#i could fix her nuff said.

[flomelias]

y’know what i crave? enemies to lovers wlw firecracker content. i need her to hate me & also WANT me in a way that confuses & concerns her <3

[devondeal]

So overall I do love the new Superman suit. A couple of things though. Then a whole analysis of what I liked lol.

I was never a fan of the high collar look though but it doesn’t ruin it for me. Im just glad it doesnt look as military as it does in the New 52 comic look. I always preferred the wider and open collar because it seems more relaxed and less like a uniform if that makes sense.

But yeah I’m not pissed about it either since it flows with the overall design at least and the cape attachment isn’t as clumsy as a design like this could make it. And I’m just relieved it’s not a crew neck like Routh and Hoechlin had. That’s the worst Superman neckline imo.

It is kinda bulky but I’m also glad it’s not a weird muscle suit. I hate the fake abs look with a passion so I’m glad it doesn’t have that. I do hope onscreen the bulk/bagginess isnt as visible.

Some of the suit lining like on the shoulders and knee pads add to the chunkiness. But again maybe thats not as obvious onscreen.

But the good of the suit does outweigh these things to me. It’s actually brightly colored, has trunks, even has the yellow symbol on the cape, and the design is mostly simple. I hate when they overcomplicate. Staying basic is best with superhero suits.

Like I will take a little bit of bulk any day over the Snyder suit’s weird scaly look. Like yes, it was more fitted which is a plus but the scaliness plus the fake abs, puffy chest, and dick cup thing just nope. Along with the muddy ass colors just nope.

I’m pro trunks cuz I’m sorry but lack of the red in between just makes throws off the look for me. Maybe its a color theory thing but the suit being all blue is just off putting. I have yet to see a belt that fixed that problem.

The only time I’ve seen a full blue suit work with the belt was the CW Supergirl show, her second suit which is saying a lot cuz CW suits arent great. Though I do think a woman’s physique does make a difference in how the full blue can look better. The waist to hip ratio difference helps add some dimension plus matching her belt color to her cape clasps. ie:

(I actually fucking hate the cape clasps like how Hoechlin’s first suit had but here they actually made it look ok because of the smaller size and matching them to the belt)

Anyway trunks also take care of hiding that dick. (Sidenote I love that Martha Kent in both MAWS and Lois&Clark: TNAOS are concerned about that 🤣)

I also like how the trunks and belt are connected and again how simple that design is.

The symbol is really nice too. I’m don’t know much about Kingdom Come but it’s ok design. I prefer the traditional but they made this one look really pretty with the yellow outline on the front side and the full yellow symbol on the cape so it’s a yes for me.

Also happy with the size of the symbol on the chest. It’s not oversized like Cain’s was, nor is it way too small like Routh’s. It’s right with Reeve and Cavill being perfectly proportionate to their bodies and suits. (I mainly mean Cavill’s first suit. The second wasnt bad either but they def shrinked it and I don’t get why since that was the one thing I was pleased with his suit about)

The red boots are perfect. Nuff said there.

With the cape length, I love the long look but anything at the knee or longer is good (Reeve’s was at the knee). Anything shorter than the knees look weird to me like a kid’s costume.

Not suit related but he has the curl which makes me happy too

[eljeebee]

OC question of the day!

If you could make a character real, which of your OCs would be:

your bestie

your spouse/partner

your secret lover!

your friendly rival

your enemy!

BONUS: do this for other people’s OCs too!

Pass the game along (anonymously or not)

Thanks for the ask!!!! 💜

BESTIE

I want to be friends with Sid Harper and Louie Davis! They're a fun bunch to be with. I usually don't bat an eye to couples IRL, but they're going to be one of those couples that I'll keep a close eye on and cry if they break up (THEY WON'T; I'M THE WATCHER AFTER ALL!)

Either them, or Penrose Walters. I really admire Penny's patience working for the royal family, and patience with her boss. I feel like she has a lot of stories (keyword: personal experiences) to tell over brunch.

SPOUSE/PARTNER

See, when asked this, I can't think of anyone because I'm done with relationships IRL 💀 but for this time, it's either Jason Davis or his wife, Sophia Davis (or why not both?!?!?!) They're supportive of each other, and they're the type of couple that reciprocates on the things they do. Jason do the chores on the morning, cook for the family in the mornings, since his shift always starts at noon until midnight, and Sophia will takeover the house on nights and weekends!

But my husband is also Emilio by @pralinesims (hehehehe)

SECRET LOVER

I want my secret lover(s) to be either Valentina Asvang or Percival Asvang...or both 😏 both of them gives love at first sight.

Valentina will be subtle. She'll know what your daily schedule is when you go to the coffee shop to get your coffee fix. Val will always be in your peripheral. Always there. Barely noticed. And she doesn't mind it. You'll just suddenly feel safe...as in, if someone tries to pick a fight on you, the next day, you won't have to worry about. They've been taken care of.

Percival, however, will be more upfront. He'll try to get close to you, get your number. He'll try to be smooth - and he will be smooth. You'll suddenly get hit by realization that you've fallen in love with him, hard.

Also I'd love to have Gideon by @igotsnothing as my secret lover 😍😍😍 (so sorry, Sasha)

FRIENDLY RIVAL

My friendly rival? Perhaps Penrose Walters! Besties and workplace buddies!

ENEMY

Lady Lana Beau, 'nuff said.

[ladyravenjadethe2nd]

Which Fictions are good to Fanfic?

When I write I want to use one of these things from a fandom I'm in.

The world

The characters

The power system

I tend to ask myself the question what anime/manga/book/show is so good that one of these can stand alone for me to work with.

For example

World

Harry Potter/Naruto/Game of Thrones/Lord of Rings. I've found to be excellent starting worlds. You can place any character in these worlds and have an exciting background going on with fun facts and lore everywhere for you to draw upon.

You have a clear picture of the world, but it's lose enough that you can change things and it won't feel off putting.

You want to write a Deathnote fanfic in the Deathnote world? Great. Your in Japan. That's it. Real world Japan at that so you need to do research, but nothing is happening with politics or science or the supernatural that isn't affecting the main characters or being affected by them so if you do something cool you must ask yourself, 'How did it happen?' and 'How would it effect the main story?'.

Those aren't always bad questions, but it limits you a lot.

In HP you want to have a new potion or spell exist that is really important? Super easy. Ancient knowledge found in a hidden tome or new magic dropped yesterday by so and so. Easy. You want the law to be this or that? You want to bring in some conflict with another country? New supernatural creature? Bring in some religion? Easy as pie. The world is set up so that all this stuff could have always been a thing, but just wasn't talked about. It's a magic world. Nuff said.

If I'm writing a story about the world I want it to be interesting enough to stand alone and still be worth telling.

Characters

Most often I'm interested in the characters. I love displacing characters and putting them where they shouldn't be.

Most fandoms have at least some good characters, but there are a few great ones for example.

Captain Jack Sparrow is so fun to me that I'd rather watch him in an Ikea for 3 hours then a Pirate movie without him in it.

A lot of superheroes have those kind of personalities. Thor could be fun on a ranch. You can send Spiderman to medieval times. Deadpool could make watching paint dry be the best thing in the world.

Some characters have so much personally that the whole story can just be them reacting to a different setting.

Then you have characters like Bella Swann from Twilight....She's not going to get any better in outer space or Jurassic Park. If your writing for that fandom you are most likely either fixing her or getting rid of her.

A character with little personally can however become a skin for your oc. If I didn't want to make my own character, but wanted to send someone from Naruto into say the DC world I could use Tenten. But I'd be picking her for her world. I'd want the ninja background without having to give a backstory. It's a pretty boring options when it comes to characters from Naruto.

Lastly Power Systems

Those can be amazing if they are the star of the fic. Like drop a deathnote into any fandom with any kind of character and Boom you got a story.

I'd read lots of fics about an OC that uses Charka just slightly differently and they become OP because of it.

The insane creativity in Nen from HxH is my favorite. You can come up with 1,000s of prompts of characters interacting with a weird power that does anything.

Truth serum, berserker rage, fuck or die, character got turned into a cat? Nen can do all that shit and more.

Anyway just felt like talking about which fandoms I think are extra good for fanfic writing.

Why do you chose certain stories to write about?

[littlemisssquiggles]

So…about the FIFTH episode of RWBY Volume 9…

We're at the half way mark folks! Just five more episodes to go.

Apologies for skipping the fourth episode. Last week, this squiggle meister was a little under the weather. While I did watch the episode, I wasn’t up for sharing my usual first impressions on it. Granted, I will say now that I was a wee bit disappointed by the fourth episode when I first watched it.

[SPOILERS AHEAD! NUFF SAID]

Not implying that it wasn’t good since I definitely enjoyed the bits that introduced a bit more lore of the Ever After. I guess I was mostly disappointed by how quickly we got to this aspect of the story---the part where RWBY encounter the Smoking Caterpillar-inspired character who was introduced o as the Herbalist or simply “Herb” for short. For me, I was expecting this part to come later but I was deeply mistaken.

I had a hunch that the Herbalist would’ve forced Team RWBY to undergo some type of mystical test but I more pegged it to have come later after more adventures and encounters in the Ever After when Ruby was at her lowest and the test would’ve been her breaking point. But I guess this episode was more the start to Ruby’s breakdown than the final straw.

Overall, the more the story progresses, the more confused I become as to what the Ever After really is or rather what it’s meant to represent in the grand scheme of the world building in RWBY.

And coming out of today’s episode, it really is starting to sound as if the Ever After is some kind of limbo world. Like RWBY’s version of purgatory. It’s not the Land of the Living but it’s not the After Life either. It’s inbetween.

A place where people can come and possibly be born again---somewhat like reincarnation but not really? Certainly not the kind Ozma went through.

It’s the conversation between RWBY and the Curious Cat that truly got me thinking.

“...When we break or wear out or simply finish what we were made to do, we are called back. But Herb, his heart was too weak to listen so I gave him a little bit of mine.”

“...Is he dead?”

“...No, no, no. Well maybe a little bit. But not at all.”

“...Which is it?”

“Now that Herb’s properly returned, he’ll be fixed up nice and made into the Herb he wanted to be when he was still Herb then he’ll come back and find his purpose. Could be the same as before or maybe not.”

“When Herb comes back, will he remember anything?”

“What would be the point of that. Just like Alyx, you lot. I know where your from, things die. But we’re just not like you at all. We ascend. Herb will have a purpose again.”

“That’s impossible. Things have to die someday, right?”

“What happened to Herb, is that what happened to the King?”

“The Red King could not cope when he lost to Alyx. A crying mess. Thankfully he was called back and fixed up and how he’s the prince you met.”

“Fixed up? The prince was worse.”

“The prince isn’t supposed to be nice. He’s meant to play the game and win. No matter what.”

“So that’s why he cheats; when the Red King didn’t. But that still doesn’t explain why the Red Prince was so much meaner.”

“While the prince may not remember Alyx’s deception after ascending; the heart very rarely forgets.”

“But there was nothing about ascension in the story.”

“Of course not. Exposition is terrible boring. Even this conversion, on the whole, was rather tedious.”

“I wonder what else Alyx left out.”

Contrary to what the Curious Cat said,  I on the other hand found the whole conversation between them and RWBY to be interesting because it does give some insight into the way the Ever After works while dropping more hints about Alyx.

I guess at the end of this episode, my whole question is...since the implication is that Alyx survived her adventures in the Ever After and ascended back to Remnant, who did Alyx become then?

The inference is that Alyx turned into an entirely different person when she returned home to Remnant; probably in more ways that one. So who did Alyx become and was the new Alyx a character we’ve already met before in the show? Y’know like a little twist we’ll get by the time V9 is over or something like that.

Like imagine if…by the end of V9, we find out that Alyx eventually became another reincarnation of Ozma or…Summer Rose or maybe she became Neo or something like that?

I’m just saying that all of this lore that we’re getting about the Ever After has to make sense in the end and tie back to the main narrative in some shape or form. So I’m just slowly picking up what little bit of information I can to try and piece it all together while I’m watching the season.

Overall, the way the Ever After works compared to Remnant is fascinating. I think for now it’s safe to say that it is indeed some kind of purgatory. Not life. Not death. But somewhere in the middle where one can go to either start over or never exist to begin with?

That what I’ll say for now. I’m especially looking forward to next week’s episode to hear the explanation for what the hell happened to Jaune!

"...Team RWBY. You finally made it..."

I can't believe RWBY pulled a "The Girl Who Waited" like in Doctor Who but with Jaune!

Jaune is the boy who waited. How long has Jaune been waiting for RWBY to show up? How much time has passed for him compared to his friends.

Holy balls! Jaune is old now---well older now? I mean it could've been worse. He could've been an old man by the time he reunited with RWBY.

At least he's finally rocking that wolf tail he’s always wanted from V4. I liked that nice little callback to that season as well as him naming his little jackalope friend Juniper after his team. That's sweet.

I can't believe RWBY pulled a "The Girl Who Waited" like in Doctor Who but with Jaune!

Yeah, nah, I ain't ready for this kind of pain and I'm not even a big Jaune stan.

Jaune is literally the boy who waited. But...how long has Jaune been waiting for RWBY to show up? How much time has passed for him compared to his friends.

In all seriousness, what happened to Jaune? Jaune was the last to fall into the Ever After so how is it he’s aged so drastically but RWBY hasn’t? I’m assuming it has to do with whatever acre of the Ever After Jaune fell into?

Perhaps time runs differently in that specific acre compared to other parts?

Don’t get me wrong, Jaune’s looking mighty good in his more mature age. A little rusty but otherwise fine.

I just wanna know if it’ll be permanent. Like when the group finally return to Remnant, will Jaune still be older or are the CRWBY showrunners gonna pull a Chronicles of Narnia or Marco Diaz from Star Vs the Forces of Evil where Jaune will revert back to his younger self as soon as he returns home but his heart will remember everything like the Curious Cat said?

I guess I’ll have to wait and see for next week.

Overall, Chapter 5 was another solid episode. As I'll reiterate, I dug the new lore drop that we got this episode.

Dug the interesting development that Ruby got too with her meeting the weird Metal Lady.

And I definitely loved the new theme that played during WBY's fight against the Jabber-Neos. I can’t wait for the full version to come out whenever.

Other than that, that’s all I have to say as my first impressions of this episode. Might share some more deeper thoughts later but that's all for now folks.

~LMS (2023)

[magicalgirlagency]

*Quielty manifesting from your shadow* Hey, can I ask you a question?

How would you rewrite the YuYuYu series (main story + spinoffs)? There aren't much fix-it fanfic for it, and the ones that do exist are all dead fics by now. I'm intending on writing a fix-it au myself, taking main inspiration from pretty cure and random Rival's songs. However, as I don't have much skills in writing and I don't have time either (my country schools is a bunch of monster honestly), I was hoping to find some way to cope with my pain after watching all of the yuyuyu seasons (even the horrid 3rd season).

Since you've already save the Hero Club and some of the other Heroes from the show... How about rewriting the series as a whole? To channel all your spite at how shitty the Taisha and the God tree of pedophiles *Shinju-sama* are?

Thanks for listening to/reading my questions. Here's you shadow back

*Return back into my Void to give back your shadow*

Oh, boy... it's been a while. I may be a little rusty, so I apologize in advance if anything's off...

Alright, before we get started, I'd like to point out some things about this reboot:

NO post-apocalyptic world. It'll be set in the present day, with all of the other countries and continent still intact;

NO ableism. The other heroines won't lose their body parts while fighting;

NO magically-healing disabilities. Tougo will be a wheelchair user from beginning to end, and her magic will properly accomodate her disability;

NO nationalism/militarism. The themes in this reboot will be environmental/ecological;

NO sexualization of minors. 'Nuff said.

With that out of the way, let's get this show on the road:

The Shinju/Divine Tree is an ancient mystic tree of unfathomable power that sustains the whole world. Unfortunately, due to humanity's carelessness, it's defenses have been weakened, giving the Taisha an opportunity to strike.

The Taisha are an evil cult; the very personification of humanity's greatest sins (greed, industrialization, deflorestation, etc...). Their goal is to seize the Shinju and its powers all to themselves, so they can bring forth a New World Order.

And to ensure that no one dares to stop their plans of conquest, they create the monstruous Vertexes, kaiju-sized beasts that were concieved through dark magic to cleanse the world of its impurities. In desperation, the Shinju spreads its magic seeds throughout the world, in search of young pure-hearted and well-intentioned humans to make them bloom.

In Japan, lives a young girl named Yuuki Yuuna. Lively, energetic a little bit scatterbrained, she inspires herself in the ideals of heroes, so she joins an after-school club called the Hero Club with other four girls, dedicating themselves to do community services for their beloved town.

Until one day, she stumbles accross a goofy and chunky cow-looking creature that introduces themselves as Fairy/Spirit born from the Shinju. They alert Yuuna of the Taisha's schemes and gift her with a compact mirror known as a Terminal, that allows her to transform and communicate with other Guardians.

The plot twist is that the other members of the Hero Club were already granted with their own Fairies and Terminals, and they were eagerly waiting for the newbie Yuuna to be blessed with her own powers so they could explain to her the whole story to her.

And so, the whole story is about Yuuna meeting several other Guardians and going on a journey learning what it really means to be a hero.

I was personally inspired by Puella Magi Magia Record, HeartCatch PreCure and Healin' Good PreCure when I wrote this draft. You may as use this as a base for your concept, if you please!

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Lap Dragons. 'Nuff Said.

Ok, so: My immunocompromised ass got Covid in April (if you're medically able, wear masks y'all. Covid SUCKS and I only managed to avoid the hospital because I have enough experience and privilege to get what I need from the medical system relatively fast and painlessly. Don't spread Covid and try not to get it. Be safe, y'all), and when I was feeling ok-ish enough that laying in bed pretending to be a rock got way too boring, I picked up this book because I assumed it would be an easy, candy-floss read.

Which it was.

But that's not ALL it was. Let's talk Scales and Sensibility.

I was unexpectedly invested and thoroughly DELIGHTED by this book. It's essentially a standard regency romance novel but with the addition of lap dragons.

Ok, technically they're shoulder dragons, but the vibe is extremely lap kitty, and honestly in this house we STAN Sir Jessamyn.

Elinor is separated from her sisters and goes to live with her dickhead Uncle, arguably clinically depressed Aunt, and Queen Brat of a Cousin after the death of her parents, and her goal of being the "model poor relation" goes straight to hell within about the first five pages of the novel. Refusing to let poor Sir Jessamyn be abused by Cousin Penelope, Elinor basically kidnaps him, bails, and gets hit by a carriage before she makes it properly into town. This ends up being a meet cute with Mr. Benedict (seriously, regency romance novels really like having Benedicts in them) Hawkins. That's more or less all the plot you're going to get from me on this one, because I encourage you to read this delightful book.

In terms of other important things about the book, I thoroughly enjoyed the writing style. It tended toward light, fluffy, and endearing, but didn't shy away from a littled added heaviness when that was warranted, and the writing mirroring the tone so well is a skill that is rarer than you might think in genre fiction (*side eyes Brando Sando and his "invisible prose"*), but it just makes an already fun read feel stronger and more immersive.

Character-wise, Burgis created a stellar cast of clearly differentiated, personality-filled characters who I literally could not help but be deeply invested in by like, the end of chapter one. It can be easy in romance novels to let characters be more or less cardboard cutouts without much in the way of actual personality. This book DOES NOT have that problem. Elinor, Sir Jessamyn, Benedict, Penelope, and everyone else has vibrant personality that practically leaps off the page.

Finally, we have the dragons. The big dragons in this universe were, sadly, apparently hunted to extinction, leaving just the little dragons who can be trained up to sit on ladies' shoulders as a literal accessory. Sir Jessamyn is not cut out for this life, and Elinor is not a fan of turning living beings into literal fashion accessories. This is not unpacked terribly deeply in a systemic way, but as a synecdoche for assumed wider social and moral issues in the world, Sir Jessamyn serves quite well to sketch the broader picture by implication. This was such a fun idea to propose and immediately deconstruct, and I really enjoyed the draogny aspects of this novel.

If you're missing your fantasy regency romance fix this week, I cannot recommend a better solution that Stephanie Burgis's Scales and Sensibility. There is likely more to be said about this book as an homage to or gentle spoof of Austen's Sense and Sensibility, but as I have not actually read Sense and Sensibility, I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere on book internet for that content. I'm perfectly happy for now to enjoy Scales and Sensibilty on its own merits.

[rosewood-multifandom-writer]

Since I’m now here, I’m gonna talk about my own personal power fantasies (brace yourself for the sexual stuff I’m about to talk about on number 2 lol):

1. The, “I Can Fix Him,” Power Fantasy. I’m like this with morally grey characters, not villains, villains are built to be evil and would probably wipe the floor with me if I even tried, and that will be discussed in the second point. When I say morally grey, I’m talking Vergil, Connor RK800, the Winchester Brothers, Jason Todd, those guys specifically.

2. “Taking Them Down a Peg” Power Fantasy. Sukuna is a very powerful curse in Jujutsu Kaisen. Not gonna stop me from fantasizing about being a powerful Jujutsu Sorcerer that can take him on. Gavin Reed, albeit is a very different character type from Sukuna and has a very different role being just an ass, I love fantasizing about humbling him a little. I also may or may not have read and have thought about writing a sexual fantasy of making any of the Sparda men from Devil May Cry submit to me. :3

3. Powerful Beautiful Women. As a kid, Heavenly Sword was my introduction to the Hack-and-Slash genre, and I’ve been in love with this genre ever since. Nariko was one of my all-time favorite female heroes because she’s powerful, determined, did not let the negativity get to her, and did so many selfless acts in the game to save Kai, who she views as her little sister. As an adult, I still love her, and I wished I could be like her, or like Bayonetta, or like Trish and Lady, any of the ladies in any hack-and-slash games that can wield comically big weapons and look good doing so. It’s also the reason why I depict my own female characters the way I do now.

4. Killing off Abusive Characters or Giving Them a Faith Worse Than Death. ‘Nuff said.

5. Having a Confident Character. I’m not 100% confident at all in real life, so basically I project some of my traits on the most confident or cocky characters, whether it be my own characters or pre-existing characters.

These are all just my personal power fantasies, like OP said, different people have different power fantasies. To add onto that, there is NO right or wrong way to have a power fantasy.

I think it’s really important to talk about how different people have different power fantasies.

For example:

For some people, the idea of someone redeeming a villain is a power fantasy.

For other people, the idea of a villain being defeated is a power fantasy.

And for other people, the idea of a character owning their villainy is a power fantasy.

I would argue a lot of fandom conflicts re: villains come from people being unable to see that their fantasies, which put them in control of a narrative (and all three of these are designed to give the author or reader control of the narrative in different ways) are someone else’s horror stories.

[lucaonthropy]

If your OCs are presented the chance to experience timeloops/travelling to the past, would they take it or no? If yes, what moment would they choose to loop to and would they commit to change it or stop halfway?

SYIH CHARACTERS

Arya: She would do it, mostly for curiosity than anything else. The only thing she ever regretted is her parents' neglect but timeloop can't really fix that so. Yes to timeloop just for fun, no to committing to it.

Hendrik: Same as Arya, he would timeloop because he wanted to know how it feels like. Maybe he would try to change something in the moment when his dad was mistakenly arrested by cops but like, he's the type of person who'd rather let bygone be bygone sooo it's a maybe but not fully committed.

Nina: No, not really. She's more interested in the future. Looping the same moment in the past again and again doesn't seem fun to her and would only hinder her personal goals. Sure she could train more in a loop but then again, where's the ideals in that? So, no to timeloop at all.

Karna: Yes, if there was an inkling that he could save Laks in some ways in the loop, he would. Otherwise no, too tired and too traumatized.

Pramana: No. He doesn't know when to loop to. Things in his past were bad and he didn't want to go back at all. Nothing he does would change much anyway, so he'd rather skip the chance.

Dukun Sarjana CHARACTERS

Satria: Nope. This guy's mindset is pretty straightforward in terms of living. Whatever happen will happen, he's just happen to be there and experience it. Whatevs man

Tania: Tentative maybe. She would be very curious about and mostly wanted to try looping to prank Vino over and over again. In terms of changing serious matters in the past ... this is where the maybe comes in. She would want to prevent Vino breaking his leg (permanent damage in canon) but if she knew it's just fate and it's either his leg or both of their lives, she wouldn't do anything.

Vino: He's just not interested enough tbh.

Evi: Oh she would be obssessed. She would try to jump randomly to her past and try to change every little thing to see how it would affect her own life trajectory. She doesn't have any huge turns in her life that she wants to seriously change but she would commit to small changes.

Angkara: Yes, he would loop. Yes, he would commit. No, I will not elaborate.

Rewind Until 100% CHARACTERS

Alisha: Lol she canonically loops and commits to the point of amorality. Nuff said.

Nihil: This is just his life as Time Keeper, though by God he would never again let a human loop. Alisha is enough of a trauma for him.

Andini: Nope! She's really satisfied and happy with her life and would rather focusing on the now. Alisha should learn one thing or two....

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘Bitten’

Dr Strange x fem! reader!

this is my fave fic ive ever written. nuff said.

ik all my fics are like essentially the same but this ones lowkey more vulgar even tho the plot is so overdone in fics 😭

Stephen Strange was a man of arrogance and a thin string of patience. You had a knack for testing that patience, willing to cut the barbed wire with bolt cutters at every interaction just for fun. Your irrational and impulsive nature was a joy to deal with.

'What? You can't come?' He was equal parts surprised and furious but this cocktail of a combination was potent and heady and it was taking all of his might not to lash out.

You were darting around your room whilst Stephen was dumbfounded at the door. Fluffing up your pillows and fixing up your duvet just the right amount in hopes of getting lucky tonight. Sexual freedom you were not feeling, sexual frustration was right on the money. You were so damn horny all the time and your own fingers or a vibrating piece of rubber plastic would not relieve any of that angst. Natasha set you up on a date with a SHIELD Agent in enlightened hopes that he would still the ache inside of you. However, Stephen was trying to put a wrench in those plans.

'I have a date this evening Stephen, I can't be there with you and Wong. Why can't you just do this with him?' Your voice came out exasperated as you opened your closet and tossed a few dresses, lingerie sets and a scattering assortment of shoes.

'He's preoccupied too, I can't fix up the relic alone.’ He countered and it just seemed to annoy you that much more.

'Can't? Never heard that word from you before.' You smirked.

'Date? I thought you didn't do dates.' He reminded you and it was like you were as clear as day to see through, you felt uncomfortable under his amplified scruntity.

It peeved Stephen that it wasn't really the fact you couldn't help him fix a timless, ancient relic that vexed him but it was the fact that you were going on...a date. You were free and single, he had no right to feel such a way for you, more specifically the person you were seeing this evening but he couldn't help it. His mood soured instantly. The voices piping up in his head were just pleading at him to stop you but he didn't know why he should even stop you in the first place; he didn't know what his feelings were labelled as.

'Stephen, go with grace. I can't, you're more than capable of repairing it yourself. You don't need a baby sitter.’ It was as if you were talking to a five year old, his arrogance wasn't piquing as much as it ought to and it made you nervous, it was as if he was self conscious or insecure.

Stephen Strange? Insecure? It could make you laugh, he was...attrac-decent looking and a magic weilding sorcerer with the nectar of the god's flowing through his feet. Who would?

'Fine. Have fun.' He muttered sarcastically as he left your room.

You sighed at his childishness and the. pondered what to wear.

——

You were flipping like a switch, unsure of which lingerie set to choose from, one or the other. It was a mantra carved into the echoey walls of your brain. It was a mantra carved into the echoey walls of your brain. You could barely trust yourself with your own skewed judgement and bias, so you flipped to your second best option: a second opinion from Natasha.

She was busy at a meeting or a recon but you could barely find it in yourself to care; your problems were going to be her problems tonight.

You shimmied on the first black lacy lingerie set and snapped a photo, bare faced and beautiful. You did the same with the other set. Too encompassed in the task of doing your makeup and dusting your apples with blush, you turned a blind eye to concentrating on your phone and absent mindedly sent the photos to..

FUCK. Oh fuck.

Shit. Your heart latched onto your throat when you read over the name.

Stephen Strange.

You panicked, immediately attempting to delete and unsend them before he got a chance to peer at the explicity of your text. He had never ever seen you in this light before and you were scared that he would never look at you the same way again. Of course you wanted to sleep with him, no matter how much you denied it but this wasn't the way to go about it. It was practically cheating.

Stephen was about to wind down as he threw himself on his bed, no matter in fixing the ancient relic now since you weren't here. Only clothed with a bare chest and sweatpants, he felt the left side of his sweatpants pocket buzz. It was a text...from you.

He was hoping you were about to change your mind and come over...come over to him where after some...activities may persue. He sent the thought flying out of his mind as he opened your text. He felt his soul whisper out of his body when he laid eyes on you.

There you were, posing all pretty and sweet in such finely crafted, extremely revealing lingerie. Curves on display and your tits provided such an engaging view. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you and your plump lips and your volitile and constant fuck me eyes. He really shouldn't be thinking, let alone looking at you in such a way, you were coworkers that's all. But Jesus Christ it was like God took a lifetime creating you, details and all to make you look perfect. His attentive blue eyes flickered from feature to feature- it looked like your body would meld perfectly into his. Though, you've made your distaste extremely clear for him. He wondered if you were meant to send these to him.

Too tired and anxious to even comprehend how to delete and unsend the photo, you gave in and caved into the worst case scenario imaginable. You winced as the pads of your fingertips texted back.

--Oh shit Stephen. I'm sorry that was for Nat, I didn't mean for you to see those, I'm trying to figure out how to unsend or delete them but I can't.

He could easily delete it for you but he let his eyes wander. He bit the bullet.

-- No, no it's fine.

You let out a sigh of relief but awkwardness still clouded you. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you bit at your fingernails.

-- First one. Go for the first one. I like the red details. Cute.

Your eyes widened at the same pace as the thump of your heart. You bit your lip, unsure of how to even begin to respond

--Matches the cloak.

You knew what you needed to do now, your impulse was as harrowing as it was a character flaw but you felt drawn. You felt like a magnet and you just needed to hear that click, Stephen made you feel that click and it wasn't even in real life it was by text, if he could make you feel wet by just a text then God knows what he'd be able to do in real life...in bed. He was strong and intimidating and vastly powerful. You'd let him face fuck you till morning's end.

Stephen quirked an eyebrow and adjusted his jaw at your reply, his tongue glazing over his lip to conceal his smug smirk.

-- You'd look prettier in nothing but my cloak.

Your heels were clacking against the marble of the Avengers Compound, silk sitting just above your thigh as you made your way down the staircase into your car. You weren't even rushing, you were like lightning on your toes the way you needed to be near him. Your need for sexual gratification from him was a major switch up from your annoyance towards him earlier. Your date could get fucked.

Stephen's phone was ringing in his hands and it was you, he hesitated before he answered. You revved your engine of your car and sped your way down to the Sanctum, your skill obviously being portrayed in the process as you swerved past the ongoing cars with your phone nestled to your ear. The stars twinkled in the mist, the night illuminated by laser beams.

Before Stephen could speak you cut him off.

'I'm coming. Stay where you are.' You stated all deadpan and serious before ultimately hanging up. His face contorted into confusion but then turning into excitement. Stephen had always wondered what was under your suit, the skin you lived in. It was always just a passing thought but now it was all his mind was on. He was hungry to get you naked and mark you up as his. Again, fuck your date.

Parking outside, you hurried your way to the door of the Sanctum. Unaware and uncaring to if there was anyone else but Stephen dotted around, you opened the door and let yourself in. Stephen was at the top of the staircase at the main entrance and there you were. Dressed up as if he wasn't going to tear the clothes off of you with his teeth. It was adorable and endearing. He stepped down the stairs and you were rushing at him like a raging bull; your lips connected before vour bodies collided at the foot of the stairs. He palmed at your ass and squeezed once he got his hands on you.

Your fingers scraped at his hair and tugged on it to make him open his mouth that much more for you to sink into. Stephen was growing impatient, he forced you to angle your head so he could delve his tongue into your blossoming mouth and lick away at the embarrassment and shame you felt today. God your lips were soft and sweet, so supple; he couldn't help but sink his teeth into your lips. A broken moan fell away at your mouth and into his and that just made his head reel. He needed to let you breathe out the erratic breaths you had pent up so you wouldn't suffocate, with both of your eyes screwed shut you pressed foreheads.

"Can I make you feel better?' He breathed into your skin.

'Please Stephen, I'm desperate. I can't take the waiting.'' You whined against him.

He tugged you by the arm up the staircase and took you breathlessly to his room. It wasn't slow and tender, it was firey hot and passionate and it was over in flashes. You were in his room. Alone. You had the chance to remark upon Stephen's toned physique, you were damn near salivating over this man and it was pathetic but you couldn't care, not when he was right next to you willing to give you the good hard fucking you've been desperate for. It was like you were possessed by the lust he was offering you and you were inclined to take more. For fucks sake you were already arching into him when you both crashed lips again.

'God, Stephen. I want- I.' You breathlessly tried to get a wandering point across but you didn't even know what you were trying to say.

'I fucking love hearing you beg.' He growled as he grasped you by the hair and pushed you down onto his regal looking bed. You felt so glamourous being bedded on an antique, the Gods and spirits would probably judge you both harshly but you thought it was some kind of magical christening. And holy hell the way he was fawning over you like you were his made your cunt throb.

'You're mine to fuck and use, got it?' He stared down at you coldly, no warmth or mercy in his cereulan irises and it made your body litter with goosebumps, by just the tones of his voice.

You nodded your head furiously at his offer.

He fiddled with the fabric at the edge of your dress as if to taunt you, softly cooing as his eyes flit from your face to the bottom of your dress.

'Cute.' He muttered, a small smile playing on his lips.

His oogling didn't last long as he tore off your dress in one swift motion, you could barely contain your moan at such a thing. Stephen made you feel so desired and wanted, he was practically frothing at the mouth to get you naked, like a rabid mad dog and you revelled in every moment of it. Stephen realised you wore the set he liked most. He bit his lip softly.

'You liked this one, didn't you?' You relentless tease was in aim to provoke him, you were an archer ready to hit that bullseye to let all hell break loose and let him take his anger out on you. "Took you long enough to spit it out, I hope I'm not wasting my time.’’

'Stop pretending to be smarter than you really are sweetheart.'’ Stephen reprimanded and it made a low chuckle flow out of you.

He ripped off your lingerie and shimmied it down your smooth legs.

'So conceited.' You pouted at the fact you spent a lot of money on that set.

'So fucking stupid.'

Without warning he flipped you around so you were on all fours and spanked at your ass, your skin flushed a warm shade of red as his unforgiving palm spanked the attitude out of you. He fondled and squeezed at the flesh of your ass. You tried to stay on all fours but Stephen grasped at your hair and made your torso meet the bed, the side of your face digging into the sheets. Your ass was all that he could see, you offered it up to him so freely; how could he say no to all of that? Stephen bent down and bit harshly at your skin there, deep teeth marks being left in his wake. The high pitched pornographic moan you let out at his actions was the only thing that was able to be heard, bouncing across the walls relentlessly like it was his own personal brand of music.

Stephen pistoned two thick fingers inside of your cunt with no remorse or pause, God you were so sticky with your own arousal and it made him beam up. He reached depths that no one else had ever had before, feeling into you in a way that made you realize that you've been waiting to be treated like this for so long. You convinced yourself you were content with vanilla sex but God this was exactly what you wanted, needed. It was like a drug, a Stephen Strange tasting drug that you knew you wouldn't be able to quit no matter how hard you tried.

‘'So wet, so pretty and all for me. God you're so fuckable, it's like you've made it your personal goal to taunt me. I've waited long enough for you, wanting you, tasting you, the idea that you could be mine-body, mind, soul. Jesus Christ-'’ He groaned lowly, he couldn't finish as he saw your wetness run down your thighs at his words. He could talk like this for a lifetime if he got you this wet everytime.

You were stunned. Body, soul and mind? He wanted you in all ways? Not just your body? These questions ran a marathon in your mind, your eyebrows knitting in tense pleasure and confusion. You thought that you were reading into it and let it go no matter how much it irked you.

'Stephen, fuck. Fuck me, I'm yours.’ You screamed at him.

With one hand he grasped at your hair again to hang your head up for a moment and with the other he retracted his fingers out of you and shoved them in your mouth.

'Go on. Suck.' He demanded through a whisper and you didn't need to be told twice, you suckled on his scarred fingers and you could taste yourself off of him. Mm, salty and sweet at the same time. He pushed his fingers down further to the base of your throat, you were gagging and choking on him and Stephen could've finished right then and there. Tears started to prick at your eyes, they soon began to meander down your red hot clammy cheeks.

He pushed you back down with no care of being gentle. He'll be gentle with you later, he just needed to fuck you until all you could think, feel and hear was his name. Stephen's palm met your backside again but before you could even moan he rammed his cock into you. He let out a gutteral moan at the feel of being inside of you, he glanced down and viewed that your back was arching into his bed perfectly and that small beads of sweat was gliding off of your back. He pumped himself in and out of you with ease, your already ample wetness making him slide into you effortlessly. Your cries and screams of his name muffled by the pillow made his mind melt, although he has a photographic mind...he wished he could retain this sound in his ears forever and play it back whenever he was desperate for his fix of you. What spurred him on even more was the bite mark he left on your ass, he felt like an animal but you were fucking loving it. He had to make sure you finished first or he wouldnt live it down. He kicked off his boxers and sweats.

Stephen bent down and bit at your shoulder blade, you felt so full to the point you were overflowing with pleasure. He knew exactly what he was doing.

'Stephen!' You breathed and groaned. You repeated his name over and over again, unsure of what you were even saying his name or begging for. It was like a mantra, a holy bible scripture that was etched in stone in your head.

You felt like you were about to burst. Your toes curled and your thighs were shaking, you knew that you were about to cum on him. White hot streaks of unfiltered pleasure shingled down your thighs and your lungs were expanding at an exponetial rate, you felt like your throat was collapsing in on itself your voice was so hoarse. You screamed out his name again as your wetness gushed onto him. His cock twitched inside of you, Stephen's arousal met yours in thick ropes.

He collapsed ontop of you before rolling over, panting like a complete idiot. He felt the presence of you consume his lungs and as he turned to face you, you were already gawking at him. Stephen's hair was dishevelled and strands were glued to his forehead.

'You're date's calling you.' He stated deapan. You didn't even hear the ringing that was coming from the bedside table.

Laying on your back, you grasped at your phone and answered.

'Hey.' You greeted, trying to contain your breathless pants.

'Hey. I was just wondering where you were.' He said.

Stephen didn't like the interaction that was happening, a tense look was etched over his features and he could feel irrational jealousy radiating off of him even though you made it clear that you wanted him. While you were still chatting on, his mind wasn't up to pace with his actions the way he inched closer and closer to you. As he placed his head on your chest with your phone against your ear, Stephen began suckling on your nipples. You let out a short surprise exhale.

'Y/N, you okay?' Your date asked.

'Yeah, yeah I'm just feeling a bit...preoccupied. I've been napping all day, I think I've come down with something. Like something's bitten me’

Once Stephen heard the word bite, he clamped his teeth down con your nipple. You bit your lip to conceal your moan and your eyes widened in worry that your date would know something was up.

'Yeah I've been waiting for an hour, I wish you'd told me.' Your date sounded disappointed and you felt bad that you didn't care.

'I'm sorry I've been sleeping for ages, I can't seem to get out of bed. Rain check?' You apologized as sweetly and profusely as you could, Stephen's ministrations were proving difficult to act normal. His eyes never wavered off of you, his skilled tongue and lips marking your tits up as if to prove you were his and only his. The possessiveness was so alluring, your soft pants were barely audible to your date, thank God, but Stephen wanted to test your endurance.

"Yeah sure. I hope you're doing okay, I'll see you.’’

'Bye.' You stated quickly and hung up and Stephen let go with a pop.

'Masochist.' You comment with a sly smile on your face.

'You love it.' He fired back.

'I'm all sticky.’’ You winced.

All he could do was raise an eyebrow, he lept up put his sweats on and sauntered off to his en suit bathroom to grab a towel to clean you both up. He was in and out quickly but when he got back to you, he dropped his towel where he stood. Stephen drank you in and you looked like a wet dream. His mouth was agape like a dumbfounded idiot. You were stood at the foot of Stephen's bed, naked. His cloak around your neck flowing down the expanse of your back and the air surrounding it, floating about but you were still planted to the floor. Your arms folded behind your back and one of your legs perched up and one straight...you looked magnificent. An angel. And cute since his cloak was absolutely massive on you. You were waiting for him, lik a cute little present for him to unwrap, a sweet smile plastered on your blushing face.

'Fuckkkkk, you're ruthless.' He breathed.

—-

i think im gonna continue a smutty one shot of stephen finding ya naked in his cloak as the main plot cause jesus the idea got me tingling fr 🫣🫣

[twistedtummies2]

Green-Eyed Devil

A silly piece of Sherliam fluffiness; nothing kinky, just sweet foolery. Summary: William James Moriarty always thought that Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson made a good pair...but he finds himself getting very jealous over just HOW good a pair they might be.

In Other Words: Liam goes into “jealous boyfriend mode.” ‘Nuff said. :P

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Another busy day in London. People bustled to and fro in the cool, semi-drizzly afternoon’s yellow-gray light. Paupers held out their hats in hopes of alms, while the gentry chattered, unconcerned by the rain pattering onto their umbrellas. Hoofbeats clip-clapped upon the cobblestone streets as carriages and hansom cabs went back and forth, carrying their passengers quickly but carefully through the mild downpour.

One particular carriage turned a corner onto Baker Street: a black carriage, with strange red-tinted lamps on its sides, which matched the dark, blood-colored lining of its inner cushioning, barely visible through the windows of the coach. The same deep red was painted on the wide wagon wheels. It was a nobleman’s coach, something that turned many eyes, as it was rare for a nobleman to hurry along Baker Street. While the road was by no means a slum, it was not one of the grander parts of the city either: a decent middle-class zone. Those who knew the street best smirked, already having a guess as to where the carriage would stop. They were correct...but not for the reasons they expected. In the driver’s seat of the coach was a young man, dressed in a dark blue suit, with a matching tie and hat, and wire-rimmed spectacles upon his fine nose. His blonde hair fluttered at the sides of his head, half-hiding the nasty scar upon his cheek; the only thing that marred his otherwise handsome, youthful face. A pair of strange red eyes which seemed to dimly glow in the shadows of his hat brim stared resolutely onward...until the carriage neared its destination. “Whoa there!” the man in blue called to the twin horses that pulled the carriage, and tugged on the reins, slowing the stallions to a stop. They whinnied softly and shook their heads as the driver tied the reins off, then hopped down from his seat and opened the door to the coach. “Brother William,” he said to the one inside, “We’ve arrived.” There was a pause...then, a lone figure stepped out of the carriage. He was tall and thin, his stance as elegant as his choice of clothes as he adjusted the gray top hat on his head and tucked a silver-topped cane under one arm. He wore a rich brown suit, and white kid gloves; over this was a thick black overcoat. His countenance was almost identical to that of the other man, with the same blonde hair and unusual red eyes...although his eyes glowed much more brightly, and the whole face seemed narrower, sharper, more mature and almost predator-like in shape, while still having a pleasing, downright attractive demeanor. His expression was serene and gentle, magnetic in the way the features were fixed; a cool, effortlessly composed face that seemed unperturbed by the rain, or anything else, for that matter. The lips on the endlessly calm face stretched ever so slightly into a satisfied smile as he saw the address plaque on the door only a few feet away: 221B. “Brother?” The man in brown turned to the man in blue. “Yes, Louis?” he responded, his voice the same practiced, even calm that could be seen on his face; pleasant, yet unbreakable. Louis James Moriarty squirmed a bit; he looked nervous. “Is this really wise?” he asked, and looked to the door as well. “Asking HIM to join you for dinner, I mean.” “Why not? The Cafe de L’Europe serves fabulous suppers.”

“It’s not the food that worries me,” Louis said, somewhat blandly, and gestured with a toss of his head towards the building. “HE, after all, is simply meant to be a part of your game. And if he figures out the truth through frequent contact…” Louis trailed off. William smiled a little wider. “Ah. Are you afraid the White Pawn might take the Black King, Louis?” the man in brown asked, almost teasingly. “That’s part of it, yes,” Louis answered, in a slow, careful way. William let out a puff of amusement through his nose...then reached out with his free hand, placing it on his brother’s shoulder. Louis turned quickly to face him. “Holmes is a powerful piece in our grand puzzle,” William said softly, making sure not to be heard by any passers-by. “One must know the enemy in order to reach the endgame properly. The more I study him, the more I can learn.” He paused, looking towards the door once more. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to peer through the door. “Besides,” he murmured, and his voice quivered ever so faintly with emotion. “I find him interesting. He seems a clever man...and a lucky one.” Louis narrowed his own eyes and said nothing. He paused before speaking again. “William,” he said, and the genius in brown raised an eyebrow at the use of his name as he gave his younger sibling a sidelong glance. “I don’t like it. I really don’t.” “Holmes’ interest in me, or mine in him?” William checked, voice even and seemingly uncaring. “Both,” Louis confessed. “The more time you spend with him, the more dangerous the game becomes.” “The game was always dangerous, Louis,” William said with a light chuckle, and his red eyes twinkled deviously. “Now the game is just more FUN.” “That’s my point,” Louis responded. “You’re literally flirting with trouble; you could be dining with disaster. I know you, brother. Don’t think I didn’t realize what was going on during the train trip to Durham, or the way you smiled when you spoke of his visit to the university.” William’s smile flickered, showing weakness for the first time, though he kept his eyes on the door. “Louis,” he said at length, “I know you’re looking out for what’s best for me. And I appreciate it. I do.” He turned back and smiled to his younger brother. “I will ALWAYS appreciate you, little brother,” he promised, his voice filled with firm meaning. “That is never going to change, no matter what happens in the future - in our plans, between myself and Holmes - you will always be my light. Having said that, I am not the sort of person to allow my emotions to ruin my strategies.” Louis seemed to relax...and a small smile of his own fell onto his face. His cheeks seemed to turn a bit pink. “If you say so,” he said, his own voice a bit shaky, before his eyes hardened again. “But after Enders in January, Hope in February, and the business with Mr. Bonde in March…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath before stiffening his back. “...If he continues to incommode us, I will remove him myself.” William’s smile was affectionate. He nodded. “I would ask no one else to do it, brother,” he said, sounding pleased to hear it...then added, very quietly, seemingly more to himself than to Louis, “I’m not sure I would have the stomach for it now…” There was an awkward pause, which was interrupted by Louis giving a nigh-imperceptible shiver. William perceived it, however. “How thoughtless of me, keeping you standing in the rain!” he smiled anew, and patted his brother on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take the carriage somewhere dry and get yourself a meal? I can take a hansom up to meet you.” Louis nodded and told William where he was going, then drove the carriage off. William watched his brother go, then marched up to the door of the flat house at long last. He could feel the rain speckling his own clothes, and had no desire to be soaked. He took the brass knocker and, without another moment’s hesitation, he knocked upon the door. Almost immediately, he heard footsteps coming to the door...then, a woman - a little older than himself, but not by more than a few years - answered. Her eyes were the color of emeralds, her hair an auburn shade, tied into a bun. She was dressed in a very proper-looking pink tea dress, a cream-colored apron draped over her front. The woman tilted her head slightly as she blinked up at William. “Hello?” she greeted, curiously. “May I help you?” William doffed his hat; the drizzled rain felt cool and soothing on his golden scalp. “Good day,” he greeted, in his most dulcet voice. “My name is William James Moriarty. I am a Professor of Mathematics at Durham University. I take it you are the famous Miss Hudson?” The woman’s cheeks turned almost as pink as her clothes, and she smiled. “Only thanks to Dr. Watson’s stories,” she chuckled, then frowned and mumbled to herself: “I really need to remind him it’s MISS Hudson, not Missus...yet…” She shook herself out of that thought and stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in!” she said cheerily. “No need to stand out in the rain!” “Thank you,” Professor Moriarty said with a short, respectful bow of his head, and stepped into the parlor of the flat house. He offered his cane, his hat, and his black overcoat to the landlady-slash-housekeeper, who graciously smiled as she put the items up on a rack… ...Then scowled as Moriarty began to walk across the room towards the stairs. “OI!” she suddenly snapped. William stopped short, eyes wide, a little alarmed...although the carefully constructed evenness of his voice never once gave that away. “What’s the matter, ma’am?” he asked, politely. Miss Hudson took a breath to calm herself. “Nothing, sir, nothing,” she mumbled. “Just...you forgot to wipe your feet on the mat.” William blinked, and looked down at his shoes. He admitted he felt a flutter of embarrassment as he saw he had left rain-soaked footprints on the floor leading up to the staircase. “Oh,” he whispered to himself, and smiled apologetically, his voice as graceful as his movements as he stepped back, retracing his steps carefully, and did so. “My apologies. It quite slipped my mind.” “Never mind,” huffed Miss Hudson. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Professor, just...at least you LISTEN, unlike that stubborn, skull-wearing…!” She took another breath and sighed. William’s smile became more akin to a smirk. “I take it Mr. Holmes is as trying as Dr. Watson’s publications would lead one to believe?” he puzzled. “No,” Miss Hudson droned. “He’s even WORSE. I’ve never had children, sir, but after Sherlock Holmes, I think I know what it’s like to raise one, and I don’t think it’s fun.” Moriarty chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he soothed, and cocked his own head. “Is Mr. Holmes in, by the way? May I see him?” “He is, and I suppose that will depend upon Mr. Holmes,” Miss Hudson answered, and stepped in front of the young Professor, leading him back to the stairs. “Not that I imagine he’d have any objections. He speaks of you often, you know.” William paused at the foot of the steps. “Does he now?” he questioned, seemingly more to himself than Miss Hudson, but she answered anyway. “Yes, almost as often as he rambles on about how important tobacco ash is in an investigation,” she mumbled, with a wry chuckle. “He gets so wrapped up in the little things!” “Well, the little things are often the most important,” Moriarty defended as the pair made their way up the stairs to the upper floor of the building. “That’s what he says,” Miss Hudson shrugged. “I’ve never understood it myself, nor how many different types of ashes he claims there are! Something like one hundred different varieties-” “One hundred forty, actually.” Miss Hudson froze on the steps and looked to the Professor, whose uncanny smile never once faltered. He hadn’t sounded like he was bragging or patronizing, he just...said it. “Yes,” she murmured, and nodded slowly. “That’s exactly right, I remember now...have you read that monograph he published?” Moriarty gave one of “his smiles”: the masks of pleasant sweetness where his eyes closed and his lips curved perhaps a little TOO wide to be genuine looks of happiness. “We’ll say yes,” he answered, in a chirping sort of manner. Miss Hudson raised an eyebrow at the cryptic reaction, then shrugged and led Moriarty up the steps. The Professor followed at a polite pace and distance as she approached the door at the top of the stairs, leading into the rooms of her most popular tenant. She knocked on the door, sharply rapping it with her knuckles. “Sherlock!” she called. “Go away!” a voice from the other side of the door called back. William couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath as Miss Hudson flushed with indignation. “What’s that kind of talk for?” she shouted. “You have a client!” “Tell them to go away, too; I’m busy,” was the snorted response. Then came a new voice: milder, more genteel. “Ah, Miss Hudson...ask them if they wouldn’t mind waiting? We won’t be too long, I should think…” “No more than an hour,” added the first voice, and the Professor was almost certain he heard the other voice hiss angrily: “Not helping, Sherlock!” “I don’t mind waiting,” Moriarty said, placidly. And he didn’t; there was no rush to his visitation. Miss Hudson, however, was incensed, and would hear none of it. “Like HELL you will!” she snarled, causing William to quirk his brow at her language before she glared at the door like it was the source of all the trouble in her life. “Sherlock, you cannot keep a gentleman like Mr. Moriarty waiting! He is-” “Mister WHO?!” came the first voice. “Moriarty! Professor Moriarty from Durham!” Miss Hudson answered. Scarcely had she gotten out the last word, however, than the door burst open, and Miss Hudson jumped aside with a yelp as an excited figure all but jumped through the doorway. William’s smile softened and took on a shade of amusement at the sight of Sherlock Holmes, who looked breathless and almost manic, his smile stretched wide across the handsome but angular proportions of his face. His dark blue eyes (which Moriarty noticed were slightly baggier than usual) gleamed as his dark hair - unkempt as ever - sprung out in every direction, from the curlicue cowlick to his untidy ponytail. He was dressed in his usual garb: not the deerstalker and inverness cape the public knew from the illustrations in the Strand, but a dark blue coat and trousers, along with brown leather shoes that had seen better days, and a white shirt with its top button undone. Moriarty couldn’t help but give a passing glance at the glimpse of a strong chest and collarbone that were visible through that partition… The gangly detective grinned widely, as if his whole day had just become a little sunnier, and extended a hand to William - the one that wore his silver skull ring. “LIAM!” he boomed with a jovial laugh. “You couldn’t have come at a better time! I was just about to get started on a chemical experiment, come in, come in!” Before either the Professor or Miss Hudson could stop him, the detective all but dragged the mathematician through the door. Miss Hudson blinked at the closed door after it slammed shut...then sighed and shook her head, before sniffing primly and heading back downstairs. “Mad as a hatter; he always will be,” she muttered. Meanwhile, the Professor brushed himself off briefly as he stood in the entrance area of Sherlock’s flat. Holmes smirked, tucking one hand into his pants pocket, the other scratching his chin as he eyed William critically. “So, Liam...how was your ride over here? You took your own coach, didn’t you?” “Bumpier than I would like, but not too bad,” shrugged William, not at all bothered by how easily Holmes guessed. “Well, with the weather, you might have found the trains easier. Did our case on the Paddington line make you that squeamish?” teased Sherlock. William gave another of “his” smiles. “Perhaps a little,” he lied in a sing-song way. “Ah...how do you know he came in his own coach?” Blue and red eyes turned to look at the third person in the room: another young man, in his twenties - roughly the same age as both the sleuth and the schemer - dressed in an olive-colored jacket and trousers, along with a brown vest, a neat-looking off-white shirt, and a burnt-yellow-colored ascot. His skin was very lightly tanned, his eyes were the same shade as his vest, and his hair was a sort of pale grayish-blonde color. The eyes were very wide and bright, and peered between the two geniuses with curious interest as he stepped closer. “Elementary, My Dear Watson,” Sherlock chimed, and then looked back to Moriarty. “I don’t think you properly got introduced, did you?” William shook his head, and then looked to Watson with a smile, extending a hand. “A pleasure to see you again, Doctor,” the Professor greeted in a warm but casual voice. “William James Moriarty, at your service.” “It’s nice to meet you, officially,” Watson smiled back with a nod, and shook the hand of Professor Moriarty. “John H. Watson. Thank you, by the way, for helping Sherlock with the Hawthorne case.” “Oh, please,” Moriarty chuckled, lifting his other hand in a dismissive gesture. “Say nothing of it. I’m simply glad I could help an innocent person and see a criminal brought to justice. It was exciting, playing detective, really. I’m surprised you didn’t publish that one.” “Sherlock talked me out of it,” admitted Watson, and gave an accusing look at the detective. Holmes shrugged. “It was a simple case. Too simple, too quick,” he said, boredly. “You two were the only things that made it interesting. I figured your adoring readers would like something more interesting.” “Sure they would,” Watson muttered, then looked back to Moriarty, huge eyes burning with interest. “Now...about your ride here...do you know how he guessed it?” “He didn’t guess it,” insisted Moriarty. “He DEDUCED it, Doctor. And I think I know.” “Oh?” Holmes spoke up, and smiled challengingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Prove it. Go on, Liam, what were the clues?” “Three clues, really: it was all a question of sight, recollection, and smell.” “Huh?” Watson spoke up, brow furrowing in curiosity. “What do you mean?” “First, recollection,” Moriarty explained, and began counting off the points on his fingers. “Mr. Holmes knows I live in Durham. To say that’s a bit of a walk from here is an understatement, and I do not own a bicycle. So there was no other way to get here beyond covered transportation, especially in this weather: the rain may be light sprinkling, but with that much ground to cover, I would have been soaked to the bone. This leads into sight: if I had even come in a dogcart, for instance, the mud and rainwater would have been splashed onto me.” “But you could have come in a cab!” “That’s where the smell comes in, John,” Holmes interjected, pulling up the sleeve on one of his arms and scratching at a spot there before rolling the sleeve back down as he elaborated. “No driver would take someone from Durham all the way to Baker Street; too much of a distance, and the Moriarty household is much too remote to simply hail a passing cab. Liam either would have had to catch a cab or a horsebus from the train station, or take his own carriage directly from his house. And as there is no scent of smoke from the steam engines or any crowds on him, as you would expect from the former scenario, that leaves only the option of him making the full journey in his carriage.” Watson blinked...then let out a slightly nervous chuckle. “Well...it...sounds kind of obvious when you put it that way,” he admitted, sheepishly. “That’s because it is obvious,” Holmes boasted. “Indeed,” slithered William. “Just as it is obvious Mr. Watson has been diluting your cocaine solution from seven to five percent.” Holmes gaped and Watson gasped. “H-How...how did you guess that?!” sputtered Sherlock, who looked mortified. William’s smile was simple and innocent. “Elementary, My Dear Holmes,” he answered, in a gently teasing tone...and pointedly said NOTHING else. Holmes gulped thinly, and gave a tight sort of smile. “Liam, you rascal,” he hissed under his breath, eyes dancing. “You’re GOOD at this game.” “Thank you,” Moriarty purred, with a slight bow, then looked towards the chemistry set. It was prepared on a table near the window. “So, what was the experiment you mentioned, if you don’t mind my asking?” “Oh!” Sherlock Holmes exclaimed, snapping his fingers, and gestured for both Dr. Watson and Professor Moriarty to join him as he sat down at his chemistry set. Watson stood to his left, while William paused at his right, both watching the detective check on the items he had gathered, to make sure everything was in place. “Part of a case?” William guessed. “Yep,” Holmes popped the word out with his lips before continuing: “A man in Cheshire - John Vincent Harden by name - came to us with the problem yesterday.” Watson nodded, and pulled from his coat pocket a piece of paper. On it was a list of items, untidily scrawled. “Mr. Harden’s friend is currently in the dock under suspicion of murdering the family butler,” the doctor explained. “This piece of paper - which includes the murder of the butler as part of a number of surly deeds to be done - is the only clue that can prove he might be innocent.” “I see,” William murmured, looking at the paper briefly...then nearly jumped as Sherlock snatched it away. The sleuth glanced over it before scoffing through his nostrils. “Offhand, I can deduce very little,” he muttered, placing the paper on the table and squinting down at it. “Only that the paper comes from Mongolia and has no watermark, that the one who wrote this is a drinker, and that they are probably not very rich.” Liam grinned, looking proud as a plum, and was about to comment...but Watson beat him to it. “The odor of cheap brandy, plus the weight and texture of the paper, right?” he smiled hopefully. Holmes grinned. “Very good, John!” he chuckled, and nudged the doctor’s shoulder with a light punch, making Watson squeak like a mouse before gripping his shoulder. Watson gave a blushing, shy smile as he rubbed his shoulder and Holmes all but sang out: “You’re getting better at this every day!” Watson shuffled on his feet. “It was...really nothing; you can smell the brandy part, easily,” he mumbled. This was the moment where Professor Moriarty’s usually marble-carved smile flickered faintly, and his red eyes seemed to shine a bit brighter...and not in a pleasant manner. He slowly looked Watson over, taking in the way the surgeon and former soldier stood and smiled at Sherlock. He could sense the doctor’s heightened pulse even from here...the way the pupils dilated as he watched Holmes work… It could just be happiness at being praised - the rather wide, almost childlike small on John’s face could make that clear - but, of course, it could also mean something far, FAR more meaningful. William glared...but then shook his head, clearing it. No. Not a chance. There was no reason to get worked up. Not yet, anyway. “Liam,” Holmes spoke up, catching Moriarty’s attention as he handed him the paper again. “Is there anything you can see that I haven’t noted yet?” “Black dust,” William said, without taking the parchment piece up. “The ink half-hides it; the man either works as a lamplighter, or frequently goes somewhere where gaslights that require coal are plentifully found.” Holmes nodded, humming softly in thought as he pulled his magnifying glass from his coat pocket and inspected the letter closely. As he did, Watson inched closer...and Moriarty felt his own chest tighten almost imperceptibly as he saw the doctor lean against Holmes, his head in the crook of the detective’s shoulder and neck. It was a casual sort of movement; something intimate, but not necessarily sensual. The same went for the affectionate smiles the two shared before looking back at the paper. All the same, William suddenly sensed the way his own fists tightened at his sides. He felt strangely cold, and he didn’t like it. “Well, until I put it through the chemical test, I can’t say much else,” Sherlock sighed at last. “So far, none of this helps Mr. Harden’s friend: he works at a theater with gaslights, and is, in fact, a frequent patron of a local pub.” So saying, Holmes stood up and held out a hand to Watson, flexing his fingers in a beckoning motion. “Light, please,” he ordered. Watson rolled his eyes but obligingly pulled and struck a match from his waistcoat pocket. Holmes plucked up the match, and then, grinning widely, lifted the paper, preparing to set it ablaze… “STOP!” Holmes jumped at Watson’s shout. “What now?” “You can’t just burn the whole thing!” John protested. “I can, and I will,” huffed Holmes. “He DOES need to reduce the paper to ash in order to conduct the experiment,” Moriarty put in. “Thank you, Liam!” Sherlock nodded. William smiled, a light glimmer of victory in his expression...but the victory was squashed when Watson spoke up again. “Well, burn a small portion of it then,” John suggested. “After all, this is your only sample: if something goes wrong, and you burn the whole thing, you won’t be able to conduct the experiment again, properly, will you? Plus, you’ll be ridding the courtroom of evidence!” Holmes opened his mouth to snap back something...then closed it...and blinked. “...Oh,” he murmured. “I...somehow did not consider that.” He smiled with friendly admiration. “John, what would I do without you?” he chuckled. “Well, you need SOMEONE more normal to tone down that insanity of yours,” John smirked back. Holmes laughed. William’s smile remained fixed...but his eyes narrowed. “You two are even closer than I realized,” he observed, quietly. Sherlock had just asked John to fetch him some scissors. As the doctor returned with the cutting blades, Holmes nodded. “Well, yeah. We’re pretty much inseparable.” “Yes, like two peas in a pod,” Watson agreed, as Sherlock cut a small portion of the paper off the rest. He then tilted his head and added: “I suppose more like two cherries in a bunch, actually. I’ve never liked peas.” “Neither have I!” Holmes exclaimed. “What a remarkable coincidence!” Watson grinned brightly. William felt his molars grind against one another very slightly. He breathed through his nose to relax; externally, he looked thoroughly composed, his smile still set...but inside, he could feel something bubbling up inside him, like magma in a volcano. He wanted Holmes to smile at him that way. He suddenly wanted to be the one there with him constantly. It wasn’t fair that someone else got to be around his nemesis so often. “I always knew you two made a good pair,” he thought to say, as Holmes burned the cut piece and then carefully brushed the ashes into a small bowl. “John has helped me on nearly all my cases since Jefferson Hope,” Sherlock smiled. “Honestly, it’s hard to imagine a time before he came around.” “Aww,” Watson mumbled, blushing once again. “Thank you, Sherlock.” “Oh, don’t think anything of it,” sniffed Holmes, as he poured the ashes into a beaker filled with a curious blue liquid. “After all the times you’ve bungled things, I have to stroke your ego a LITTLE bit.” “Oi! I do not bungle things!” Watson cried out. “Oh, no?” smirked Holmes sitting back and crossing his legs and arms with a supercilious smile. “And what about that case with Miss Stoner? You were so proud of yourself when you found footprints outside her bedroom window...only for us to find out they were OUR footprints the whole time!” “That...I...a-anyone could have made that mistake!” Watson sputtered, withdrawing childishly as he rubbed the back of his neck with embarrassment. “Not me!” chirruped Sherlock Holmes. Watson glared. “Oh, no?” he retorted, mimicking Holmes’ voice and posture as he smirked deviously. “Then how about that time you let those counterfeiters go because you accidentally set the house on fire?” “IF LESTRADE HAD BEEN THERE ON TIME, THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN CAUGHT!” Holmes shouted, and pouted like a sulking child. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that again!” “How do you set a house on fire with a spoon, Holmes?” Watson ribbed. “Clearly, another of your many talents.” Holmes growled...then reached up and pulled Watson down - “C’mere, you!” - giving the gray-blonde soldier a noogie and making him shriek and laugh. William watched the shenanigans with utter apathy. Or at least, utter external apathy. Internally, he wished he could have such an open, joking friendship...in truth, Moriarty had never really felt he HAD a true friend till Sherlock Holmes. He’d understood what friendship was, but beyond his family, he tended to see most people - even his closest subordinates - as pawns for use in his grand scheme.                                                                                                                                                                                             “Ahem,” the Professor cleared his throat, and the pair froze...before jumping away from each other like singed cats. The reaction was so much like two young lovers being caught kissing in private that it almost made Moriarty squirm. Almost. “As amusing as these hijinks are...what about your experiment, Holmes?” “Ah!” Sherlock exclaimed, smacking his own forehead. “Thank you, Liam, for reminding me. Watch carefully, both of you…” So saying, Holmes placed the beaker under a large contraption on the table: it consisted of a glass flask, with a burner under it, and a long curlicue tube - which was patched in several places - stretching from its open top. The beaker was set under the end of the tube, and Holmes switched on the burner. The flask was filled with a bright green liquid. It bubbled and fizzed, and soon began to rise in the glass chamber, pumping into the tube. Slowly but surely, it began to make its way through the piping. Holmes watched the fluid flow intently, his feet tapping on the floor like an excited, eager child, his hands drumming his knees impatiently as he muttered to himself. “Yes...yes, good, good...c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon...hmmm, yes-yes-oop! No, no, bad, bad-yes! Good! C’mon, c’mon-ah! That’s it! C’mon, c’mon...yes, yes, yes…!” Both William and Watson leaned close as the fluid reached the end of the tube...and, after an excruciatingly lengthy wait of exactly three seconds...PLIPP. A single green drop plopped into the beaker. FWOOMPH! A puff of smoke burst from the beaker as the fluid turned red...then purple...then changed back to blue. There was a pause...then, Holmes grinned wider. He began to chuckle...and the chuckle became a giggle...and the giggle became a loud, roaring laugh as he jumped out of his chair, throwing his arms up in joy. “IT WORKED! IT WORKED, JOHN!” he almost screamed. Before either of them could comment, Holmes suddenly slapped both hands down on William’s shoulders. Moriarty stiffened almost imperceptibly; he felt his heart almost stop as he looked into the earnest, happy blue eyes of the detective. “Liam...Liam, it worked!” he gasped out. “I knew it! I KNEW it! You knew it, too, yes? Right?” Moriarty blinked a few times; for a moment his mask fell away. His eyes were very wide and seemed to sparkle faintly...but finally, he recomposed himself, and licked his lips thinly before speaking. “I did,” he confirmed with a nod. “Distilled sodium chloride, yes?” “Exactly! EXACTLY!” Holmes cheered with an extremely hyper nod. “Um...wh-what just happened?” Sherlock turned around fast to face Watson. Moriarty felt a pang in his blackened heart as he realized he missed the warmth and closeness. “Oh, you don’t know?” Holmes blinked. “Would I have asked if I did?” Watson reasoned. “Hmph. Touche,” shrugged Sherlock, and pointed to the beaker. “It’s simple, John: that reaction could only have happened if the paper was, at some point, exposed to a great deal of salt water vapor.” Watson gaped. “Then the person who wrote the paper came from somewhere by the sea. Most likely the dockyards!” Watson realized. “Precisely!” Holmes said, with a clap of his hands. “And you know what that means, don’t you?” “That Mr. Harden’s friend is innocent! He lives in a spot far, FAR from the docks; on the other side of London, in fact! Well done, Sherlock!” “Yes, indeed,” William spoke up, a little more forcefully than he usually liked. He wasn’t at all liking the closeness of the pair, in any sense of the word, in that given moment...and, he realized, he had yet to present his invitation to his nemesis. “Now, Mr. Holmes, since you’re experiment’s done, I wanted to know-” “Sherlock!” Watson exclaimed, and Moriarty realized - with no small amount of affrontation - that neither had been listening to him. Watson, however, immediately backpedaled and smiled nervously at the red-eyed guest. “Oh, sorry, Professor…” “No, no. Go ahead,” Moriarty purred, trying not to clench his teeth as he spoke. He barely succeeded. Watson nodded, and looked back to his dark-haired partner in crimefighting. “How about we celebrate with some dinner? My treat!” “Excellent suggestion, John; I didn’t eat at all yesterday, I could use something now,” Holmes admitted, somewhat sheepishly. “You need to watch that,” John warned. “I will try,” Holmes laughed weakly. “Where should we go?” “Why not the Bugle Tavern?” Watson suggested, in a tone that suggested there was some significance in the spot. William James Moriarty was by no means a snob: his upbringing and his philosophy prevented that. But with that said...he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of superiority flood through him when he heard John Watson’s suggestion. He knew the Bugle; he’d taken a witness there for interrogation during the case of the Earl of Argleton. It was not a BAD place, but it was on the seedier side of the city; the food was decent but cheap. Compared to where he planned to take Holmes, it was hardly an even match, and as the detective was his intellectual equal - a man of many similar tastes - it seemed unlikely he’d ever- “A perfect choice, John!” Holmes declared, and William’s perfect poker face very, VERY nearly broke apart at the seams. “We’ll have a quick dinner, then head to the station to speak to Gregson.” “Right,” Watson nodded as he headed to the door and picked up his bowler hat and cane. “Perhaps with the help of our evidence, and a few very simple charts and graphs, we can convince him that night follows day.” “Yes, and that two plus two will inevitably equal four,” Sherlock snickered, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket as he started to follow Watson… ...Then froze...and slowly turned around to look at Moriarty, who still stood beside the chemistry set. “Oh, ah...Liam...I’m sorry, was there something you needed?” he asked. Moriarty blinked slowly...then, gave another of his far-too-happy-looking smiles. “Oh, it can wait till another day!” he sang. “Off you go! Enjoy yourself!” “Thanks, I will,” Holmes chuckled, and turned to Watson, extending the hand that held his cigarette. “Light, please? Again?” Watson obligingly lit the cigarette. Sherlock took a long drag from it, and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling, before leaving the flat. “See ya, Liam!” he called over his shoulder with a quick wave. Watson smiled politely and tipped his hat to the Professor, before using his cane to shut the door as they departed. The instant both were gone, Moriarty’s expression became cold as ice. He slowly turned his head to look out the window - almost the way a snake might turn its head when charmed from a basket - and watched as he soon saw Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson walk out into the soft shower and down the street. He saw the doctor’s arm squeeze Holmes’ shoulder...saw the way the two inched closer… William’s red eyes blazed like burning coals from the pits of Hell. He briskly marched out of the room and down the stairs. “Ah, Professor, there you are!” Miss Hudson greeted, with an oblivious smile, and handed him back his overcoat, hat, and cane. “Did you get what you needed?” Moriarty swung on his coat and carefully placed his hat upon his head. “No,” he said, very, very softly - so softly Miss Hudson wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly - as he took the cane, gripping it so tightly the hidden sword within nearly rattled. “But I still might.” He tipped his hat and left, saying nothing else but “Good day, Miss Hudson,” as he departed the flat house and went to hail a cab.

Miss Hudson wasn’t sure, but she almost swore the red eyes had turned green.

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The following day, at the Moriarty Mansion, William was sitting alone in the study, poring over a quaint and curious volume of Egyptian lore. Louis had prepared tea and sandwiches, and the mastermind - currently dressed in his fine, gold-and-burgundy robe - was sipping from a cup of Earl Gray while he read. A knock came at the study door, and Moriarty glanced quickly at the portal before placing the thin silk bookmark on the page he was focused on. He then shut the leatherbound tome and put it to one side. “Come in, James,” he called out. The door opened, and James Bonde’s turquoise eyes soon connected with William’s. The master spy was dressed in their usual garments: a light gray suit and small homburg hat, a neatly-pressed lavender tie elegantly bound around their throat. Bonde smiled, the beauty mark at the corner of one eye crinkling slightly as they removed their hat and swept some loose strands of corn-colored hair out of their face.

“How did you know it was me?” “Two very good reasons,” William smiled. “First of all, because I was expecting you, and second of all, because I heard your footsteps in the hall, and your step is unlike any other in England.” The Napoleon of Crime waved a hand towards the seat across from him and simply said, “Please.” James Bonde took the hint, and sat down, hands in his lap, legs crossed, chin held up with cocksure pride. “I take it you have a mission for me?” “Should you choose to accept it,” William confirmed with a nod, and lifted his teacup again, stirring the tea with elegant, slight turns of his wrist. “In your...ahem…‘past life,’ you spent some time with my appointed nemesis, yes?” “Yes,” smirked Bonde, a twinkle in their eye that called back to the days when Irene Adler planned her plots. “I guess that means I have the advantage of being the only agent in our organization who’s slept with the enemy.” Moriarty froze, red eyes latching onto Bonde. “Or, at least, in enemy territory,” James corrected quickly. Moriarty smiled. “James,” he said, far-too-sweetly. “You know how I really feel about him, don’t you?” Bonde nodded slowly, their own smile faltering a bit in confusion. “Well then, please don’t make jokes like that again,” William went on, in a voice that indicated he was a hundred times more aggravated than he chose to let on. James gulped nervously as William sipped his tea far, FAR too crisply. He could almost imagine the unspoken words from the Napoleon of Crime: If you do, they’ll never find your body. “...I’m, uh...I-I’m sorry,” Bonde stammered out with uncharacteristic fear. “It’s fine,” William said with a light sigh, and shook his head as he put his teacup down. His smile settled into a look of sincere apology. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bonde. I’m...feeling a little testy today, that’s all.” Sensing he was out of danger, James nodded and smiled back sympathetically. “I take it your nemesis is what my mission concerns?” the spy said, and then turned serious, frowning. “Is he getting in the way too often?” “Not often enough,” mumbled Professor Moriarty, and shook his head again, this time in answer. “No, James, it’s not that. And it’s not Mr. Holmes I want you to deal with.” James raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Watson, then?” Bonde guessed. “As a matter of fact, yes,” William said, and sat back in his seat, steepling his fingers. “I want you to keep an eye on the flat for two weeks. I want you to pay particular attention to Watson, and whenever he and Holmes leave together for any reason, follow them. I don’t care if they’re simply going to shop for tobacco at the market: keep tabs on them both. Next Friday, you will make a final report on anything suspicious you encountered.” “Suspicious? In what way?” Bonde frowned. “You’d expect US to be the ones up to no good, after all.” Moriarty chuckled. “I will let you be the judge,” he purred, smoothly. Bonde looked confused, but nodded slowly. “Very well, I’ll take the job,” James said, and cocked his head. “But...William...why?” Moriarty shut his eyes, pausing as he tried to decide on his words. “Let us simply say,” he answered steadily, “That I’m concerned about their relationship. Take careful stock of all you see, while I deal with the plans for our next caper, and the rest deal with other matters.” “As you wish,” Bonde said, and stood up from his chair, replacing his hat. “One other thing, James,” Moriarty added, lifting a single finger in instruction. “This mission is particularly special: I’d like to keep it between us. Tell no one else: not any other member of the gang. Not even my own brothers.” James frowned, narrowing his eyes; he wasn’t sure what was so important that had William this worked up...but clearly it mattered a great deal to the Professor. The True M. “Yes, sir,” Bonde said, and tapped his hat brim. “I’ll do my best.” “Very good. You are dismissed; if you need help, inform me. Good day, Bonde.” “Good day, Professor,” smiled James, and exited promptly. The moment the door shut behind James Bonde, William sighed to himself, bowing his head quietly in musing thought. “I suppose,” he whispered to the empty room of books, “That it’s quite wasteful of me to use my Knight for such a menial job in the grand scheme of the game...one should never misuse resources…” He paused...then smirked as he lifted his teacup again, and took another sip before picking up his book to continue reading. “...Then again,” he chuckled lightly, “I’ve committed far worse sins than a little self-indulgent espionage. I AM the Lord of Crime.” He glared as he hissed under his breath: “If anyone is stealing a heart here, it’s going to be ME.”

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James Bonde stared somewhat dully out the window of the empty house across the street from 221B Baker Street. Teal-toned eyes kept a careful watch in the night on the one lit room in the house. He could see the silhouette of Sherlock Holmes, fiddling away on his violin. He could hear the detective playing, too...a nostalgic smile came to his face; he could almost remember hearing those tunes play him to sleep, in another lifetime… Bonde shook his head and lightly slapped his own cheek (more of a rough pat) to keep himself focused. He’d been instructed by William, to watch them from the moment they awoke to the moment they went to bed. The doctor had evidently retired some time ago, but Holmes was still up and about, playing his violin and tinkering with his contraptions. It had been a few days since Bonde started his mission, and Holmes had been given a case by one Mr. Cubitt from Norfolk, involving a mysterious secret code. Bonde had followed Holmes and Watson every which way they went, but so far, nothing of particular unsuality had occurred; Holmes refused to travel to Norfolk till Cubitt sent more information, and so much of their days were spent in the flat, simply trying to puzzle out what they had been given so far. As a result, the past three days had really been quite boring for Bonde. A part of him felt a pang, as it always did, and he wished William had given him a different job; the side that was still Irene Adler wished she could walk across the street and just...tell Holmes the simple fact. Certainly, he guessed she was still alive, but...that was nothing to a direct encounter. James Bonde was a professional, and held out: whatever purpose William had for this mission - be it personal, or something related to the Great Problem - his job was to keep a close eye on things and keep track of any interesting movements: from before they woke up to the moment they both clocked out. Right on cue, Holmes’ silhouette disappeared from the window...and not but sixty seconds later, the light in the room went out. Bond sighed softly, and stood up, stretching; the room in the Empty House was small, dark, and not very large. It was lonely, too: aside from getting meals, Bonde stayed here all day, and could not focus too much on any great amusements, such as reading, lest he lose focus. All he had was solitaire; Moran had been teaching him how to play cards, and it was better than nothing. Bonde grumbled to himself about the slowness of the case as he began to pack up his playing cards...but no sooner had he tucked the box back into a pocket in his jacket lining...than he froze, as he saw the front door of 221B open. From his spot in the window, Bonde watched intently, wondering what was going on. The unmistakable figure of Dr. Watson crept quietly out the door. He shut it silently, and glanced from side to side, as if checking to make sure no one on the street was watching him. The street was silent and quiet; lonely on that dark night. The Doctor twirled his cane, propping its length against his elbow, and began to stroll down the street. Bonde could make out Watson’s brown eyes; they furtively darted from side to side in a ferret-like way. Unlike Moriarty, Dr. Watson had an absolute lack of anything resembling a poker face. Bonde continued to watch as Watson approached an alley...then, after checking once again, slipped into the passage between the buildings and vanished. Suddenly realizing he’d lost track of his target, Bonde cursed under his breath and raced downstairs and across the street… ...But by the time he reached the alley, Dr. Watson was nowhere to be found. “Damn,” muttered Bonde...then took a breath, and straightened his tie and hair, which had been tousled in his quick sprint. There was nothing to be done now; the question was, whether to report this to William now, or wait? After pondering for a moment, Bonde walked off down the street back towards his own lodgings. He would wait. It’s what William would want. For all he knew, this was a one-time affair; whatever had Watson acting so sneakily, it could be resolved by morning. Then he would have no reason to worry at all. Right?

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“Six times?” Professor Moriarty repeated, blinking quickly in surprise. “Yes: six times in just two weeks. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, in fact,” nodded James Bonde, standing almost like a warrior at attention as he made his private report. He was standing near the threshold of William’s room in the manor. William James Moriarty was dressed in his usual clothes, minus his brown coat, which currently hung loosely on his bedpost. “And you’ve lost him every time?” William frowned; he didn’t sound angry, or even disappointed. He was simply checking his facts. “Not exactly,” Bonde claimed, and hastened to elaborate: “The past two times, I was able to catch up with him, but I can’t follow him beyond a certain point.” “What do you mean?” “He’s been visiting a noble’s house.” William’s eyes widened. “He’s what?” “To the Forrester estate,” clarified Bonde. “He climbs over the wall at a certain point, leaps into the yard...then, every night, after a couple hours, crawls back up and high-tails it back to Baker Street.” “Hmmmm,” Moriarty murmured, placing a finger to his lips in thought as he looked down at the floor, brow furrowing. “Have you seen what happens when he goes over the gate?” “This last time, yes,” nodded Bonde. “He doesn’t enter the house, but instead runs to a gazebo in the courtyard. He clearly knows the residence well; he knows when the night watchman comes around with his dog, and avoids them.” Professor Moriarty scowled and made a sour sound in the back of this throat.. Things were more serious than he thought: behavior like that wasn’t just sneaky, it was literally criminal. It appeared that a stolen heart was far from the worst thing he had to fear from John H. Watson. “What do you think he’s up to, William?” James asked. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. Yet,” Moriarty responded. “But I intend to find out.”

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That very night, being a Friday, Professor Moriarty lay in wait behind a tree, in a park area across from the Forrester Estate. He wore a long, black, hooded cloak over his usual suit, and gripped his sword cane tightly in one hand. His red eyes glowed in the dark as he kept his focus zeroed in on the high stone walls of the mansion spot. The Forrester Family was not a bad one, nor even the most noble: they were gentry, people in the upper-middle class, who qualified among the elite but lacked the status of proper Lords and Ladies, Knights and Dames, and so on. With what they had, they were generous, and most considered them friendly. William had nothing against them, and while he sought to destroy the social order...that didn’t mean destroying the good in it. What he wanted was to eradicate evil through his own means… ...He wasn’t sure whether or not to hope he would have to do that tonight. He saw the glare of a bullseye lamp through the grates in the black iron gate that closed off the estate. The distant shape of a man with a large, black dog on a leash walked past and then disappeared: that was the night watchman James Bonde had mentioned, no doubt. Almost on cue, not long after the watchman passed, Moriarty saw a familiar figure - dressed in a green coat and a dark blue bowler hat - trot around a corner. Moriarty narrowed his eyes as Dr. Watson flattened his back against the wall. His expression was tense, worried...almost scared. He glanced from side to side, and sighed with relief; he hadn’t noticed William, and was glad to find apparently no one had spotted him yet. “It’s alright,” William heard Watson say. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him…” Moriarty felt his own eyes blazing as he suspected who the “he” Watson referred to was. “Soon,” Watson added to himself, adjusting his tie and then looking up at the wall. “Soon...it will all be over…” Then, without another word, the Doctor jumped up and grabbed hold of the wall’s edge. He let out a sharp yipe, and bit his lip to silence himself; as he scrambled up to climb over the wall, the sounds and motions he made reminded William so much of a big, dumb dog trying to clamber over a fence, he nearly laughed. Nearly. Not quite. From what he was hearing, he was beginning to have grave worries. Once Watson disappeared over the wall, William took his turn to check and make sure there were no witnesses nearby...then - cloak fluttering about him as he went - he raced to the wall, and leapt over it with the grace of a gazelle. The courtyard was lushly kept, with grass, small topiary trees, and little yellow flowers all around. Quaint and tended to with perfect decorum. Across the lawn of green grass, Watson saw Dr. Watson racing towards a distant red-and-blue gazebo; it was octagonal in shape, and was a closed-off affair; no door, but with thick, tinted windows on seven of its eight sides. William was about to dart forward...when he heard the barking of the Watchman’s dog. Quickly, he dove into the bushes, and crouched low. The Watchman and his dog soon hurried to the spot; both looked around, then the man mumbled something to the black hound...and the pair continued on their way. William waited till their footsteps faded...then, stole across the lawn and made a dash towards the distant gazebo, stealing across the courtyard with such silence, he might as well have been a part of that black night. The Master Criminal only paused once more; this was when he noticed he had to run past an open window, and the light was still on. Inside, he saw Cecil Forrester - the lady of the house - speaking with a maid. Both were fair women with chestnut-colored hair. The two left the room, and Moriarty continued towards the gazebo, keeping low and moving with quiet quickness; one might have mistaken him for a wolf, stalking its prey. Moriarty traced a wide path as he drew closer and closer to the gazebo; he had no desire to be spotted when he got too close. Once he reached it, he flattened himself quietly against the glass-paneled walls, and sidled closer to the open entrance. As he moved nearer, Moriarty could hear a voice; it was tremuluous, faint, and he couldn’t quite make out properly who it belonged to or what they were saying. Once he was right beside the door, that voice stopped...and he picked up the unmistakable sound of John Watson’s voice. Now, he could most certainly make out the words… “It’s too soon. I don’t want to take any risks. This is a delicate operation; one false step, and everything could be ruined. But don’t worry...if worse comes to worse, I can handle him. He won’t be a problem. We’ll get everything we want...nothing is going to stop us. I swear it.” William narrowed his eyes into crimson slits, and prepared to draw his cane sword...before whipping around the side and spinning into the gazebo. “‘Hell is empty. All the devils are-’” The melodramatic quote was stopped short as William froze in place and his eyes went wide at what he saw. Dr. Watson - who had just kissed the lips of the person with him - gasped and backed away fast… ...Leaving a young, beautiful lady standing alone in the center of the gazebo, her indigo eyes wide and bright with surprise. Her hair was the color of brass, and she was dressed in the prim, proper outfit of a governess. Moriarty and the young woman stared at each other, each equally stunned. It was Watson’s stuttered, scared exclamation that broke them out of their momentary stupor. “P-Pr-Pro-Professor M-Moriarty!” he managed to cough out...then, impulsively, he moved forward again… ...And held the young lady close, in a protective, caring way. She coiled back against him, looking startled and more than a little scared by the red-eyed stranger that had swooped into the area. “What...what are you doing here?” Watson asked, a little accusatorily. Moriarty soon regained his composure, the look of utter speechlessness leaving his face as it slid back into his usual, blank, mask-like features. “Following you,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and pointed his cane at the young lady. “Who is this, and what is going on?” Watson squirmed a bit uncomfortably at the Professor’s blood-eyed stare. He held the woman closer and then answered. “I...this is...my fiance,” he answered, and turned rather pink in the face. “Her...her name is Mary Morstan.” Moriarty blinked. His expression didn’t shift an inch. “Fiance?” he repeated, not sounding surprised, but simply questioning. “Y-Yes,” the woman answered. William realized he was still holding out his cane...and, not wishing to frighten the young lady any further, lowered his secret weapon. Mary smiled and sighed gratefully before going on: “I work for Mrs. Forrester; I live here. It’s, um...i-it’s a pleasure to meet you, ah...Mr. Moriarty.” William paused, before giving a single nod. “Mutual,” he responded, but his voice was still quite frosty, then looked back to Watson. “Is this why you’ve been sneaking out three nights a week?” Watson blanched. “H-How did you…?” “I have my ways,” William answered, smoothly. Watson flushed and shuffled on his feet. He hugged Mary close with one arm, his other hand holding hers as she embraced him. He smiled bashfully before looking back to Moriarty. “I...we proposed in secret,” he admitted. “I met Mary thanks to a case. I’ve been...I’ve been keeping this secret from Sherlock.” “Why?” William wondered. Watson frowned and looked askance. “Because I’m not sure if Holmes would approve,” he admitted, quietly, a sad look in his eyes. “He...the two of us have been inseparable, since we met, and...I’m worried about how he’ll react when he finds out about Mary and I.” “So you’ve been meeting her in secret; to rendezvous under the stars,” Moriarty romantically surmised. Watson blushed more and Mary giggled. “Something like that, Professor, yes,” Miss Morstan confirmed in a saccharine sort of way. “Is that what you were whispering about?” William presumed. “Saying you weren’t ready, that you could handle him?” “Yeah,” Watson chuckled, and scratched the back of his head. “I, uh...I-I guess wording like that could sound kinda suspicious, huh?” William sighed through his nose as Mary giggled again. “Very,” William agreed. His face remained blank, his lips still set in a straight line as he then went on: “If I may advise you, Doctor...I think you should tell Holmes soon.” Watson frowned and lowered his head; he looked amusingly guilty, like a little boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “Well...I know I SHOULD, but...I don’t want to make him mad,” he admitted, almost meekly. “Not about this. I still want to work with him, and...and he’s my friend, so…” “So,” Moriarty interrupted, “Shouldn’t you be used to sharing secrets with him?” Watson looked up, a little startled. Moriarty’s expression had become a thin, taut smile. “If Mr. Holmes is truly your friend, he should be able to handle something like this,” he reasoned. “Perhaps he’ll be jealous or untrusting at first, but that is to be expected. But behavior like this is dangerous, and it could lead to more bad than good. You shouldn’t be afraid to admit to Holmes things like this.” Watson bit his lip, and looked at Mary, who nodded back to him. He smiled, then looked back up at the Professor. “Yeah. That...I guess that’s right. I’ll...I’ll see about telling him soon. And...and no more of these...these midnight liaisons.” He looked back to his fiance. “We’ll meet on our own terms, without all this roundabout racing. Right, Mary?” “Of course,” she responded, and kissed his nose, making the doctor give a bashful, red-faced smile. Moriarty looked the pair up and down as they hugged...then turned on his heel. “Well,” he said, shortly and sharply. “Now, with that issue settled, I’ll be on my way.” Watson watched as Moriarty left the gazebo and began to walk back towards the wall. His brow knitted itself into a knot, and he paused, whispering “One moment” to Mary before kissing her forehead and hastily hustling out of the gazebo. “Professor!” he called out, and Moriarty paused. His red eyes glittered like rubies as he turned back over his shoulder, expression chilling. Watson didn’t seem scared. He smiled in a kind, amiable manner. “Why DID you follow me?” he asked, simply and bluntly. Moriarty said nothing. Watson paused before taking a guess: “Were you concerned about Sherlock?” Moriarty nodded, still saying nothing. Watson chuckled and smiled gently. “You don’t need to worry, Professor: when I hide things from him, it’s nothing sinister. Sherlock his my best friend, and one of the most fascinating people I know.” “I’m glad you think so.” “Oh, I know it’s so. Just like I know the reason why you looked so jealous when I asked him to join me for dinner.” Moriarty’s eyes widened...then narrowed again. Watson smiled humbly. “I AM getting better,” he said, in a faint, cheeping sort of voice. “You won’t tell him, will you?” William checked, voice staying even, conveying neither worry nor rage. Watson smiled a patient smile; he placed a hand on the young Professor’s shoulder, causing Moriarty to stiffen with surprise. “You just told me that, if he’s really my friend, I shouldn’t keep secrets from him,” Watson stated. “I think the same is in reverse: whatever you feel for him...I think he needs to hear it from you. No one else.” William paused...and his bangs hid his eyes from sight. “And if he doesn’t feel the same?” he queried, in a strangely business-like tone. “I think he will,” Watson chuckled. “You two are practically made for each other: you’re both extraordinary. You both live for the game. You’re both intelligent. You’re two of a kind! I know it’s not the kind of relationship our society smiles upon, but...if it’s the true way you feel, why should that matter?” He patted Moriarty’s shoulder, and then finished: “You’re two sides of the same coin. You belong together...Liam.” William was silent...then, a slick smile slithered over his lips. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll remember that. But please...don’t call me Liam.” Watson pulled back quickly and let out a nervous laugh. “Ah...heh heh...s-sorry, I won’t.” “Thank you,” Moriarty repeated, and gave a mock salute with his cane. “Goodnight, Doctor. And do apologize to Miss Morstan for me: my unseemingly dramatic entrance no doubt gave her quite a fright.” “You can say that again,” mumbled Watson, and returned the mock salute with a real soldier’s stance. “Goodnight, Professor!” William smiled a little wider...and then walked forward. His dark cloak allowed him to easily slip into the shadows...and soon he was gone. As he prowled through the city back towards home, William James Moriarty couldn’t stop smiling. He hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The Devil swore the lightness in his heart must have been what Angels felt every day.

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“Married with two children. Native of Suffolk. Works in a public house.” “The shoes gave it away?” “Yeah, yeah. Invalid husband; dismissed from the army for his injuries four years ago.” “Three.” “Oh, yes, of course, three! Lastly, at least one of them has a drinking problem.” Sherlock Holmes took a swig of ale from the pewter cup he held and sighed, smacking his lips as the woman he’d been scrutinizing disappeared. He then turned to the party across from him with a daring smile. “Your turn, Liam!” William James Moriarty smirked cunningly, and looked out the window. His blazing, cat-like eyes soon caught sight of his chosen prey. “Bachelor by choice,” he began, noting a gentleman in a stovepipe hat who was passing by. “Scholarly by nature; a frequent visitor to the library. Smokes far too much. Works at a very fine hotel, most likely in an administrative position.” “Birth and residence?” “Lancashire for the former, Yorkshire for the latter. I believe he’s visiting London for the sake of family, but he doesn’t much care FOR said family. I speculate his bachelor status might be the reason-ah! He’s gone. That’s all.” William smiled back at a beaming Sherlock Holmes, drumming the fingers of one hand on the table as his chin rested on the other. “How was that, Mr. Detective?” he purred. Sherlock laughed and applauded. “Liam, you excel yourself!” “I try,” shrugged Moriarty, without much modesty, and lifted his own pewter cup before taking a drink. All around the pair, the bustle and hustle of the Bugle Tavern buzzed and hummed and bellowed...but neither gave it much attention. “I’m so glad you accepted my invitation to dinner,” William said, sincerely, folding his hands on the table with a quiet smile. “Eh,” Holmes shrugged, stirring his drink in its mug as he spoke. “When we met for lunch in Durham, you were busy grading papers. I’m glad we could just have a meal together. Although…” He paused, and then gestured with a careless wave of his free hand around the establishment. “...I am surprised a nobleman would choose to eat HERE.” William smiled a bit wider, and glanced about. A few people were giving him odd looks; it was rare someone so well-to-do showed up in this place. He shrugged again and smiled to Holmes. “I am full of surprises,” was all he said. “Isn’t that the truth,” chuckled Holmes and took another drink. Moriarty watched the detective for a few moments, eyes scanning him. His crimson irises flickered vulnerably for a split second before he spoke again. “Mr. Holmes...may I be very frank with you?” “Sure,” Holmes drawled. “What’s up?” “I’m very glad I met you.” Sherlock blinked and froze, his smile fading. “Eh?” he tilted his head. “Why do you say that? I mean...I’m flattered, obviously, but...what brought this on?” “It’s...hard for me to say,” William admitted with a very soft laugh, before going on. “It’s just...while I have my fair share of friends, and a family of my own that cares for me...I’ve always felt this...disconnect from the world around me.” He glanced out the window as he went on, watching people go by. “Like you, I can look at a person and analyze everything about them...and I can do it very rapidly. While on the surface I am placid as a still lake, my mind is always racing out of control. The sheer amount of mental exertion I go through just in the span of taking a single breath can be exhausting. The rest of the world moves...so slowly. Too slowly. Everyone going about their lives, making differences in small ways or simply shambling around…their minds so rarely used to their fullest...” He tilted his head downwards. “...There are so many days where I feel...I’m totally alone in the universe. Where the mental strain becomes too great.” He paused...then looked back up at Sherlock, once again flashing one of “his” smiles. “It’s relieving to know there’s someone even more mentally fractured than I!” Holmes snorted with laughter. “Well,” he muttered, taking a drink, “We all have our problems, don’t we?” He paused...then licked his lips of some foam as he put down his ale and leaned forward on the table. “I...I have to admit...it’s good to be able to talk to someone who can work on my level,” Sherlock said, with a surprisingly tender smile. “Someone who isn’t my obnoxious control freak of a brother, I mean. I…it’s like...” He paused, biting his lip, hesitantly...then sighed and ran a hand through his hair with a shake of his head. “Ahhh...I’m not good at heartfelt confessions,” he mumbled, and gave an almost sheepish smile. “I guess...I’m trying to say I feel the same way. And...it...it honestly feels really good to hear you...say all that, even in such a teasing way.” The pair smiled at each other, their eyes seemingly magnetized as they found themselves leaning and inching closer across the table. “...Holmes…” “Yes, Liam?” “I...feel there’s something else I should tell you.” “Yes?” was the breathy response. William’s lips were quivering as he moved nearer. “I...I think I might be in lo-” “GENTLEMEN!” Both shot back, sitting straight up in their chairs as a fat waiter with a bristly moustache waddled over to their table, and placed their meals - two plates of steak with baked potatoes - upon the table. “‘Ere’s yer food, gents!” he boomed. “I ‘ope ye find it t’yer likin’!” “I’m sure we will,” Moriarty smiled with a nod, his composure so fully complete it was as if nothing had happened. “Thank you, sir.” “Talk to ya later, Pete!” sniggered Holmes with a wink. The waiter winked back, nodded to Professor Moriarty, and then trundled off. “What were you saying, Liam?” Sherlock asked, as he began to cut into his steak, sawing off a huge chunk and stuffing it into his mouth. William much more elegantly carved a tiny square off his slab of beef, and hummed happily as he savored the juices upon popping it into his mouth. “I forget,” he lied through his teeth...then gave a challenging smile as he glanced to each of their pewters. “Say, Mr. Holmes…” “Mm-hm?” Sherlock grunted through a full mouth. “How much can you drink in a single sitting? Before you collapse?” Sherlock paused mid-chew...then smirked around his stuffed chompers, chewing a few more times, slowly, before gulping down his food. He stifled a burp in his fist and gave a cocksure smirk. “Probably more than you, fancy-pants,” he bragged. “Would you like to make a wager?” Moriarty crooned. “Sure! We’ll make it a race! First to finish twelve straight rounds without falling over wins!” declared Holmes. “Think you can handle that, Mr. Mathematician?” “As long as you can count that high,” was the sharp response. Holmes cackled and lifted his pewter. “You’re on, Liam! May the best man win!” William James Moriarty put down his fork and knife, and lifted his ale. As he clanked it against Sherlock’s, he answered the dare with one of his own, his eyes sultry as he slithered out his response. “Catch me if you can, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock Holmes shivered almost invisibly, and quickly took a drink. As Liam’s seductive red glare caught his azure eyes, the criminal mastermind had no idea that the one thought on his mind was being copied by the other man at the table. Someday, I’ll tell him I love him. Someday.

The End

[andordean]

Ohhh, I like your ideas. I don't usually ship Ciri with other witchers, but I did read a lovely Ciri/Lambert piece, and Coen has always been my favourite.

Let's see...

(1) Ciri

How I feel about this character:

Feral probably covers most of it. Much like you, I didn't really like her in half of the saga - Sapkowski did an excellent job of writing a bratty teenager... Then TW3 came and rewired my brain, although brought with it some unpopular opinions, too.

Funny how you mentioned Cintra, as I didn't actually like any of the three endings - and I feel the "bad" ending is the only one that thematically makes sense. So my very favourite idea for her, that made me spend three years writing, is to reclaim independent Cintra and actually step up to the responsibilities that it brings, among the post-TW3 geopolitical landscape. (Have I mentioned three years that I spent writing?)

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

"All" the people? We don't have that much time. The only fics I wouldn't touch are familial pairings (including Dandelion), and Mistle. Everyone else is a fair game if the story is captivating, girlfriend deserves to smooch everyone after everything that she's been through.

Favourite pairings among the many many many: Cahir in all the possible AUs, because them healing together (or being messed up together) is my catnip. Tankred in my Queen of Cintra AU, as Kovir is the only player left that could get her what she wants, only I made them poly in that verse, because no cages for Ciri. I love the version of him that lives in my head. Regis, in the same AU (it does make sense I promise), but it's more a bond than a romantic pairing per se.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Angouleme, had she survived. Just imagine the chaos. Dandelion, also pure chaos.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

Her character in the game makes very little sense, considering what state she was in at the end of the LotL. I have a special place in my heart for all the fics that try to bridge that gap.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I understand what role Rats play in her journey. I hate this chapter of her journey with burning passion.

(2) Geralt

How I feel about this character:

I love him your honour. I only read bits and pieces of the English translation, but his dry humour and intelligence is *chef's kiss*, I grew up with these books, and with him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Yennefer, Regis, Emhyr, but much like with Ciri, anyone is a fair game if the story is good. What I love seeing is when the fic deals with Yen in some smart (and kind) way before diving into another romance.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Dandelion. 'nuff said. :D

My unpopular opinion about this character:

I'm not sure if the opinion that he and Yennefer absolutely deserve each other and each is as bad as the other before they grow past their bullshit is an unpopular one?

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

CDPR fixed that one for me. 😆

(3) Regis

How I feel about this character:

Oh boy, how much time do you have. My favourite character since 1996, and until TW3 Ciri took over my imagination for a few years. I love him so much, his mannerisms, him being the little shit in the hansa, the lengths he's willing to go to for those he cares about.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Dettlaff. Geralt, though I adore them as platonic friends more. Ciri, in my verse as above.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Geralt. I LOVE their friendship.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

TW3 did him dirty. He would not spill blood mindlessly and without remorse, he would not drink blood without some serious repercussions.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

His anathema breaks my heart, but I did figure out a way out of it for him.

(4) Boromir

How I feel about this character:

I loved him in the books, and Sean Bean is iconic in this role. They couldn't have gone for a better actor to play him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

I read some fantastic fics with Aragorn, but I don't really have an OTP for him.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Everyone that came to Gondor's aid that he never had a chance to meet. Sniffle. And Aragorn, and Faramir, goes without saying.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

Can't think of anything scandalous here. :)

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

He's alive and well and happy.

Thanks for asking!

For the character game: Ciri (because I'm me 😆) and Boromir 😊

thank you @andordean for the tag. I'd love your version for Ciri, Regis and Geralt. (If you have opinions on boromir, I'd be curious about them too)

Ciri

How I feel about this character: Ciri is complicated character for me. I didn't really care for her in the books and the books came first for me, prior to games or TV. I never really came to like book Ciri. Game Ciri was a definite improvement, and oddly TV Series Ciri grew on me. I also appreciate her story - the direct escape from Cintra - much more than the book version of the events. I think I will always end up writing a slightly AU version of Ciri, but I have come to appreciate her character and have fun with certain stories about her.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Morvran, several Witchers, Eskel and Letho among them. Coën

Morvran - the main pairing in my mind. Empress or Witcheress ending both. In the Witcheress ending Ciri would be free to chose, and when she falls for General Voorhis, she'd not even know he is the man, her father wanted her to marry. And Morvran is simply fascinated with this kick-ass Lady, no matter who she might be. In the Empress ending their start would be a bit more rocky, until Ciri realises that Morvran is willing to accept her the way she is, and to wait for her until she is ready.

Letho/Eskel/other Witchers: Witcheress Ending only. Ciri living the life of a Witcher and ultimately falling in love with one of her brothers in arms. Or maybe with two.

Coën - is my AU ship at the end of Song of the Dragon. Only hinted at, but it is there. He followed Ciri on that long journey to discover her true heritage, and he chooses to stick with her, giving up on returning home in the end. They'll grow closer and ultimately fall in love. Ciri deserves a knight in shining armour and our Griffin is just that.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Regis

The way they encountered in Stygga should have left some impression and I see Ciri and Regis becoming close friends after B&W. I also see Regis as someone who might see Ciri's scars, and slowly help her to deal with the nightmares of her past. Regis will understand the things that Geralt, as a Witcher, cannot.

My unpopular opinion about this character: She never even considered returning to Cintra, or negotiating as the Princess for some type of vassal state for her homeland. She never thinks of what her people go through under Nilfgaard, she just runs away. Even as she gets older and realises that Nilfgaard wants some kind of legitimacy for their claim, she never even tries to make use of that. In that way she is a spoiled Princess brat, not seeing her responsibilities towards her people.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon. That instead of becoming a murderer among the rats, she'd have considered the slower and unglorious way of finding honest work. As a farmhand, in the stables, as scullery maid, whatever - she goes down the way of the thief, plunderer and murderer too easily, and I wish she had a crossroads there, where she went a different path.

And ABOVE ALL: I wish canon, especially the books, would not objectify Ciri the way they do.

Boromir

How I feel about this character: This was the character that fascinated me from my first reading of Lord of the Rings on. I was 13 at the time, and to me Boromir had clear Hagen of Tronege vibes. And I was a fan of Hagen. What fascinated me was that Boromir came from the direct border of the dark lands, so he must have experience with the enemy they are faced with, but somehow no one thought to ask him. I also wondered what drove him to turn on his companions and my earliest conclusion was, that he did not see how they could succeed. Gimli and Legolas were bickering about whether Axe or Bow were the better weapon, Aragon was focused on becoming King, so he could marry Arwen and the hobbits had no clue about anything - so i thought he felt his companions did not really take the whole danger serious. Later, as I grew up, that view evolved on a more psychological question, and also considered the burdens Boromir already carries, as a commander and the son of a deeply unhappy family.

To this day Boromir is my hero, he always will be. Even as the picture of him that I had in my mind, got deeply changed thanks to Sean Bean's wonderful portraying him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: None actually. I got told my story had vibes for Boromir/Kili and also for Boromir/Shakurán. (Shakurán being an OC Easterling soldier, invented by me so Boromir would have a named opponent to scheme and fight against). Both pairings are absolutely imaginable, only I was maybe never able to write them.

I always wondered why Boromir in the books wasn't married. He was 42 when he died, and coming from a noble house with only two children, I'd have expected him to be married at a young age. But he wasn't. One can wonder about the reasons, which would allow even more speculation on potential pairings.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

My AU: Kili

This only makes sense if you read my story, but their story is one of a friendship that transcends destiny and death itself.

In canon: Faramir I'd say. The two brothers against the rest of the world.

My unpopular opinion about this character: he was a better leader than Aragorn ever was.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon. There are two. One is of course that he survived Amon Hen and made his way home, to fight in the war of the ring.

And the second: that he had a family. As i said before: according to Tolkien Boromir is 42 when he dies, and there is no logical reason why he wasn't long married, and be it to secure the Stweard's line. It would have been fascinating, and hopefully deeply shaking and uncomfortable, if Aragorn reached Gondor, became King, only to be faced with Boromir's widow and sons. It would have been such great drama and emotional hurt potential. (I had even started writing a story in that vein, but never got far)

[angelthebedsheet]

“We’re inside.”

a miles morales x reader!!!

x male! reader

a/n: MY BABY!!! i love hims!!! he makes me so mf HAPPY dude istg! here’s this oneshot bc i cant get enough of him! quite literally have a mega little crush on him

contains boy x boy miles’ awkward ass, whole lotta gang gay shit, use of n-slur, reader’s lwk a smug lil bitch, kissing, cussin and a lil spanish? miles’ parents being mega miles x m/n fans

F L U F F

m/n means male name!

lets get into yall!

—————————————————————————

The two boys sat in Miles’ room in a comfortable silence. That is unless you count Sunflower softly playing in the background I guess. Miles had been trying to confess how he felt towards M/N but always bitched backed out last minute. He occasionally glanced from his sketchbook to the boy sitting in his office chair. He felt his hands get sweaty as he watched M/N subconsciously chewed on his straw as he scrolled on his phone.

He admired how his locks were pulled back into a ponytail, showing his jawline. Miles’ felt his coffee coloured cheeks heat up as M/N glanced up at him from his phone. He quickly looked back at his sketchbook, pretending he was looking at it the whole time. M/N snorted. “Yo, you good, pretty boy?” He asked. “What? Psssh, yeah. I’m good. Just vibin’ y’know? Thinkin’ bout what colour I should use next.” Miles said as he waved him off, hoping his pathetic attempt at saving himself even though he felt his heart race from the nickname. He felt a sweat bead form on his forehead as M/N cocked his eyebrow. He smirked. ‘Don’t do that. Why would he do that? Why is he smirking? God, that’s hot. Fuck. I’m a disaster.’ Miles thought as he grabbed a marker. “Thinkin’ while lookin’ at my face? Cap.” M/N said as he sipped on his smoothie. “N-No it’s not! I was just in a daze while thinking okay?! I totally wasn’t staring at you. That’s gay, man.” Miles stuttered, making M/N start laughing. ���Dude you‘re literally bi with a preference for dudes 70% of the time, what the fuck?” He chuckled. Miles groaned and threw a marker at him. M/N tilted his head to the side, dodging the marker. Miles huffed and looked back down at his sketchbook.

“You’re a piece of shit.” He grumbled. “But you love this piece of shit, homie.” M/N teased, earning another groan from him before relaxing his face into a soft smile. He reached over to nudge Miles’ leg. “No but like you aight, niño bonito? You know you can always talk to me. I’m here for ya. Even with your spider shit goin’ on.” M/N said. Miles felt the flutter that occurred in his stomach at the spanish substitute. “Yeah... I’m. I’m good. Just Spider-Man jitters, y’know?” Miles mumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck. M/N stared at him before humming. “No I don’t know. Not everyone wears a cool ass spandex suit and swings around the damn city with webs, saving people ‘nd shit.” He commented before picking up his phone again. Miles huffed out a chuckle. M/N bit his straw with a smile as he scrolled down his phone.

‘I’m gonna do it.’ Miles thought as he collected himself. He wiped his sweaty hands off on his jeans. “Hey, M/N?” He called out. M/N hummed as he looked up at him. “I’ve been wanting to say this but.... I loooo–”He trailed off as he started to think. ‘What if he doesn’t like me? What if he has a crush on another person? I can’t afford to ruin our friendship.’ He thought. “–iiike how the sky looks right now. Isn’t so pretty?” Miles asked, done with himself. M/N deadpanned at him. “We’re inside, my nigga. Fuck you mean you like how the sky looks? The curtain’s deadass closed too.” M/N said as he made an unimpressed expression. “Oh-uhm-I. Ah, j-just forget it.” Miles groaned. M/N rolled his eyes before smiling. “Was that another poor attempt at you trying to confess to me, Morales?” He asked. Miles’ eyes widened. “You-You noticed?!” He exclaimed as he sat up.

M/N nodded with a smile. “And you never said anything?! M/N!” He whined. “Hey, you’re a big boy. I didn’t think Spidey was so scared to confess to lil’ ol’ me.” He teased. Miles glared at him. “But, I like you too, Morales.” He said softly. Miles swang his legs off his bed and shot a web at his chair. He tugged on his web, pulling M/N in the chair to him. “Say it again.” He said.

“I like you, Miles.”

“Again.”

“I like you.”

“One more time for me?”

“Oh my god. Miles Morales, I like you too!” M/N groaned. Miles smiled widely as he wrapped his arms around his neck. “Can I?” He asked as he looked down at M/N’s plump lips. “Fuckin kiss m—mmhfp!” He was cut off by Miles smashing his lips onto his. He wrapped his arms around his waist. “You. Don’t. Know. How. Long. I’ve. Waited. To. Hear. That.” Miles said between pecks. M/N chuckled as Miles continued pressing kisses onto his lips. He stood up, pushing the chair back. He leaned forward, kissing him deeper. Miles smiled into the kiss and pulled him down. They fell back on the bed, never pulling away from their liplock. It felt like the world around them sizzled away only leaving them.

Unfortunately, they didn’t hear the knock on the door and it open. “Miles, M/N, do you boys want some sn— AHA! CAUGHT THEM! MI AMOR, I TOLD YOU! YOU OWE ME 20 BUCKS!” Rio exclaimed while holding a bowl of grapes, causing Miles to push M/N off. “M-Mrs. Morales!” M/N stuttered. “Mama no!” Miles exclaimed as he shot up. The two boys’ faces heated up as they looked at Rio. “It happened?! Damnit!” Jefferson exclaimed from down the hall. “You made a bet on us?” M/N questioned with a hot face. “Dios mio...” Miles mumbled under his breath. “Sorry honey, we had to. We were tired of the whining Mil—” Miles cut her off. “OOOKAYYYY MAMA! That’s enough for now, thank you for the fruit! Okay now bye!” Miles exclaimed as he set the bowl on his desk and pushed her out.

“Have fun but not too much fun!” She called out before he slammed the door embarrassed. “Oh my god, I can’t believe they did that. My mom just caught us making out oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god we were just making out, holy shit.” Miles exclaimed. “Fuck that killed the mood didn’t it?” He said as he looked at M/N. “Yeah.” He said, making Miles’ shoulders slump. “But bold of you to assume we can’t fix that. C’mere pretty boy, I’ve been deprived of this for too long. Not even Doc Ock could stop me from kissing the shit outta you.” He said as he made a ‘come hither’ sign. Miles giggled and ran over to him. M/N pulled him down and hovered over him. “That was ho—” M/N kissed him and pulled away. “Nuff talkin’ more kissin’. Got that, Morales?” M/N said. “Got it, bebé!” He exclaimed before energetically pulling him down by his collar to connect their lips once more.

[beef-unknwn]

i have an "i can fix him" problem but with bad films

example: next gen (2018)

first two acts, pretty good. last parts tho? 😬

the pacing felt rushed, the message was shoved into your face, a cool action scene, and the whole evil plan just felt disappointingly flat.

it really could have been better. im pretty sure if i did some research id find that this movie went through production hell or something it just reeks of it.

mai was a bit confusing as a character too, not just because of the whole "i hate robots but this one robot can destroy other robots so thats cool". she just felt... lacking. which could have worked but it didn't. it seemed like they wanted to do a bunch of things with her character but couldnt choose so just went all sorts of directions.

ani, oh sweet ani. you could have been a great lgbt love interest but instead you got 2 seconds of screentime :,( i am so upset that they didnt do anything with her. the queerbait is strong with this one.

greenwood. the bully. who got a redemption arc that was more like an angle. she couldve been interesting but they werent interested. so shes just- bad guy. good guy. done.

and also a lot of people ship her and mai (yall need help. like she got a redemp arc, sure but are yall good? why do yall ship protag x bully so much- oh wait nvm. i just rembered im one of yall. but yall still need help bc when i ship it the bully doesnt stay a bully and they dont get a half assed redemp arc)

sorry for the rant im just very particular about relationship stuff

anyways the mom has the same problem as greenwood. she just bam. character development without the development. just. bam. boom. youve changed. tada!

the villain sucked ass. nuff said.

dr rice just fucking DIED. like okay thats a new way to cover up incompetent writing/plot holes. just kill off the character who mightve been able to help and dont think too much about just move on i dont even remember who were talking about :)

i just feel like this movie was trying to say and do a lot of things but couldnt because of time or mishandling or unfinished concepts or SOMETHING

it feels like when you microwave something and the first few bites are nice and toasty but then you hit a point where its just ice cold and you just 🤢

i am so totally normal about this movie :)

[big-fang-andrei]

May i be so bold as to ask your opinions on the other clans, my lord? Also, your opinions on diablerie

My, that is quite the bold question indeed. But I have an even bolder answer. I’ll tell you what I think of the other clans but also of the other denizens of the night. So pull up your chair and open a new tab to drivethrurpg(I WISH THIS WAS A PAID PROMOTION), as uncle Andrei tells you of the World of Stank-Piss!

Assamites/Banu Haqim: they claim to be our judges yet they lack any form of self control when a drop of vitae hits the floor. It’s true, I’ve blood bonded several with this method.

Brujah: I’ve seen maggots in cum socks lead better revolutions than them. If I wanted to see a bunch idiots yell about their ideas on how to fix the government I’d go to twitter, thank you very much.

Followers of Set/The Ministry: Claim to be masters of darkness yet a night light scares the shit out of them.

Gangrel: Nomadic cowards that spend more time making stories for their OC’s than anything. I find it humorous when one tries to make peace with a lupine only to get torn into thirds.

Giovanni/Hecata: They fuck their sisters, dude.

Lasombra: Ah yes, our brothers in the Sword of Caine. While I do appreciate they’re bravery in the Anarch revolt I do not enjoy their constant reading of the scripture. And dear Caine, they’re so annoying with their dreadful sea shanties.

Malkavian: I once had to share an apartment with one during the 70’s. Malkavians by themselves are a constant overflowing dam with small cracks gushing forth the most insane and obtuse thoughts one shouldn’t be able to imagine. Couple that with his herd of never sober hippies and a philosophy class and that my childe is a recipe for becoming a quiet pair of pants.

Nosferatu: Many assume I despise the Sewer rats for aiding the camarilla, but if anything I pity them. They think they’re so clever hiding behind the skirt of the Ivory Tower when they know we’re the only ones that can help. Run little sewer rats, run all you want from the scary Nictuku, but the ivory tower will crumble long after the last of Absmilliard’s childer wipes the blood from her lips. What? Jealous? Why would I be jealous of their looks… WE work hard to look like this, those bastards get embraced and stay like that cursing over their beauty as if it were a curse. Ungrateful fucks...

Ravnos: I haven’t seen one since my trip to Vegas. Tricksters, liars but I gotta admit good dancers. In fact I haven’t seen much of any in a while. All of ours ended up diablerizing and slaughtering each other a while ago but that’s just another Tuesday around here.

Toreador: Silly, silly children the whole clan. They bore me with their constant slobbering of human art and sobbing of their humanity! It drives a motherfucker INSANE!

Tremere: If I could still shit I’d turn them into toilet paper. ‘Nuff said.

Ventrue: you spend your formative years sucking the dick of a king hard enough until he gives you some armor and a dull blade now you think living in massive sky scrapper with solid gold socks can make up for being a spineless tryhard.

Kuei-Jin: I’d tell you but I don’t want to get cancelled again.

Werewolves: If the Gangrels are the furrys that post their art and ask you to leave positive comments only, than lupines are the maniacs that eat roadkill off the street butt naked at night.

Mages: pah, charlatans with parlor tricks that tell you the secret of magic is to “believe in yourself”. What hog wash, real magic comes from that old gnarled up bastard Koldun.

Ghosts: I rarely have failed experiments but in some even rarer occasions, they result in a phantom. Sure it’s startling at first waking up and seeing something had broken all your windows, flooding your room with sunlight and the occasional threatening words drawing in blood on your living room, clashing with your own blood art. But all you have to do is call in a Nagaraja and those bastards eat ghosts like Papa Andrei eats blood ice cream.

Faeries: I tried to turn a kid into a bike chain once, until he pointed at me with the stick he held, declared it a hammer and smashed my watermelon sized testicles with the force of one. Not one of my finer moments.

Hunters: The Society of Leopold or the Second Inquisition are just as reckless, poorly organized and limp dicked as the Camarilla… but a month or so ago as I was buying some batteries for my custom all flesh furby, when a person behind me claimed to see past my disguise and tried to beat me to death with a flaming fortnite action figure before I twisted him like sausages. Funny thing was I wasn’t wearing a disguise. Hell that was a nude Tuesday for me, but whatever that “thing” was that it certainly piqued my interest.

Mummies: I had a mummy friend during the French Revolution, made me play salty cracker all the time. Not all dusty, covered in bandages or Tom cruise looking like in the movies but they seem ok, naive even. Still trying to save humanity by helping some crummy god.

Demons: In my short time in Mexico I’ve witnessed more things one could experience in two weeks than one could in a life time. A vampire lupine, a toreador glutton fat from vitae, vampires not of Caine or Kuei-Jin origin and a bootleg vhs of regreso al futuro. But in the Tremere Antitribu chantry, Universidad del Tercer Circulo de la Serpiente Dorada, I saw Goratrix preform an unholy ritual with the blood of a virgin and said bootleg vhs, unleashing a fallen Angel chained to the deepest bowels of hell that the Lasombra claim to be their domain. The devil looked upon us and cursed we childer of caine before Goratrix in his pansy Tremere nature banished the fiend back to the abyss. I fear no demon, but the Tremere are superstitious suckers. I left the country the next few days to return back to LA thinking nothing of my encounter until a week later I had heard something happened to the Tremere of the Sabbat. All members simply bursted into ash one night. If that isn’t a sign of Gehenna, then I don’t know what is. Orpheus: Who?

[insert-cleverurl]

solaine copies her dsmp meta twitter part one

preface: i wrote this on february 13th and am now archiving it over here on tumblr before i get around posting it to the actual archive (of our own). i'd like to clean it up before i go there, becuase i wrote this at like one am lying in bed and typing on my laptop that was sitting on my stomach. it's a lot of rambling. i go on a lot of tangents. it is not the cleanest nor likely most accurate meta you will ever read.

how characters (children) on the smp learn from history rather than repeat it: a thread

aka: stop liking the other one you fucks i opened the wikia so i actually know what happened now /lh

context here is that i had earlier made a much less coherent thread (not that this one is very coherent) with the caveat that i was going entirely off memory

this thread is mainly going over how tommy + tubbo both emulate and turned away from wilbur + schlatt respectively, and how i think that's going to reflect in ranboo's arc

"as long as i can't be the next jschlatt, you can't be the next wilbur." okay we all know this. it's obvious from this point on that both tubbo and tommy saw or had fears of how they were each developing into scarily familiar people - schlatt, a dictator, and wilbur, a madman.

starting with tommy, the parallels between his exile arc and wilbur's pogtopia arc are immediately, and glaringly, obvious. paranoia, trust issues, "maybe i'm actually the bad guy here", and most notably, intense loneliness. wilbur made it obvious he believed pogtopis's allies would all abandon them in the end (them being he and tommy, though how much he trusted tommy by the end is also up in the air), and he was completely prepared to kill anyone he had to in order to secure pogtopia's victory, despite also preparing himself to be the one to end it. wilbur gave up on l'manberg, at the very end. he believed tyranny was all that would ever reign, so he blew it up.

tommy, in his exile arc, was also despairingly lonely. he hallucinated tubbo, grew attached to dream, etc etc. tommy was very very close to "becoming" wilbur here (god i'm sorry this is so long already and just me summing things up we already know it's to keep my thoughts in order + satisfy my inability to shut up and use too many words)

where wilbur and tommy go their separate ways is when they were given an out. dream gave wilbur tnt + for tommy, he was. you know. gestures vaguely at logstedshire. wilbur took the out - he gave up. he gave in. we know he had moments of clarity (when niki was in danger) and Maybe this was one he could've had too, but he didn't. he took the tnt.

tommy decided enough was enough. so at a crucial moment in time, tommy turned away from being wilbur. he did not repeat history.

onto tubbo; admittedly i know much less about his arc as president so this will be less outlined. tubbo,,,, acted very similarly to schlatt. probably moreso than tommy and wilbur! strange new laws, ignoring his cabinet, execution, generally appearing to lose his care for the world and the opinions of others. i'd argue the thing that separates him from schlatt is the most important part of this thread, because it proves my point: he remembered.

i just want to clarify here: by "proves my point" i mean this is the clsoest we get to an agreement of the ideas i'm putting out here in canon?? ig?? as in like. this is the most on the nose way to say it. similarly in recent days to quackity consistently referring to his treatment of dream as torture, which seems to be a very "I Am Not In Character" move but is definitely meant for us, the viewers, rather than character dream or character quackity themselves. tubbo's is a little less like that but still it's kind of like pointing at the X on a map for us the viewers. ok tangent over

tubbo lived under schlatt's rule as one of those people he treated extremely shittily. he lived under schlatt's rule as that person he executed. and tubbo remembers all that! tubbo remembers how schlatt's rule played out, and he looks at his own uh, less than stellar time in office, and he admits this out loud (to ranboo, according to the wikia. i am getting all of this off the wikia. i did not watch any streams during this arc.) that he can See himself becoming schlatt.

and when quackity tries to execute ranboo for being a traitor, tubbo stops him.

onto dream and ranboo! dream is a special case in that we never get to see his perspective of things and are rather left to play fill in the blank, and this whole arc is special (in terms of this thread) in that it isn't over. so i will be doing a lot of extrapolating here.

dream starts out as a generally ambivalent character who has very few rules that he pretty much never bothers to enforce anyways (i think? i don't remember).

by this i mean, this is all stuff i heard secondhand in recent months and can no longer remember what it actually was because i never went back to check. i'm pretty sure, but just a disclaimer. i don't wanna get hit with an "um, actually

his villain arc starts very very early - two whole seasons before he really became one. in the war, he is the antagonist and he plays up to it! most of the war is from l'manberg's pov (or that's how we look at it now, at least) so obviously he is the Bad Guy here.

ranboo griefed a house like two days into the server. 'nuff said /lh

ranboo + dream are both heavily vilified characters from the get-go - dream's part should be fairly obvious (uh, the everything leading up the exile arc where he actually did villainous things), whereas ranboo's is most notably during the second festival's aftermath. taking the blame for blowing up the community house, wanting to "pick people not sides" (he wants all his friends to be happy - sounds familiar, right?), etc etc, and now he's with techno and phil, the former of which is Definitely considered a villain for working with dream

now many many parallels are being drawn between he and dream, especially with the whole enderwalking thing. in the aftermath of everything happening, he chooses to stay out of all conflict, until Something Happens and forces his hand. (the egg!) he wants peace for everyone, which again, sounds very familiar, right?

(slight tangent: yes, the griefing was forcing dream's hand. it's nigh impossible to construe it as anything other than a political attack - the vice president of l'manberg griefing the home of the greater dream smp's king? dream looks weak + open to attack if he lets it slide)

this was a bad way to put it but the spirit of it gets across i think. fuck character limit on twitter

that catches us up on all current lore. where do i think dream and ranboo are going to split? dream has been alone in his decision-making basically since the very first war. not once has he (successfully, we don't know if he tried) gone to fall back on his friends' support and ask for their help in making these hard decisions (of which there are many). he severs his final connections ("i don't care about anything on this server") and cements his place in history as a monster.

i think it is very likely that we are getting a ranboo "friendship and relying on other people" arc here. there are other ways they could go with it, obviously, but given his current arctic anarchist ties and what appears to be other friendships developing. hmm! i'm interested. this part is entirely speculation/extrapolation. point being. the kids on the smp do, in fact, learn from history. they still make mistakes sometimes, but past a certain point, they're always different mistakes. they learn, and they almost always get happier endings for it

i don't know if it's a coincidence that it's the three lore-relevant kids who are the ones doing this. i don't think it is, because this is a very well-written and clever story. the younger generation is the one learning and fixing past mistakes and leaving the world better off for it. that's very neat! i like it a lot. also now that purpled's becoming lore-relevant, goddamnit if i don't want to see next season being his "learning from history" arc. punz vs purpled, maybe? that'd be neat. who knows. ok i think im finally done lol ty for reading :)

caveat I forgot to add last night: obviously ranboo and dream start out in very different positions, moreso than both tommy and tubbo. but at the end of the day, all three of them are their own people who just happen to take after other people in some ways :)

again, ty for reading! here's the original thread. i'd like to add that this is probably out of date and i may come back to it some day but who knows. maybe this will just be a relic of before Now (may 25)