git.”

[fellfirst-fellharder-fight]

Round 1: Fight 3

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock) vs Jonathan "Jon" Sims/Martin K. Blackwood (TMA)

Propaganda under the cut!

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes:

Don’t @ me but yeah. John falls first, following Sherlock and doing what he says without question. Sherlock falls harder (literally, ba dum tsh!), sacrificing himself (sort of) to save John. If you know (ie if you were on tumblr btwn 2010 & 2013), you know. a

Jonathan "Jon" Sims/Martin K. Blackwood (TMA):

they're so silly!!!!!!!! they have ruined my life with their silliness. can't believe martin spent 4 seasons pining on this pathetic little man.

martin has has a crush on Jon since about the start of the series,and when he notices that Jon is having trouble due to the horrors,he tries his best to help him out we are only sure that Jon fell in love after Martin did,but it is fairly accepted in the fandom that jon had Fallin in love with Martin at around season 3-4(?) mostly due to the point that Jon was the one to ask Martin to gouge his own eyes with him so that they would both be safe from the horrors,and it is presumably Jon that was able to acquire Daisy's safehouse (a lovely home in Scotland) and was able to convince martin to run away to a different country with him(they lived in London) not to mention that at the end of the series,Jon had decided to use himself to try to slow the apocalypse down to make it barable,but the moment martin was in danger due to that mistake,Jon switches gears and sacredixes himself,the world,and martin,just so he wouldn't have to be alone during the apocalypse if that isn't fell first,fell harder,idk what is!!

martins canonically got feelings for jon since at least the late second season, and aside from a few moments of jealousy and his very obvious doting, he manages to be pretty normal about it. jon realises he has feelings for martin and he literally never shuts up about him. finds any excuse to talk to the man despite martin (at this point) trying to cut himself off from everyone. 'hey martin this woman neither of us care about that actively tried to kill me once is in danger do you think i should save her' as if he has an opinion? and then theres of course the wonderful 'lets gouge out our eyes and run away together 💖' love confession of the century. when they do start dating jon wont stop saying 'my boyfriend 💞💞💞' with the most lovesick and proud voice

im sure you're gonna get so many submissions for them but to summarize: Martin is the one who started writing love poetry all the way back in S1 but Jon is the one who suggested they both BLIND THEMSELVES AND RUN AWAY TOGETHER in S4

[4amode]

Hi, if you don't mind, can I ask, what are your top 7 (or top 10) favorite media ever (can be book, anime/manga, tv series, movies, games, etc)? Why do you love them?

Also, can I ask your top 10 favorite characters ever (from any media)? Are the characters that you can relate the most, in your pinned post included in your top 10 fav characters? Sorry if I ask too much, thanks if you want to answer....

Of course I don't!! Thank you for the ask ♡

First and foremost, I am a huge consumer of fictional media: I read, watch, and am (more or less actively) involved in a ton of fandoms. That said, I'll mention the ones I return to most often, even without being prompted by fandom content like edits, fics, fanart, and so on.

Here's my top media [the order is random] :

Harry Potter with a special mention to the Marauders era, because I've completely lost mind and soul to that fandom [I’ve even cosplayed Remus a couple of times]. I’ve also read most of Rick Riordan's sagas, although I grew up with Harry Potter, so I suppose that's the one I’m most emotionally attached to [despite my deep-rooted disagreement with and disgust for J.K. Rowling's opinions]. To this day, I think it’s the fandom I’ve read the most fanfiction of

Tolkien: anything that wonderful human being wrote. The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, other Middle-earth tales. I’ve watched the movies an infinite number of times [yes, I am that nerd]. I may or may not also own a replica of Aragorn's sword.

Anything Sherlock Holmes. I’ve watched the BBC series, old movies, read the books—basically anything I could get my hands on.

MXTX novels. I started with The Untamed and completely lost it (specifically my dignity, given this endless list of fandoms). I’ve read the novels, manhua, and watched the donghua of MDZS, SVSSS, and TGCF—with MDZS undoubtedly being my favorite. I’m currently planning a Lan Wangji cosplay. Other honorable mentions along these lines: 2ha and Word of Honor.

Genshin. I play video games often, but Genshin is one of the few I’ve played consistently over the years. I also love the characters and the story. That said, I don’t agree with some of the company’s policies, but the fandom-generated content is often of amazing quality and is what keeps me attached to it.

Marvel and DC universes. I know some people might kill me for grouping them together, but I’ve followed both, especially back in high school. I’ve seen almost every Marvel movie, while with DC, it’s mostly been Batman and animation. Gotham is one of my absolute favorite shows [don't get me started on Batman villains]. For Marvel, Loki and Spider-Man are def my top picks.

Studio Ghibli. I watch a lot of anime [of course, duh], and I’ve cosplayed a few characters [not as many as I’d like, I admit]. But I’ve always had a strong emotional attachment to Ghibli movies. They’re still one of the few things that help me calm down when I’m anxious or stressed [which, sadly, happens often]. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve rewatched them.

Japanese BL dramas—I’ve watched a lot, as well as some Korean and Thai ones, but the ones I’ve rewatched the most have always been Japanese (not sure why that is), but I’ve enjoyed and would rewatch many of them. If I had to name the ones I’m most fond of, they’d be Cherry Magic, Kieta Hatsukoi, Utsukushii Kare, Absolute BL, and Bokura no Shokutaku.

TMA. I got into The Magnus Archives fairly recently compared to everything else. That’s mainly because I wasn’t used to listening to podcasts before TMA, I only stumbled upon it because of a TikTok audio. Also, I love anything horror. I fell in love with the story, how carefully it was constructed, and the characters.

Cinema [yes, I know it’s a very broad category]. I’m a cinematophile. I’ve watched a ton of movies—old ones, really old ones, every type and genre. Photography is one of my passions, so that made me a fan of cinema as well. I love the technical side, the history [I chose cinema history as an elective], and everything that comes with it. There are so many movies I love and consider masterpieces, but if I had to name a few I'm particularly attached to, it would be Call Me By Your Name, the Indiana Jones saga, and any Wes Anderson film.

I know you told me 10, but I'm sorry and hopeless. Anything Dark Academia coded: The Secret History, If We Were Villains, Dead Poets Society, The Goldfinch, Maurice, Dorian Gray, The Dreamers and so on

I picked the ones I’m most emotionally attached to, either because I’ve followed them since I was a kid or they helped me through tough times. There are so many more I didn’t mention, like Good Omens or The Witcher, and many webtoons, and anime which I’m just as into, but they didn’t make it to the list.

My top 10 characters:

Remus Lupin and Regulus Black [I have no words to express how much I love and relate to these two]

Snufkin [I am him, he is me, we are]

Wei Wuxian [I would let the world burn for this man, tough, as you might have guessed, my character is more aligned with Lan Wangji's, so it comes with the personality ig]

Thranduil Oropherion [he's the elven king of wood and stone, and he's very loud and daddy about it]

Milo Thatch [he's (excitedly) into history, archaeology, and linguistics, and we both give the you-really-do-not-want-to-get-them-started nerd vibe.]

Jonathan Sims [if on a good day I'm Milo Thatch, on a bad one I'm Jon], also I love how in some fics he wears long skirts, paranormal fear avatars can't be bothered with gender norms.

Newt Scamander [I find him very relatable. His stress in social situations and preference for animals or plants got to me. Also, he's so passionate and caring, love a good example of healthy masculinity.]

Suguru Geto [nothing to say on this, I love this man]

Loki [look, I have an issue with dramatic, gender-defying villains AND mythology, it was inevitable]

Sun Jing from Tamen de Gushi [I wish I was as cool as her, I love her so much]

Generally speaking, I tend to like morally grey characters, villains with redemption arcs or byronic heroes with a complex history who, in the end, try to do the right thing, even at the expense of self-sacrifice. Not in a selfless "it's the right thing to do" hero-complex kind of way, but more in a "I think I'm worthless and expendable, at least I'll try to do something good," angst, hurt/comfort kinda way.

I hope I answered all your questions, but if you have others, or you just wanna chat about it, just dm me!

[agirlandherquill]

Knock, knock! I'm here to ask you about your lovely work! Don't mind if I just...

Ruin's Reprisal

A Deal of Daggers

Between The Lies

Fables of Fate

The Light of Darkness

Thank you, have a lovely day!!!

thank you so much for asking!

now, where to start? well with the top of the list I suppose as logic dictates, and it's also the work that's the most completed (and by that I mean im editing the second draft, everything else is only draft 1, if that)

Ruin's Reprisal in simple terms is a homage to all the fantasy books I grew up reading, and the one's I've read whilst drafting - it's in essence one big heist, lots of questionable morals (on the second protagonist's part more than most, aka Fenley), and a journey from losing everything to finding a purpose again, and the truth, or at least that's the case for Edeva, the main protagonist of the story, now what else is there to say? hm, there's fights, there's violence, there's betrayals and broken hearts, and magic - my interpretation of it, at least, and it's also a story of rebellion against the upper classes and the monarchy - it's the first story I ever wanted to write, and now about four years on it's almost complete, it's undergone a couple complete rewrites but I'm so happy with where it is now

A Deal of Daggers - this was the first time I ever tried nanowrimo, about a year ago, and I wondered if writing 50k words of something was possible (turned out it was, I'd hit the 80k mark by the end of it) and I fell in love with the characters and decided to keep on working through Christmas, then I sort of got side-tracked with Ruin's Reprisal, so that draft is about halfway complete, but knowing me by the time I get around to revisiting it (hopefully around autumn time) I'll fall in love all over again - but to tell you about the story itself, rather than a fantasy story I wanted something a little different, something more perilous, something darker - so, I ended up with an ex-assassin hiding her secret life from the man she is forced to partner with on a royal quest of sorts - an assassination ordered by the King, to remove the Queen, and that story's the amalgamation of secrets, forbidden desires, and the dangers of a society overrun by the underworld of crime

Between The Lies - well, I really wanted to step out of my comfort zone in this one, and tell a story in many different ways - through the eyes of a camera, transcripts, and most importantly, a journal - the journal of a doctor whose job it is to understand why a man killed the Chancellor of the country, and with a strict regime bearing down upon her it becomes a struggle to hide a secret of her own - she is not who she says she is, and the patient, the man under her care, has her figured out all too well - so to sum it all up, their lives are in each other's hands, and there's only a few days until the explosive trial which decides how their stories end

Fables of Fate - this one's much simpler than the rest, I wanted to test myself and see if I could write a novella, and I ended up writing three, which were prequels to two of the main characters of Ruin's Reprisal, and the background story of another character that readers will get to meet in it's sequel novel

The Light of Darkness - it's a ghost story, after watching Lockwood and Co, and being incredibly inspired by both that and Sherlock Holmes, I wanted to create a story that combined the supernatural with mystery - and that started with Emmeline, the main character, and the ghost hunter, who stumbles across Barnaby, a deserter from the military, in the middle of a hunt for a being that holds a clue to the mystery that her life depends upon - if she does not solve it, she will die. The two band together, after she rescues Barnaby, and he does his best to aid her and protect her from threats far more real than she is used to - society

and that's it, some stories are more developed than most but one day I hope to get them all fully fledged into novels!