#i just finished criminal masterminds again

[the-cookie-of-doom]

you've written a couple post-canon KimChay fics that I LOVE - cage me in and set me free was one of the first KimChay fics I read, actually, I loved Kim and Porsche's dynamic in it. And then there's Out of the Shadows, which I'd love if you got the inspo to return to at some point (all that tasty, tasty angst!). But we haven't gotten to see how you, personally, would write the actual reconciliation. It's something I struggle with; how do you forgive someone who hurt you and then doubled down? Even if Chay is generous enough to accept and understand Kim's reasoning, how does he trust him after that? What if Kim decides to do something shitty for the greater good again? I'd love to hear your thoughts on that, whether it's general speculation or a bit of insight into the Out of the Shadows arc 👀

AHHH MY FRIEND!!! You're making me feel things ;_;

I do actually plan to come back to Out of the Shadows! Once I finish Technicality, since I've rediscovered the inspo for that, OotS is next on my list!

My personal feelings towards their potential reconciliation have changed a lot in the past year. When I originally watched the show, I had just gone through a really terrible breakup, my first one ever, and I was really sympathetic towards Chay. So I leaned in a little too hard to the "Kim is the worst person ever, how could he break this poor baby's heart."

One of the reasons I stalled on OotS is actually because it was the first longfic I started for this fandom, before I had really been exposed to all the various meta and interpretations, so I didn't have a solid feel for the characters and how I wanted to write them. I reached a point where the characterizations I started with, I no longer really agreed with, and then I had to figure out how to move forward with how I interpret the characters at this point.

Nowadays, I tend to think the reconciliation would go a lot better than you might expect. From what we see in the show, Kim never actually, intentionally seduced Chay. The closest we get to it is that cheek kiss after Chay's confession, but at that point, I think it's reasonable to believe Kim has caught feelings himself. We see multiple times how Kim is actually trying to do the opposite of take advantage: he keeps trying to dismiss Chay and send him away, and Chay chases after him every time. He's a lovestruck kid that doesn't seem to have a healthy idea of boundaries.

I'm also firmly in the camp that Chay knew Kim was sus from the start. he is a terrible liar, not nearly the criminal mastermind that he pretends to be - honestly, I think Kim is a scared kid that gotten in over his head, and is trying to act more confident than he feels.

Which is the crux of my version of their reconciliation. They are both so young. Chay's in high school, Kim is either about to graduate college or just did, putting him at what. 21? 22? That's several younger than me. We have no idea about Kim's dating history, but we can assume based on Chay's... everything that this is his first attempt at a relationship, and it's clumsy. He jumps in with both feet, he confesses being in love before he even knows Kim's full name, let alone anything meaningful about him. And given how Kim is constantly surprised by Chay, I think this is probably his first attempt at a relationship, too. At least one like this.

I tend to meet any given media where it's at, and accept what it's trying to show me. In this case, I've said it before, I'll say it again: KinnPorsche were the action romance with a side of bodyguard + boss/employee, VegasPete was for the dark romance/bodice ripper girlies, and KimChay was meant to be the sweet high school/college romance. It wasn't supposed to be secretly dark and sinister. If anything, it was a coming of age story for Chay; getting his first heartbreak, being faced with the fact that the world isn't as kind as he thought it was (re: the mafia), and having a rebellious teen phase.

ALL OF THAT TO SAY.

At the end of the day, I think Chay is overwhelmed by everything going on in his life, and he can't be mad at Porsche, bc he doesn't have anyone else in his life that he can trust, so he takes all of those feelings of frustration and fear and dumps them at Kim's feet. Kim is easy to be angry at. Kim lied to him, used him, and broke his heart. So Chay is going to dye his hair, start partying with a bad crowd, and cry over the boy he thought he loved not loving him back.

But Chay also loves his brother more than anything. He would do anything for Porsche, even give up their childhood home and move to some small apartment somewhere just so he can be safe, or drop out of school to get a job so he can help with the bills. Everything Kim did, he did to keep his brother safe. And again, Kim never outright tries to make Chay fall in love with him.

Even The Scene at Kim's apartment isn't a huge betrayal to me. I think Chay went running to the one person that's been his rock since Porsche left, needing comfort and reassurance that something in his life is what he thought it was. When he didn't get hat from Kim, he fell apart. And Kim was an asshole in the way he went about it, yes, but he was just. Denying his feelings. He has the right to do that, and it's a pretty common romance trope. He was scared so he pushed Chay away, and it hit Chay so hard because he just lost what he saw as the one good/steady thing in his life, and now he's left adrift in this scary new world. Hell, maybe Chay even went to Kim, now armed with the truth, hoping that Kim could help him navigate life in the mafia, because Porsche certainly isn't doing it. He leaves Chay crying in his room to go out partying with his new family (which is the most heartbreaking scene in the whole show, for me. He did all of this for Chay, but at the very end, he leaves Chay behind)

Anyway. I think that after a little time and distance, all it would really take for Chay to forgive Kim, is just. A conversation. Once Chay realizes that yeah, he was pushy, he did come on strong, and that all the times Kim pulled away from him it wasn't because he was "playing hard to get", but because he didn't know what to do with Chay's intense feelings.

They need to examine how they approach other people (Chay by throwing his everything in at once, and Kim's habit of pulling away). They both have a lot of growing up to do. And I think, at the end of the day, that's what their story is trying to tell us. Heartbreak is just a part of growing up.

ANYWAY. Sorry to word-vomit at you like that. The tl;dr is that I don't think Kim really betrayed Chay, at least not more than any regular coming-of-age breakup story. I think they need to grow up, have some self-reflection, and come back with a better idea of who they are and what they want. After that, who knows what could happen!

[claudemblems]

More William cause why not ;)

Prompt: placing kisses on your lovers shoulder and nape as they are bent down, trying to focus on their work though they're very hot and bothered

Content: Includes the tiniest bit of spice but still very much sfw! Very fluffy :3

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Sometimes William wondered what would end up being the death of him first: his line of work or your teasing.

Grading papers proved to be quite the difficult task, even more so when his skin was being littered with a myriad of kisses, each one more tantalizing than the last.

What was even worse was that he didn't want it to stop.

"Darling, don't you think you can save the affection for after I'm finished here?" William asked with a shaky breath, closing his eyes in an effort to ground himself. "I have to get all this homework graded by the end of the week."

He felt your lips curve into a smile against him, his skin becoming covered in goosebumps. "So you have until the end of the week to take care of it. Surely you wouldn't be spending every minute pouring over these papers. You can set aside time for a much-needed break, can't you?"

Oh, he could, especially if it meant he could feel your lips on him for even longer.

But he had to focus. It would be irresponsible for him to procrastinate on something he could finish right away. Besides, if he found himself head first in another murderous scheme, he'd have no no leisure time left for at least the next several days. Then, he'd be unable to return that week's homework to his students, and the university staff would not be pleased.

But William was pleased having your lips trail lingering kisses along his jaw, so maybe, just maybe, those papers could wait...

His mind began to grow hazy as you kissed along his nape, and every nerve in his body felt like it was being set alight. It was as if his very senses had gone haywire, your affections sending him into overdrive.

"Love, I know you want my attention but I—!"

A tiny gasp left his mouth as you kissed just below his ear, and though he was facing away from you, he could picture the grin on your face as clear as day.

"Oh, I can wait, William," you whispered against the shell of his ear, grinning even wider when he shivered, "but can you?"

He was not going to have a productive day after all.

Admitting defeat, William dropped his pen onto his desk, pushing the stack of papers into a messy pile in the corner before he turned to you and opened his arms, extending an invitation for you to sit in his lap. You took it, of course, all while wearing a proud smile.

He settled his hands onto your waist before leaning in for a kiss, sighing in a dramatic fashion. "You will be the end of me. That I am sure of."

"Well, would that really be such a bad way to go?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his neck and sneaking in another kiss there. "Being drowned in kisses from the one you adore?"

"If that is how my life should end," William replied, "I'd die the happiest man in all of London."

"Is that so?"

"But then again, if I'm dead, how will I be able to enjoy your tender affections?"

"I wonder if the people of London would still call you a terrifying criminal mastermind if they found out just how sappy you are."

"Ah, but it is all part of the plan, my darling. If I scare off all the potential suitors, I shall be the only one left for you to gaze at."

"As if I could ever love another."

William smiled, burrowing himself into the crook of your neck. "If you keep saying such things, you'll be found guilty of stealing my heart."

"Well then," you said, threading your fingers through his hair, "I suppose that makes two of us."

"Hmm. If I'm in a good mood, I won't turn you into the police."

You replied with an over-the-top gasp that made William smile. "You would never turn me in!"

"There's always the chance, but I'd be willing to bargain to keep your crime a secret."

"And how could I buy your silence?"

He laughed against you, the sound reverberating in your own chest. "Well..." And then he looked up at you with those soft, gentle eyes, ones that shone with a mixture of mischief and innocence, "I can't admit your crime if my lips are too busy returning your kisses, but I'll let you decide if that offer is enticing enough to accept."

[litrumi]

Dumb DayNap Thoughts #10 !!!

*Back at the trial to prove Dogday's innocence. (Refer to ddnt #2). Nearing the conclusion of the trial. Will never get tired of this track/song.*

Catnap, smugly crossing his arms: The only reason this trial has gone on this long is because you failed to look at the bigger picture, Prosecutor Kickin. We could have been done with this a lot sooner had you used your brain properly.

Kickin, feeling defeated and nervously sweating over at the Prosecution's Bench: How could I let this happen...?!

Dogday, helping out by Catnap's side: That's right! Still, we're just about ready to bring this case to a close, even with all these bumps and hurdles in the way!

Catnap, whispering to Dogday: Ready to point out the real criminal mastermind?

Dogday, nodding to him and whispering: Yup! Let's finish this once and for all!

Both of them, together, pointing dramatically: The true culprit of this crime...

Catnap, being cut-off before he can finish: ...was none other than the-

Dogday, doing the cutting off, holding something: ...was this half-eaten cookie!

The entire court room fell silent in this one moment.

Catnap, whispering again: Psst... Dogday...

Dogday, looking at him: Hm?

Catnap, quietly: ...That's the "murder weapon," but not the "culprit" themselves...

Dogday:

Dogday, curiously examining the cookie from all angles:

Dogday, tilting his head at the cat: ...Are you sure?

Catnap, losing hope, faceplanting onto the defense's bench: Yes, I'm sure!

Kickin:

Kickin, using the opportunity to his advantage: Your Honor, the defense is full of lunatics.

(Bonus)

A brief recess intermission was called until everyone can sort out their shenanigans.

Catnap, sweating profusely: After that little stunt you pulled, they’re demanding that YOU be the one to explain everything now! So please… PLEASE tell me you understand what happened!

Dogday, confidently: Don’t worry! I’ve got everything under control.

Catnap, unsure: …Then let me ask you a few questions. You understand that the victim was poisoned with the cookie, right?

Dogday, cheerfully: Yup!

Catnap: And you understand that somehow that cookie ended up with the rest of the other, perfectly fine, ones before the victim ate them?

Dogday, giving him a thumbs up: Absolutely!

Catnap: …So then what do you plan to say to the court to explain how it ended up with the other cookies?

Dogday, seeming totally relaxed: Easy! The cookie gained temporary sentience, injected itself with poison, and found its way to the other batch of cookies before I delivered them to the victims house!

Catnap:

Catnap, fearing the worst: …We’re going to jail. We’re absolutely, 100%, either going to jail or an asylum…

-

Still recovering… but I’m still happy to have made the 10th DDNT post in the mean time! Now, hopefully I can finish chapter 8 of that fic…

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Seven

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Seven: Confused Mind

Summary: Sherlock's adventures in his own head come to a dramatic end.

            “No. No. Not you,” said Sherlock. “It can’t be you.” Everyone was frozen around him. All that felt alive was him and Moriarty. He stared at Moriarty the bride, unwilling to believe it. It should be Lady Carmichael. It was the only thing that made sense.

            “I mean, come on, be serious,” said Moriarty. “The costumes, the gun. Speaking as a criminal mastermind, we don’t really have guns or special outfits.”

            “What the hell is going on?!” said John as Sherlock blinked.

            “Is it silly enough for you, yet?” said Moriarty. “Gothic enough, mad enough, even for you?”

            “Dad!” called (Y/N), and Sherlock tried to hold onto their voice.

            “It doesn’t make sense, Sherlock,” said Moriarty. “Because it’s not real.” He spoke softly. “None of it.”

            “What’s he talking about?” said (Y/N), but the world was blurring around Sherlock.

            “This is all in your mind,” said Moriarty.

            “Dad?” said (Y/N) again.

            “You’re dreaming,” said Moriarty.

            Sherlock gasped.

l

            Sherlock was barely aware of anything as he blinked against the penlight in his eyes. He was lying on a cot, and John stood over him. Mary, Mycroft, and (Y/N) hovered around them.

            “Is he dreaming?” said Mary.

            “And there he is,” said Mycroft as Sherlock’s eyes opened fully. “Thought we’d lost you for a moment. May I just check, is this what you mean by controlled usage?” He raised a brow.

            “Dad,” said (Y/N), hesitantly reaching out to touch his shoulder worriedly.

            “(Y/N),” said Sherlock, groaning. “Mrs. Emelia Ricoletti, I need to know where she was buried.”

            “What? 120 years ago?” said Mycroft.

            “Yes,” said Sherlock, trying to sit up.

            “That would take weeks to find, even if those records did exist. Even with my resources,” said Mycroft.

            “Got it,” said (Y/N), who had taken Mary’s phone (already in the M15 database). They didn’t like Sherlock being high, but if solving this case would finish it all, (Y/N) would help. Sherlock knew that and was grateful.

            Soon enough, they were at the cemetery, and Sherlock had a shovel.

            “I don’t get it. How is this relevant?” said John.

            “I need to know I was right, then I’ll be sure,” said Sherlock. He needed to know the truth. If he didn’t, then how was he to help (Y/N)? Protect (Y/N)?

            “You mean how Moriarty did it?” said John.

            “Yes,” said Sherlock.

            “But none of that really happened. It was in your head,” said John.

            “My investigation was fantasy. The crime happened exactly as I explained,” said Sherlock.

            “The stone was erected by a group of her friends,” admitted (Y/N).

            “Now, what do you think you’ll find here?” said Mycroft.

            “I need to try,” said Sherlock. He stopped in front of the grave. “Mrs. Ricoletti was buried here, but what happened to the other one? The corpse they substituted for her after the so-called suicide?”

            “They’d move it,” said (Y/N).

            “But where?” said Sherlock, trying to focus and get (Y/N) to think only of the case instead of looking at him high.

            “Are you suggesting they put it here?” said (Y/N).

            “Yes! That’s exactly what they must have done,” said Sherlock. “The conspirators had someone on the inside. They found a body just like Molly Hooper found a body for me when—” he saw (Y/N) flinch and shut up “—I need to look.”

            “You’re not seriously gonna do this?” said John.

            “It’s why we came here,” said Sherlock. “I need to know.”

            “Spoken like an addict,” said John.

            “This is important to me!” said Sherlock.

            “No, this is you needing a fix!” said John. “Moriarty’s back, we have a case! We have a real life problem, right now.”

            “Just let me do this!” said Sherlock.

            “No!” snapped John. “Everyone always lets you do whatever you want. That’s how you got in this state. Think about me! And (Y/N)! I’m not playing this time, Sherlock. Not anymore. When you’re ready to work, give me a call. I’m taking Mary home.”

            “You’re what?” said Mary, raising a brow.

            “Mary’s taking me home,” said John.

            “Better,” said Mary. They turned and walked away.

            “He’s right,” said (Y/N), staring at the grave.

            “He’s always right,” said Sherlock. He swallowed. “Will you help me?”

            “You know I always will,” said (Y/N).

            Sherlock didn’t need any more encouragement and struck the earth with his shovel. He dug and dug and dug until the moon was high in the sky and he was six feet deep in the ground with (Y/N) and Lestrade. They hit the casket, and Sherlock and Lestrade lifted it out. They opened the lid and found a single skeleton lying within.

            “Oh, dear,” said Mycroft. “The cupboard is bare.”

            “They must have buried it underneath,” said Sherlock. “They must have buried it underneath the coffin.” He jumped back into the hole.

            “Dad, it’s not here,” said (Y/N). “They could have hidden the body in a different casket, returned it to the coffin of the actual identity of whoever pretended to be Emelia, or any number of things.”

            “At any rate, it was a very long time ago,” said Mycroft. “We do have slightly more pressing matters at hand, little brother. Moriarty? Back from the dead?” He glanced at (Y/N) as they stiffened at the reminder.

            “Do not forget me,” whispered a soft voice, and Sherlock froze. “Do not forget me.”

            He turned, and everyone followed the voice to watch in shock as the skeleton sat up in the coffin. It lurched up, and Sherlock let out a cry as it crashed down onto him in the grave.

l

            Sherlock gasped and shivered as his eyes opened. He was soaked to the bone as water pelted down over him. As he rolled over, he found himself on a cliff overlooking a familiar waterfall—Reichenbach.

            “Oh, I see,” he said. “Still not awake, am I?” Even finding the grave had been part of his dreams. He turned and sat up. He halted.

            Moriarty stared at him, the moon shining on his pale features and black suit. “Too deep, Sherlock. Way too deep.” He watched Sherlock clamber to his feet. “Congratulations. You’ll be the first man in history to be buried in his own mind palace.”

            “The setting’s a shade melodramatic, don’t you think?” said Sherlock.

            “For you and me?” Moriarty looked around. “Not at all.”

            “What are you?” said Sherlock, looking at Moriarty.

            “You know what I am,” said Moriarty. “I’m Moriarty. The Napoleon of crime.”

            “Moriarty is dead,” said Sherlock. “I killed him.”

            “Not in your mind,” said Moriarty. “I’ll never be dead there. You once called your brain a hard drive. Well, say hello to the virus. This is how we end, you and I. Always here. Always together.”

            “You have a magnificent brain, Moriarty,” said Sherlock. “I admire it. I concede it may even be the equal of my own.”

            “I’m touched. I’m honored,” said Moriarty.

            “But you are not equal to (Y/N),” said Sherlock. “And my admiration of your mind does not mean I won’t stop you from hurting them. They are the only thing that matters here.”

            “Aw, even in your own mind you fear what I can do to them,” said Moriarty. He smirked. “What a virus I am.”

            “Perhaps,” said Sherlock. “But when it comes to the matter of unarmed combat on the edge of a precipice, our minds are not what count.” His gaze hardened. “You’re going in the water. Short-arse.”

            Moriarty grabbed Sherlock’s lapels with a wild yell and yanked. Sherlock coughed, and Moriarty grabbed his face, pulling viciously. Sherlock pushed him away into the cliff and punched him. Sherlock shook his head to clear it.

            “Oh, you think you’re so big and strong, Sherlock?” sneered Moriarty. “Not with me!” He punched Sherlock.

            Sherlock stumbled, turned, and punched back at Moriarty. Moriarty blocked it and threw Sherlock down onto the edge of the cliff. He stood over Sherlock.

            “I am your weakness,” said Moriarty. He kicked Sherlock in the face. “I keep you down.” Another kick. “Every time you stumble, every time you fail, when you’re weak, I am there!” A third kick. Then a punch.

            Sherlock coughed and gasped for air as he stared blearily up at Moriarty. The mastermind grabbed Sherlock and pushed him farther into the spray of the water, and Sherlock grappled with him to escape.

            “No. Don’t try to fight it!” said Moriarty, holding him down. “Lie back and lose!” Sherlock pushed to his feet, but Moriarty tried to shove him over the cliff, the pair pushing against one another for balance. “Shall we go over together? It has to be together, doesn’t it?! At the end, it’s always just you and me.”

            Someone cleared their throat, and Sherlock and Moriarty turned in surprise, still pushing one another. (Y/N) stood on the cliff, John’s pistol in their hand. They aimed it to Moriarty.

            “It’s not you and him. It’s him and me. My father and I,” said (Y/N) calmly. “So do please let go of him and step away.” They smirked. “I do believe he and I find you a shade annoying.”

            Sherlock grinned as Moriarty scowled and let go.

            “That’s not fair, there’s two of you!” said Moriarty.

            “There’s always the two of us,” said (Y/N). “We’re family.” They cocked their head. “On your knees, Moriarty. Hands behind your head.”

            Moriarty was fuming at being foiled by (Y/N) even in Sherlock’s mind as he knelt down and put his hands up.

            “Thank you, (Y/N),” said Sherlock. “You saved me.”

            “We Holmses have to protect one another, even from ourselves,” said (Y/N). Sherlock blinked at the choice of words. “It’s time you woke up, Dad.” Sherlock stared at them, and they smirked. “Of course I figured it out. I’m clever, aren’t I? I knew Molly’s name, Lady Carmichael would never hire you if she intended to commit a crime, Moriarty can’t be alive, and in a world where women can’t vote, no one would respect my gender-neutral pronouns.” All the inconsistencies laid out before him. “This only makes sense if it was made by you for you.”

            Sherlock smiled softly at his kid, his brilliant, brilliant kid. “Of course.”

            “What’re they like?” asked (Y/N). “The other me, in the other place.”

            “They’re brilliant and brave,” said Sherlock. “They’re the best kid I could ever ask for.”

            “Oh, god, don’t tell me you actually adopted them, did you?” snapped Moriarty. “That doesn’t make them any less my child! A Moriarty!”

            “Blood doesn’t make me who I am,” said (Y/N) coldly. They looked at Sherlock. “The people who raised me do.” They glanced back at Moriarty. “Do you mind?”

            “Not at all. It’s your turn,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) walked up behind Moriarty and with a little, snakelike smirk, they kicked him. He toppled over the cliff’s edge and screamed until he disappeared below.

            They looked back up at Sherlock. “For the record, although that was fun, I wouldn’t kill for pleasure if it really counted. This is all in your head.”

            Sherlock smiled, reached out, and fondly touched (Y/N)’s shoulder. “I know. You’re better than that.”

            (Y/N) smiled before looking back out at the waterfall. “So, how do you plan to wake up?”

            Sherlock stepped closer to the edge. “Ooh, I should think like this.”

            “Are you sure?” said (Y/N).

            “Not at all,” said Sherlock.

            “I’ll be there when you wake,” said (Y/N).

            Sherlock smiled. “I love you, (Y/N).

            “I love you, Dad,” they replied.

            With a smile on his face, Sherlock jumped.

l

            Sherlock exhaled harshly as his eyes opened suddenly. (Y/N) was leaning over him, and he was once more in the airplane. He smiled at (Y/N), whose brow creased in concern.

            “Hello, (Y/N). Miss me?” he said softly.

            “Are you alright, Dad?” said (Y/N), still hesitant due to the drug use, but he seemed much more lucid now.

            “Course I am. I’m with you. Why wouldn’t I be?” said Sherlock.

            “’Cause you probably just OD’d. You should be in hospital,” said Mary.

            “No time,” said Sherlock. He sat up. “I have to go to Baker Street now. Moriarty is back.”

            “And this?” said Mycroft, holding up the list.

            Sherlock took it and tore it in half. “I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.” He looked at (Y/N). “I promise.”

            He took their hand, squeezed, and pulled them with him to the plane exit. Mycroft watched him go and exhaled. At least Sherlock wouldn’t use again. He took (Y/N) seriously. Mycroft, too, looked at (Y/N) as family, but Sherlock saw them as everything, his whole world. Mycroft hoped that helped him. He thought of sentimentality as a bother, but he knew that Sherlock needed it after everything. And (Y/N) was just the family he needed.

l

            “Sherlock, hang on. Explain,” said John. “Moriarty is alive, then?”

            “I never said he was alive, I said he was back,” said Sherlock.

            “So he’s dead?” said (Y/N).

            “He must be dead. I shot him through the head,” said Sherlock firmly. “No one should be able to survive that.” He looked at Mary and John. “Now, to Baker Street.”

            John and Mary glanced at each other before getting into the car. (Y/N) moved to the door, but Sherlock touched their shoulder, and they paused.

            “Yeah?” said (Y/N).

            “I’m sorry, (Y/N). Really,” said Sherlock. “I—I was trying to prove Moriarty was dead. I took some to cope with losing you, and then I took more to make sure he was dead, and I did it to protect you, but it…”

            “Protecting me shouldn’t hurt me.”

            “It hurt you,” said Sherlock. “And I should have focused on that more. Because you’re what matters. Not me, not Moriarty, you.” He gazed at (Y/N) intently. “I love you, (Y/N) Holmes. You’re my child. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

            (Y/N) looked at him long and hard before nodding. “Thank you for saying that. I love you too, Dad.”

            Sherlock smiled and opened his arms. He let (Y/N) decide if they were comfortable, and they took a step forward. They hugged him, and Sherlock smiled as he held them tightly.

            The Holmes family was back together.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

@roo024

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

[sohardlovingyou]

in honor of midnight's two year anniversary, do you have a list of how you'd divide the album into john-songs and paul-songs? would love to know your thoughts! <3

Oh, I don't have a list but I can make one right now! I don't care about my job that much, lol

This is interesting because I think Midnights (alongside Rep) is the least mclennon Taylor album, buuuuuut it does have songs that individually are a lot like both of them so let's see

John songs:

Maroon: this is one of the few songs that I think are mclennon, but specifically I think it's very John pov re: 1968 NYC Apple trip. (heartbreaking, I know)

Anti-Hero: This one is self-explanatory, really. I cried on a train the first time I listened to it because it was so John-coded that it made me sad he was never going to hear it ):

The Great War: this is like Jealous Guy 2.0 (with the caveat that he was an idiot and Taylor is a princess)

Dear Reader: As my beloved @idontwanttospoiltheparty once told me, John was not self-aware enough to write something this intimate BUT I can't hear "you wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking" and "You should find another guiding light, but I shine so bright" without thinking about him, so #JohnCoded

Hits Different: Again, self-explanatory. Probably top 3 most John coded Taylor songs. "I picture you with other girls in love, and threw up on the street" is sooooo baby mclennon it makes me giggle. And "Dreams of your hair and your stare and sense of belief in the good in the world, you once believed in me" is SO SO SO John thinking about Paul that it makes me want to rip my heart out of my chest. But then she says "or have they come to take me away?" and i get sad for both of them.

Paul songs:

You're On Your Own, Kid: If I didn't find looking for video clips so tedious, I would have made a post-breakup Paul edit with that bridge because o m g. "I gave my blood sweat and tears for this" It's literally Get Bak Paul, and it makes me go insane thinking about it. "I looked around in a blood-soaked gown and I saw something they can't take away" they're both thinking about music, aren't they? Anyway, he was on his own and he DID face it.

Question...?: Taylor is so nonchalant and chill in this song that the fact that she's fucking furious almost flies right above your head. And Idk, it reminds me of the way Paul wrote Too Many People and Dear Boy. I wish I was better at explaining this but hopefully, you'll get it. "Does it feel like everything is second best after that meteor strike?" is so petty, lmao, it just gives: you'll NEVER replace me as your soulmate, cry about it (it works both ways tho).

Vigilante Shit: I just think he should have sung it about Klein doing the Eras Tour choreography.

Karma: I'm just adding it for the same reason as Vigilante Shit. "My pennies made your crown". "Ask me why so many fade and I'm still here", it's also self-explanatory.

Mastermind: The first time I heard "I've been scheming like a criminal ever since to make them love me and make it seem effortless" and "I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian 'cause I care" I gasped and went "PAUL!", so make of that what you will. Like, it's just him in song form. Also, baby Paul following John around before they officially met, and then pretending he has to think about being in his band lmao. "Checkmate, I couldn't lose" indeed.

✨MCLENNON BONUS✨

I couldn't finish this without mentioning that Midnights has a song that's literally called PARIS!!! And I have said this before but I think it's just John trapped in a hotel room in 1966 thinking about them going back there, and then THEY DID! (Paul ruined it but whatever).

[hedgiwithapen]

Inspired by this https://www.tumblr.com/godzillalover/758711049782427648/ricks-dad-wasnt-dead-just-in-a-coma-does-that, rex wakes up when pat or rick are visiting him

“I still can’t believe Dr. King was some kind of criminal mastermind.”  Bridgit Chapel said, processing more of Beth’s promised explanation of what had been going on in Blue Valley for nearly a decade, and what specifically had been going on with Beth for the last 7 months.  “Your Dad’s old boss, though, I can see that.”

“In hindsight,” James agreed, “closing down and buying up small businesses to put under one umbrella is villain behavior.” “But Dr. King? You know he was always the first one to  take on cases other doctors in other cities turned down, said there was nothing anyone could do, and it wasn’t just about the money or the fame. First to point people towards financial assistance, took a paycut before any of the nurses, and he sat in with John at least once a week, just to talk to him, keep him company. I can’t reconcile…” “Well, he was already rich from, you know, years of crime,” Beth said, “and would have wanted to keep a low profile. Again, because of the years of crime thing.  Who’s John?” Her parents didn’t talk about there jobs nearly as much as they had when she was younger, but she couldn’t place a John as one of her Mom’s coworkers. “Oh, he isn’t my department. A patient in the longterm care ward. Been in a coma with minimal brain activity for years. Five? No, longer than that. Poor man, no identity, no family…” Beth frowned.  There probably wasn’t an evil conspiracy lurking behind every door, manhole cover, and coincidence in Blue Valley. But there was some kind of conspiracy lurking behind about 60% of doors, manhole covers, and coincidences in Blue Valley. “Well, Dr. King was super evil, like… really really bad. So I should probably check that out.” At her parents’ Look, Beth amended. “ the Justice Society  should. Tomorrow? How about nine?  I’ll let Pat know.” She didn’t give her parents room to push back, but the words ‘Justice Society’  worked their magic.

Pat had been the first to recognize John Doe. Of course, Beth had only ever seen him in a hologram, and he looked different now, hooked up to machines. But Pat only took one look at him. “Rex,” he breathed. Beth pulled on her goggles, sending a text to Rick first-- I’m at the hospital, get here now. And then canning the patient. “He’s not dying,” she said, trying to sort through the data Chuck fed her. “He’s just… stuck. It’s like …” “Like what happened to Brainwave,” Pat agreed. “I guess Chuck never scanned him, though…and we never did learn how he woke up.” “Uh, I think Henry woke him up. Which… also doesn’t help.” Beth winced. “So what do we do. Did the JSA have a, a cure for….. Oh.” A file on Brainwave opened up in her green tinted vision, boiling down to a sharp ‘no.’ “‘Fraid not,” Pat said, reaching to pull a chair out so he could sit.  “Hey, Rex. I don’t know if you can hear me, but uh. It’s your old pal, Stripesy.” Beth went to look at the chart, hoping Chuck could piece together something-- or rather, that Charles could, and let her know.  Maybe Jakeen could make a wish? Risky, Chuck told her, but possible. Beth went to sit herself when the door slammed open. Rick panted in the doorway, hands braced on his knees, his face red from excursion. “Beth? Are you ok? What happened?  Who attacked you--” “Oops,” Beth  said. “ no, no, I’m fine! It’s just--did you run here? Up all those stairs? You could have taken the elevator.”

“I thought you were hurt! You said-- if you’re not hurt then why…”

“Rick,” Pat interrupted. “Come sit… with your father.”

“My--” Rick stopped, staring at the hospital bed. “Dad?” he finished hoarsley.

Rex didn’t move.  Rick stared.

“How?” he asked the air.

“Brainwave,” Pat said. “He must have thought he could get JSA secrets or something…didn’t realize that he’d already sent me his book. That he’d already hidden you.”

Rick’s knees buckled. Beth shoved herself under his shoulder to support him while Pat vacated his chair.

“Is he… okay? Is he going to wake up?” he demanded.

“Without Brainwave keeping him in a coma… he should wake up.” Beth offered. “ That’s what Chuck says.”

“Yeah, but it’s been months! We beat that guy ages ago, shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”

“Think about Justin,” Pat tried. “It took til he knew he was with… well, me, before he healed from whatever Brainwave did. Maybe he just needs to know he’s safe. It may not be exact proven science but…”

“But it’s what we’ve got, right?” Rick asked. “Just… hope he wakes up?”

“Hope’s a pretty strong thing, Rick.” Pat gave him a small smile. 

Rick pulled the hourglass chain from around his neck. “And so’s this.” He looked at Beth, waiting for a heartbeat to see if she understood and disapproved, but she nodded. Carefully, Rick arranged the fine gold chain, careful of the tubing, and turned the glass over.  The sand gleamed.  Rick waited, holding his breath.

Rex’s eyes flickered open.

[cxlxrx]

once i had the idea about a trikey stalker au, in which Michael is a depressed criminal mastermind and Trevor a psychopath nobody wanna work with willingly. I wrote the beginning but I'll never finish it so here is the snippet I wrote:

Trevor first met Michael Townley in 2006. He and Michael had been hired for the same job, robbing a little bank in fucking nowhere. Michael had buzzed hair and a sharp gaze. Sharper than anyone else in their group, he had looked at Trevor like he immediately knew everything about him, he had looked at him with such arrogant eyes, it made Trevor dizzy.

“I’m Michael”, Michael said, raising his hand for a shake. His look was calculating and cold, so fucking cold. Trevor was immediately hooked.

“Trevor”, Trevor answered and shook the offered hand. Michael's hand was warmer and bigger than Trevor's and his grip was vice.

“So”, Michael said, pulling his hand back, “you work often with L?” He leaned back against their getaway car, while he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket.

“No, but I used to”, Trevor answered and looked through the dead end street out into the busy mainstreet. They had to wait for Lester's go, only then they could go to the bank at the end of the mainstreet and rob it poor. Trevor would just bust through the fucking mainentrance when he pleased and kill every human being in sight but well Lester was a pussy and Trevor was only here because Moses called in sick. Fucker. He laid in bed with over 100 degrees boiling through his body so Lester needed an alternative and apparently he had found no one better than Trevor.

Lester had sounded so fucking pissed when he asked Trevor to fill in for Moses and the satisfaction Trevor got out of pissing people off was magnificent so he agreed on filling in, just to piss Lester off (and of the adrenaline kick he would (hopefully) get out of it).

“Why used to?”, Michael asked and cupped his left hand in front of the cigarette while he fiddled with the lighter in his right hand. After a few seconds of trying the cigarette gleamed up. Trevor watched in fascination how Michael dragged a lung full of smoke, then held it for a moment and exhaled it through his mouth and nose again.

Fuck. That was kinda hot.

“He doesn't like my attitude”, Trevor answered simply. Michael raised an eyebrow and removed the cigarette from his mouth, blowing smoke in Trevor's direction, “The fuck does that mean?”

“Well”, Trevor jumped on the dumpster next to their car, leg dangling and gave Michael a meaningful look, “I approach the stuff differently, you could call it more directly, and that pisses him off.”

And Trevor had sat one too many times in the forensic department, but Michael didn't need to know that.

Michael hummed, cigarette between his lips again. His lips were thin and dry, wrapping perfectly around it.

“I see.”

They fell silent. Michael smoked his cigarette until only the butt remained and threw it in the ground, crushing it with his boot. Trevor observed him with a burning gaze, head tilted to one side. Michael must be in his late 30s or early 40s, just like Trevor, he was a bit shorter and bigger than him. Where Trevor was all skinny and bony Michael had fat stretched over his muscles. He wore a black and white suit with a blood red tie, the outfit looked expensive, in contrast to Trevor's crusty and dirty cargo pants and stained (formally white) shirt. He had his Aviator Glasses pushed up into his thinning hairline to complete the look.

Trevor suddenly asked himself why he had never seen Michael before. Hadn't even heard about him? He seemed like he was used to this kind of stuff. Strange but on the other hand Trevor gave a fuck about other people.

Suddenly a loud ringing cut through the silence, Trevor's gaze jerked to Michael's pocket and Michael cursed while pulling out his flip phone.

He let it snap open, “L.”

Trevor observed how he pressed the phone to his ear, Michael hummed here and there an approval and then lowered the phone, let it snap shut again.

“B is ready”, Michael said and turned around to get into the car, “we should go.”

“Alrighty”, Trevor said cheerfully and clapped his hands together, “let's fucking go.” He jumped off the dumpster and got into the car with Michael.

[justacanofcorn]

quam amiterre ludum (losing the game) James Moriarty x OC

Chapter Fourteen: finish initium

Chapter Thirteen

The Reichenbach Fall. Dear. end of beginning.

Notes: Descriptions of wounds and blood

“I’ve done what I can to stay the bleeding…if she's not taken to a hospital she'll surely die. I don't have the equipment… there's too many shards.”

Side to side, side to side. A hard floor beneath her back. Dozens upon dozens of dull bee stings sitting just beneath her skin. 

“He's not breathing…”

There was shouting. Anora would have tried to wake but she didn't quite know she was asleep. 

“Come on…come on…”

A gasp, but not hers. A train whistle.

She awoke in a hospital. Her arms, neck, torso- most of her covered in bandages. The slightest movement invited stabbing pains. Still, she tried to move regardless.

“Alright, dear. It's alright.” A nurse came rushing over. “Don't try to rush it. It will be painful.”

The nurse checked her bandages and Anora checked the room.

“How did I get here?”

“You were brought. I believe one of them is still out in the hall. Would you like me to fetch him?”

Anora nodded, though without knowing who exactly the nurse was referring to, she wasn't sure if she did want to see the person in question. But in walked the doctor. Not a doctor at the hospital, but James's enemy. What was his name?

He came and sat by her bedside. He bore bruises and the tiredness of one who has been battling with a criminal mastermind. And still, he regarded her with kindness.

“I recognize you now. I wasn't sure before. You're the one we saw at the munitions warehouse in London, aren't you?”

Watson. That was his name. Anora nodded.

“Yes, that's right. You're…Watson? John Watson.”

“I am. And you, what's your name?”

“Anora Leeds.”

“My partner said that you made an attempt to help him.”

“To be truthful, I don't remember what all happened. There was an explosion…” Anora's eyes widened and she sat up, much to the doctor's concern. “My god- is he alright?”

“Yes, the detective is fine,” he said, holding out a comforting hand. Anora looked at him in horror. Horror with herself, for she hadn't been referring to the detective, and Watson realized this as well.

“Ah, well. Neither the professor nor his man were there once we dug you and Holmes from the rubble.”

Her heart sank and though it was not surprising, it was painful. The memory stabbed her in the brain.

“Yes, I saw them go.”

Watson considered her with sympathy. Or was it pity? She didn't much care. “Where are they headed next?”

“You don't know?”

Anora narrowed her eyes at him. “Spare me the curiosity, please. I don't remember.”

“Then forgive me, but I'd rather not say.”

“This is not a game, Doctor-”

“Precisely my point. You must leave this behind. You'll not get an opportunity like this again. Not while he's alive.”

Anora sat up again. “What does that mean?”

Watson averted his eyes. “Miss Leeds-”

“No, what does that mean?”

She raised her voice. Perhaps if she embarrassed him enough he would confess if only to keep her quiet.

“There is-” he matched her volume but at the turning of heads he quieted. “There is a finality to this. You must know that.”

Of course she did. But not in that way. She set her teeth.

“Where?”

Watson set his hands on his knees and stood. 

“Allow yourself this time to recover, Miss Leeds, and reflect. It will not be easy, but it will be.”

He left her. Anora contained the fury that threatened to leave in an animalistic shriek. No thoughts for the people who had saved her life, she only wanted out. More, she needed to know where.

She wracked her memory. Surely in one of the nearly hundreds of letters she'd written there was a name. She thought back to the codes. There was some sort of event they were traveling towards.

I hear the Falls are lovely this time of year.

She called the nurse to return.

“Pardon me, but where are we?”

“Zurich, miss.”

Ah, so they'd passed into Switzerland. Anora cleared her throat.

“I'm sorry- the accident shook my head. I was due to meet my friends near here. Some Falls, I believe.”

“Well, if it was scenery you were looking for, the Falls in Reichenbach are quite a sight.”

Anora nodded. “Thank you! Yes, that must have been it. When will I be released? I ought to meet my friends soon.”

“You'll be released when the doctor declares you fit to do so. I expect you'll be with us for a few days more at least.”

Anora knew there was nothing to gain by pushing the subject further, so she thanked the nurse. She gave her something for the pain and then was off to help another patient. Anora made her decision.

At nightfall, Anora left her bed. She was in a long room with dozens of other patients, all in their own beds, most asleep. Some, like her, were awake, but unlike her they were not plotting an escape.

Anora knew she wouldn't get far in a dressing gown, so she walked quietly down the aisle of beds, eyeing for a man's bed. Hers were not due to the explosion, but well kept clothes were folded neatly at bedsides. She encountered a younger man, about her height, snoring in his bed. Undershirt, button down, trousers, and shoes. She took them all, slipped behind a divider by an empty bed, and changed, taking care not to disrupt her injuries too much. They had stitched what they could by the feeling. All of her skin felt tight but only portions of it were cut deep. She was grateful; the shirt was white.

Once changed, Anora carried the shoes to the end of the room and dropped her gown in a hamper. Getting an idea, she turned back to her bed and pulled her medical folder from a slot at the end. She slipped on the shoes which were far too big, opened the folder to cover her face, and entered the hallway.

She needed enough money for a train, and that was it. Once at Reichenbach, she could find out where the event would be held. It was…a ball. Yes, James had mentioned it a handful of times. What was to happen there, she didn't know now, nor had she ever. 

Anora walked to the reception area. It was getting to be evening so it was sparse, but a doctor stood at a front desk, flirting with a nurse. He was getting ready to leave, judging by his street clothes, and a heavy coat sat on the counter next to him. Anora closed the folder and slapped it down between the doctor and nurse. She put on an air of panic.

“I'm here visiting- this girl, she's gone hysterical! Tearing at her sutures! Please, help her!”

Both the nurse and doctor went rushing to the exact place Anora had come from. The doctor, in his urgency, had forgotten his coat. Anora grabbed it from the counter and walked out into the biting air. She slipped it on and reached into the deep pockets, and was pleased to find a thick wallet inside.

Finding the train station was simple enough, and looking at a map, she needed to get to Meiringen. She went to the ticket window.

“Excuse me? I need a train to Meiringen. When does the next depart?”

The elderly caretaker eyed the schedule.

“Won't be for another hour, miss.”

Anora sighed. 

“Alright.” She counted out the money and he passed her a ticket. She thanked him and sat on a bench. God, she was tired.

Anora rolled up her sleeve to see if any of her movement this far had caused her stitches to break; she was relieved to find no blood coming through. 

A plan was what she needed. She could get there, but getting inside would be the trick. She would need to be dressed properly. There might be a way to sneak inside dressed as a server as events typically hire out, but could she pass enough as a man right now to ask for a uniform? She doubted it. 

At the thought of disguise, Anora's heart stopped for a moment and she felt at her chest. She exhaled in relief when she found the locket still there, safe and sound. Yes, she'd certainly have to go as a man. Wearing a dress would expose her bandages, and what a conversation that would incite.

She thought of the last dress she wore- the purple one. Never had she felt more beautiful, and yet now she considered it more like a painting, or a paper doll. 

How much of it had been real, if any? How much truth was in the detective’s words at the tower, or was he simply making a desperate attempt to get her on side? The man who told her about lessons in war, despite his own professions, was not the man she met at Queen Mary's. It simply wasn't. 

The train whistle sounded. Anora trudged her way on and waited in a compartment for only a moment before taking to the hall. She stalked up and down the alley until her eyes settled on a lovely young couple in their own compartment, and the man looked to be about her size all around. Mustering the courage and charisma she could, she opened the door, stepped in, pulled down the privacy blind, locked the door, and sat opposite the couple, who stared at her in shock.

“Good evening. Might I borrow your clothes?”

It was at a wonderful manor that the ball was being held. The young man on the train had a suit in his luggage that was fanciful enough for Anora to talk her way through one of the servant entrances, and she felt secure in her decision to forgo her first idea. The servers were being directed too forcefully; she never would have gotten a chance to break away.

Coming upstairs to the main floor, the sonorous tunes of a string quartet greeted her, along with the pleasant chatter of guests. The men were, of course, in black and white uniformity, but the women wore their finest gowns and jewels.

Had James planned for her to do the same? As Anora watched a dance form on the floor, she remembered that night when he stitched her hand in front of the fireplace, then attempted to teach her to waltz. He had held her so properly, like a gentleman. He had saved her from falling and she had laughed like she'd never laughed before, an effervescent sound. 

After it all, what she still wouldn't give to be in that dance with him.

But she parted through the throngs on the outskirts, her eyes peeled for James. What she would do when she found him remained a mystery. Would she attempt to draw him back, to call off whatever scheme he had planned? Or would she fall apart completely?

She passed a window, and out on a balcony she finally spotted him. His back was to the party as he looked out into the night. Anora breathed steadily, rid her mind of those wonderful memories, and pushed open the door.

At the sound he turned, taking only a moment to register her presence. He let nothing on his face show.

“Surprised?” she asked, guarded even as she began to pace. The balcony was small, thin and cluttered with decor, potted plants and a chess table. Moriarty considered the cigar between his fingers.

“Not quite. Impressed, certainly, but not surprised.” He took a puff and looked her over. “I'm curious, though, what you mean to accomplish, though. You look rather like a predator. Is it that you're angry with me?”

“Don't I have a right to be?”

“Who am I to determine what rights you have?”

“You seemed to think you had plenty of control before.”

Feeling emboldened, she drew a bit closer. He noticed this.

“And I still do, don't I? Tell me, what was most surprising: the acts themselves, or the ignorance you put against them?”

The words hurt as they were meant to, but Anora held fast and spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“Come back with me.”

He laughed and looked at her from under his brow. 

“Don't be foolish, Anora.”

“I'm not. If you come back now you may still have a chance.”

“At what?”

“Survival.”

He smirked, showing his teeth. “Life in a cage. I will not do it.”

Anora thought of the doctor and the detective somewhere inside and wondered how much time she had, if any time at all, before Moran enacted his part of the plan, whatever it was, or any of them decided to come out for some air. For now she was a phantom. That very well may not last.

“You know how stubborn I am. One way or another I'm not leaving here without you.”

Moriarty looked down, then cleared his throat, then turned back to the starry night sky. Puffs of breath casted a foggy spell from his mouth.

“I lied,” his voice crackled.

“I know.”

“No.” He shook his head, turned back to her. “About my feelings for you.”

Anora physically recoiled, only a little, only enough to be noticed. “No. Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be cruel just to drive me away.”

“On the contrary this may be one of the few times the professor is being honest.”

Anora turned swiftly on her heels only to come face to face with Sherlock Holmes as he stepped out into the night. He looked about as rough as Anora did, but he was standing all the same, just as she was. He quietly closed the door behind him. Anora met him halfway with swift steps.

“I'm not finished here,” she whispered with haste.

“You are,” he replied.

“I'm not.”

“You're young, ambitious, reactionary-” Moriarty's tenored voice rang out from behind her and Anora replied over her shoulder. Was it the cold, or was she beginning to cry?

“Stop, please-”

“No family or friends, you were vulnerable and isolated. I knew I could get you on side easily and I was right. You would've killed for me had I asked.”

“If that were true you would have asked me.”

“You're worth no more to me than Moran, and he's likely to die tonight.”

Something about that bit her particularly hard and it took the detective's hand on her arm to keep her next to him. Pain broke through but she ignored it.

“Go back inside,” he muttered.

“No,” Anora spoke still to Moriarty. “I don't believe you.”

“Foolish.”

Holmes shook her, forcing her to look at him. “Go.”

When she blinked, the tears finally fell down her face. “Don't let him get away.”

“He won't.”

“Whatever it takes.”

His eyes searched her face. He wasn't an especially tall man so she was almost able to look him in the eyes and what she found there frightened her. It was a resolve, a sort of understanding. She got the feeling that if she asked him what his plan was, he wouldn't tell her. Not because he didn't trust her, even though he still shouldn't, but because it would somehow injure her.

She shook under his grasp.

“Go.”

Anora angrily wiped her tears and gave her professor one last look before reentering the ballroom. Her face flushed from the sudden change in temperature. Her eyes scanned the room. There was still no sign of Moran. The doctor was dancing with a woman Anora didn't recognize, and he caught Anora's eye mid-turn. She wrung her hands and kept to the walls, now on a path to find Moran before any damage could be done.

She made it down the stairs with hurried steps then was yanked aside, into a small space in a corner. It was Moran's eyes who pierced her in the darkness.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“I needed to see him.”

“You can't stop what's in motion, Anora. Tonight is going to happen, as is the next day and the next, so the best thing for you to do is go home.”

He released her with a push and her back hit the wall.

“You don't seem worried that I'll stop you.”

Moran looked at her, his eyes widening in some realization, and then he laughed in her face.

“See how little you know? How much you still don't understand? It's not me you should be worried about.”

It took Anora half a second to realize only a little of what he meant but she was still back on the steps before he could stop her. Just as she breached the ballroom, just as Moran had caught up to her, Doctor Watson was tackling someone to the ground. Anora made an attempt to move further into the ballroom but Moran grabbed her and flung her back, and she tumbled back down the stone steps. Her head hit the floor with a ‘thud’ and her ears began to ring. There was a gunshot. Anora screamed through grit teeth as several of her stitches burst open.

Like a sick refrain of the tower, Anora watched Moran through tilted vision. He raised a cane. The man Watson had attacked was being hauled away by guards and she watched helplessly as Moran fired something from the end of the cane into the man's leg. People rushed past. Someone decided to help her up and Anora's vision began to settle as Moran passed her, lighting a cigarette.

“If I see you again, I'll kill you.”

She believed him. She was lucky he spared her now. 

As Moran slipped through the throngs Anora wondered if she'd ever would see him again. She was barely cognizant enough through the pain to grab at Watson's jacket as he rushed past. He looked at her, caught her as she clung to him. Blood from open wounds oozed from her arms and patted onto the pretty white tile beneath their feet. Someone next to her gasped.

“The balcony,” she rasped, though he already knew and she only wanted him to take her with him. She wanted to be there to witness however it would end.

She'd come to wonder, later, what might have happened, had she paid more attention at her work. Perhaps there was some truth to what the detective had said in the tower, and what James had said on the balcony. It would have been wise of the professor to seduce her to the end she wouldn't ask questions, that she would trust him implicitly. If that's true then he would've been correct on two accounts: he was wise, and she was a fool.

She would always say this for John Watson: he was a good man who understood what people needed when they needed it, and he understood this for Anora. So, he placed a helpful hand on her waist, careful not to further disturb her wounds, and hauled her back up the steps and across the ballroom floor which had cleared out amongst the commotion. Watson threw open the balcony door, Anora clutching his side, and he locked eyes with his detective, who had Moriarty in a choking grasp. Holmes closed his eyes and used his footing on the chess table to throw both himself and the professor over the railing. 

Watson and Anora stood, frozen, and not for the cold. They didn't need to rush to the railing to watch as the two men tumbled down the falls. They wouldn't have seen an impact with the water anyhow. 

Anora's lower lip trembled but a slight movement from Watson and she gasped in pain. She was grateful for it. It masked the hollow pin point in her chest.

Inside, in the lobby, the woman who had danced with Watson was collapsed over her dead brother's body. Somewhere, Mary Watson sat and anxiously awaited word from her husband. And there, on the balcony, the two witnesses to the end of the lives of perhaps the greatest minds in Britain, stood in a stunned silence.

-

Lavender.

It's what she smells when she wakes in a large four poster bed, lush, with the softest sheets and duvets. Curtains around the bed are drawn shut, but where they meet the posts she can see dried lavender hanging. 

Anora sits up and her head pounds from where Moran had hit her.

Moran.

Anora throws open the curtains of the bed and tumbles out onto a hardwood floor. She stumbles, pulls herself to stand on the lip of a window. The glass bites her fingers with cold and she sees snow gathering on the exterior ledge. Beyond that, sprawling fields covered in sheets.

A nearby fire crackles and the sound is nature to her. She realizes rather quickly with the dueling warmth of the fire and the bitter cold of the outside that she's down to her shift. A robe lays across a chaise lounge. She doesn't need to pick it up and smell it to know it's one of his, but she does anyway. Anora slips the robe on, tightens it around herself and ties it tightly. Her stockings are still on, though, so she moves about the room. Her person effects have been set with care on a chest of drawers, her clothes folded neatly. And on top is her textbook.

She grimaces at the sight, yet opens the cover and runs her fingers across the script inside. Holmes had been correct. It almost looks as though she could've written it, but not the O's. Their O’s are different. 

Next to the chest of drawers is a small writing desk, and on that is a letter opener. She grabs it.

Anora dresses in a comfortable linen shirt and trousers. She doesn't want to feel vulnerable the way a dress might make her, or worse yet, one of his robes. God forbid he knows she takes comfort in him still. She leaves shoes off, though, for the purposes of stealth.

Anora quietly opens and closes the door. The hallway is hardwood and stone walls, decorated with dried flowers and recreations of famous paintings. She travels down. More rooms with their doors closed, then a staircase. She descends, carefully concealing the letter opener between her sleeve and the palm of her hand. The dull blade almost aligns with the scars on the inside of her hand. She can guess that the house is older, judging by the flooring and walls, so she's intentional in her steps down the stairs. Still, one or two manage to creak. She doesn't bother stopping. If someone is going to hear her, chances are they already have.

And they have. Collins, still as old as ever, greets her at the base of the stairs.

“Good morning, Miss Leeds. Breakfast for you in the drawing room. Eggs how you like.”

Something in his words, in their familiarity, is almost comforting to her. She brushes it aside.

“Where is he, Mister Collins?”

Collins seems to perk up a bit at the title she grants him. He gestures down the hall. She nods in thanks and goes. To her right, she catches a glimpse of the drawing room where, inside, Moran eats his own breakfast. He gives her look before she decides to ignore him for now. She comes to the kitchen, then a turn into a room with tall windows and a glass roof secured by wrought iron supports. Flower boxes sit empty by the windows. Snow falls gently outside. And standing, with his back turned to her, is her old professor.

Anora waits for a moment, silent, watching him. She can vaguely see careful fingers tying twine around lavender. The overcast light of morning glints off his signet ring. He clears his throat, then coughs.

“I adore this old house, yet the draft keeps me in a continuous cold.”

He pulls a handkerchief from a pocket and wipes at his face. Anora isn't sure how he knew of her presence behind him, but it doesn't matter much.

She can't quite decide what to do. She allows the letter opener to slip further into her hand and grips the base tightly.

“I spent most of the spring and summer studying botany,” he continues. “Outside of operating hours, of course. The business never truly sleeps. You know that. What I couldn't quite salvage I left to dry. No matter what, it serves a purpose.”

There's a snip and he lifts his arms to hang the bundle of lavender from a line with others. He wipes his hands and turns to her finally. Anora's heart hitches. He looks exactly the same, if not his hair having grown a bit longer, and he's earned a scar on his left cheek, likely from the fall. When he gives her that smile, the scar crinkles.

“Hello, my dear Anora.”

My dear. 

She forgets the letter opener entirely and closes the distance between them with a harsh slap!

The cold caused the impact to sting them both but it was nothing compared to the wide eyed look of shock James offered her now.

She opened her mouth to apologize but the words were caught either in her throat or her head. He deserves it. He deserves worse, she thought. In her hesitation, James closed the put a bracing hand on the back of her neck- not painfully, but certainly enough to keep her still. He put her between himself and the flower boxes. 

“...And yet, despite it all, your accusations and mischaracterizations,” he paused. The hand on her went soft, moved to her jaw, stroked her face. “No matter how much you might have grown to hate me, you are still so very dear to me.”

She can't help falling into the kiss when he gives in and the letter opener clatters to the floor. She's not proud, she's not remotely pleased. But she allows the warmth in her chest to spread.

They break away. She draws a thumb along his scar and he exhales.

“I still simply cannot help myself. Can you?”

He warms Anora's hands in his own.

“I can, I will. I promise you that much.”

He smiles and nods in an understanding, or maybe it's placation. It doesn't particularly matter either way.

Anora laughs when she realizes something.

“What?” James inquires.

“There's just another thing you're good at now.”

“Hardly. Notice how so many of the plants are dried. Couldn't keep them very well.”

“Either way.”

“Remember how I said that, once this was all over, we would do so many wonderful things together?”

Anora's stomach twists. “Yes.”

“I've decided I don't want to wait. My empire will never stop until I'm dead, and I'm not going to wait for you, either. I think it begins today.”

[mariana-oconnor]

The Cardboard Box pt 2

Last time we had two severed ears from two different people, an old lady who probably wasn't a criminal mastermind, and a poorly addressed parcel. Lestrade still looked like a ferret and it was a blazing hot August.

“I am convinced, sir,” she said, “that this matter is a mistake, and that the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this several times to the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me."

Okay Lestrade, I like you, but laughing at old ladies who have received human body parts in the post isn't cool. Especially not for having a perfectly reasonable opinion about the situation. I, too, if presented with a parcel of freshly severed ears would be rather insistent that they were sent to the wrong person. After I'd finished shouting profanity, washing my hands, and contacting every person I knew to make sure they still had both ears firmly attached to their heads.

I'd probably also be washing the floor, because there's no way I wouldn't have immediately dropped them on the floor.

Miss Cushing is very composed. But I suppose she is channelling her feelings into her anitmacassar in a productive manner. Good for her. Either that or she is involved. Honestly, her saying she's not involved does make me more suspicious of her, but as we have previously discussed, I am a naturally suspicious person.

Still, fingers crossed for pirates.

“I think that it is more than probable—” He paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring with singular intentness at the lady's profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever.

Oh, did he catch a microexpression? Is she involved? But I just don't see why she'd call the police and say she didn't know what was going on if she was, unless she's a lot more cunning or arrogant than most of the villains we have seen.

“Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary.”

Ah, another Miss S. Cushing has entered the tale.

“And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by his uniform."

Liverpool, renowned port city. Knots, tarred string, sunburnt ears and earrings. My sailor theory gains steam.

“No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me, then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we don't know how things are going with them.”

I was going to ask what pledge, but this appears to be a temperance thing. And to get the family dynamics worked out in my head: Mary is the youngest, married to Jim Browner. and both members of the couple stopped talking to both Susan and Sarah, and now no one knows where they are.

Which gives us a sailor and his wife, both missing, and two ears that seem to have come from a man and woman (according to Holmes, I'm still not convinced he can tell, but for the conceit of the tale, let's say he's right) the 'male' ear being sunburnt and with a hole for an earring.

I'm sure there's absolutely no connection between these things.

Also, your sister's husband has a drinking problem that makes him 'stark, staring mad' and then he and your sister drop off the planet? That seems like a thing to be distinctly more concerned about. Miss Susan Cushing is losing sibling points rapidly.

She told us many details about her brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her former lodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account of their delinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals.

Wow, she really doesn't want those medical students getting any patients, does she? I dread to think what Victorian medical students were like. But they probably weren't as bad as Victor Frankenstein. Although that would be a hilarious crossover. These ears were actually intended for him to work on his 'project' but he forgot to change the forwarding address. Only seventy years or so too late, but still.

“Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper or you would wonder no more. I tried it when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when we had to part."

So you're saying the other Miss S Cushing also lived at this address until two months ago. So it's not even a case of mistaken identity, it's just that she forgot to send out change of address cards. Also, she has a temper. So my theory about pirates might be right? Although probably no illegitimate children. But it seems like Sarah might know what the ears mean. Whether she wants the couple dead or she's being threatened is a different question.

“Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went up there to live in order to be near them. And now she has no word hard enough for Jim Browner."

Oooh, family drama! Spill the tea, please. What did Jim Browner do? Did she find out he was having an affair? Is the second ear that of his lover?

"Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you should have been troubled over a case with which, as you say, you have nothing whatever to do.”

Apart from the fact that one of the ears might belong to your little sister, but whatever, I guess.

"We must strike while the iron is hot."

Either the victims aren't dead or he's worried the murderer is going to get back on a ship and vanish into the briny mists. Given how often that has happened, he probably should be worried. Although it seems like if they do get on a ship to run away, karma will catch them pretty fast in the form of a terrible shipwreck.

I wonder what's in the telegram he's writing. To the docks? To Liverpool to ask about the May Day? To Lestrade?

I didn't mention before how weird the name May Day for a ship is. That's got to be confusing, hasn't it? How do you know if they're sending out a distress call or just saying their name? Terrible name for a ship. Who in earth calls their ship May Day?

A grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared on the step.

Watson does like to comment on how shiny men's hats are. Can you see your face in it? Is he wearing a crown?But why is this man wearing a hat indoors in the first place? I thought that was impolite? Was he just on his way out? On his way in?

“Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill,” said he. “She has been suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her medical adviser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. I should recommend you to call again in ten days.” He drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the street.

On his way out, it seems. And another brain fever. But this one appears to be less severe, only eleven days in severity. Percy Phelps beats her hands down.

Were these brain symptoms possibly from learning of the dreadful fate of her sister and her brother-in-law? Is she being blackmailed? Did she try to blackmail someone else. Her sister Susan did say she liked to meddle. Or are these symptoms from a more malicious cause?

“I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her."

Little bit of a creepy thing to say, but I'll allow it. I assume that he wanted to see if she was in distress at all, and she clearly is.

We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker's in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings.

OK, Maths time.

So 20 shillings in a pound, a guinea was 1 pound and 1 shilling. so 500 guineas was £500 plus 500 shillings, 500 shillings is £25, so 500 guineas is £525. The equivalent of almost £54,500. Fifty five shillings is £2.75 old money or roughly £284. So yes that is a bargain. Or another way of looking at it, Sherlock cheated that broker out of a hell of a lot of money.

It's weird how people have Sherlock as this single minded crime-solving machine, when in reality we've seen him on numerous occasions when there's nothing actively to be done on a case, enjoying his leisure time. He and Watson went to that concert in The Red-Headed League, he went to have tea in a nice little pub in The Naval Treaty. He actually seems to have quite a reasonable work life balance.

Here, he and Watson are having so much fun that they don't even get back to the case until sunset.

“That is the name,” he said. “You cannot effect an arrest until to-morrow night at the earliest. I should prefer that you do not mention my name at all in connection with the case, as I choose to be only associated with those crimes which present some difficulty in their solution."

Ow. That was a burn. Also, if that's the case, why is Watson publishing it? Seems a little rude.

"That he may be safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do..."

At least he's not a ferret this time? Lestrade must love Watson's stories being published. I bet he finds little passages cut out and stuck on his door in Scotland Yard.

“It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of the revolting business is, although one of the victims still escapes us. Of course, you have formed your own conclusions.” “I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool boat, is the man whom you suspect?” “Oh! it is more than a suspicion.”

I was assuming he was one of the victims. But I suppose I should have put more credence in him being a terrible drunk. Did his wife have an affair? Is there an illegitimate child involved? Or did he just think his wife was having an affair.

Which means that there's another sailor caught up in all of this. So far no pirates, but I can still hope, right?

"We approached the case, you remember, with an absolutely blank mind, which is always an advantage. We had formed no theories."

I feel called out. 😅 ACD and Sherlock Holmes are reaching through time and reality to give me shade on jumping to conclusions based on vibes.

“The string was of the quality which is used by sail-makers aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When I observed that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so much more common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all the actors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes."

But this time I have actually put together the evidence. Though I feel like most knots are popular with sailors. Aren't they all good for different things? My grandma used to have a thing on her wall with all the different kinds of knots that were used on sailing ships.

“As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones."

Oh, he was looking at her ear. And it looked like the severed one.

I assume that ear similarities are hereditary, much like facial features are, that does make sense. They won't be identical, because we know earprints are unique, but I can accept they would be similar. Of course Holmes has written monographs on ears.

Very disappointed the tobacco doesn't seem to have come into things, though.

"And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy."

This is a really fucking dumb move on his part, though. Why send someone the evidence of your crime? Just weight the bodies down and throw them into the sea. By the time they come up again, no one will be able to recognise them and DNA isn't exactly known at this time.

Just... bad idea. Be better at committing crimes. This is just embarrassing.

"An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force..."

Alright, I don't feel foolish for thinking that the ear belonged to him, because strangely enough, I wasn't able to telegraph my friend in Liverpool to find out.

"If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already."

What the fuck happened in Liverpool that she didn't want to see her sister's murderer arrested? What did she do? Poor Mary Browner had terrible sisters. They should be ashamed of themselves.

"When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in.”

This is a really sad story. Poor Mary Browner stuck in what seems to have been a very abusive relationship with an alcoholic. Her sisters just let her disappear, and she ended up dead with no one reporting her missing and the only person who knew not willing to tell anyone. Or, I suppose, we could charitably say that maybe the brain fever took hold of Sarah before she was able to communicate with anyone about it.

Just... kind of tragic all around.

[babsil]

Idk if I sent an ask alr but pls tell me abt the yandere au plssss

OMORI SPOILERS AND STALKING/KIDNAPPING

In a desperate attempt to fix the failing friend group, Basil finds himself taking pictures of the shut-in Sunny through his window- just until they can meet up again, he assures himself.

Of course, it’s never that simple, and it develops into stalking as Basil keeps relying on those pictures to feel as if things aren’t falling apart.

This desperation drives him mad and past the point of reasoning (like it did in the fight scene) and his stalking eventually develops into breaking and entering, taking photos and journalling about Sunny from inside his house (photos of Basil sitting beside him as he sleeps, in his hallway, etc.)

Basil, noticing Sunny is still grieving so much over Mari’s death, grows a savior complex where he believes he can help Sunny heal, that he’s the one to save Sunny from the suffering of life he’s faced.

Of course, these feelings are only amplified when Sunny saves Basil after Aubrey pushes him into the river (in his photo album the only caption is a repeated “he saved me”/“he cares” and a picture of Basil snuggled in one of Sunny’s blankets that he offered to keep him warm.)

(This part is a little hazy as I haven’t fully figured out HOW it happened)

Basil kidnaps Sunny and takes him to another house- Of course this AU was made in minecraft so I need to find an excuse for the new estate, so I’ll say summer house. Because Sunny is already so vulnerable mentally (after years of being a shut-in and living in his dreams) it’s not too hard for Basil to manipulate that vulnerability into borderline brainwashing after a while.

Adding onto his savior complex, Basil manages to convince Sunny that his name is actually Omori (how does he know Omori’s name? Don’t worry about it! This AU was made before I finished the game) and that while the others of the group abandoned him, Basil was the only one that stayed and therefore Sunny was indebted to him.

But Sunny’s disappearance doesn’t go unnoticed, and Hero, Aubrey, and Kel are on the case. Basil is ALSO gone at this point, but he wants to make sure there’s no chance that he left any evidence behind. So what does he do? Kidnaps the three of them of course! ^_^

Polly can testify that Basil had disappeared before the other three, which means Basil is simply a missing record alongside the others.

Basil does some criminal mastermind shit and locks the three under the basement (dramatized cells exist!)

Hero gets multiple stoves but nothing to cook with, Kel gets a padded room with a basketball, Aubrey’s room is barely tall enough for her to stand in. (I imagine Basil has some frustration against Aubrey for the harassment and bullying.) Every cell has one thing in common; a flowerpot.

But also, right beside Hero’s cell is a bigger cell that takes up an entire wall that Kel notices. Hero spends his time trying to dig through the wall when Basil isn’t checking on them and finds that it’s an entire cell “made” for Mari, fit with her picnic blanket and basket. In Hero’s journal, he mentions how Basil obviously noticed the hole in the wall, but does nothing to fix it. He believes Basil knows the sight of Mari’s items is fucking with him.

Also Kel loses an arm (and somewhat of his sanity) for being annoying and Aubrey loses an eye for constantly snarking off and trying to break out of the cell. Not like they have far to go!

I might copy over the 50 page journal that Basil wrote in his descent to madness. This is mostly a crack AU turned serious honestly. I wanted to match Omori skins with my friend who knew nothing about Omori so I described Basil as (oversimplified) a clingy bastard who begs Sunny not to go. Then came the idea of a yandere Basil, then the crack idea of Sunny living under the house because my friend decided to eat the dirt under my flower shop

[wastrelwoods]

Got tag-gamed by El @willgrahambf!! Posting the list of all my current WIPs by title/description/whatever I have for them and then tagging as many people as there are WIPs!  If you want to know more about any of them in particular send me an ask or a reply and I’ll find u a snippet or similar.

mille-fleur | nbc hannibal | abigail-centric primavera au, just sort of digging my teeth into the concept of abigail just happening to not die when she was supposed to Again and the way the cycles can keep cycling from there

and the deep blue sea | nbc hannibal | season one will character study I have been chipping away at forever made up of missing scenes and macabre fantastical dream sequences

fitcher’s bird | nbc hannibal | crimson peak au! hannibal and mischa lecter as a couple of codependent bluebeards and will in his haunted gothic heroine era...still working on the setup because i think it’s going to get long and involved but the vibes are really exciting to me

“genghis khan music video au” | our flag means death | i can’t look directly at fandom spaces for this show really but the goofy shenanigans of it did infect my brain so i am keeping this around for when the time is right. maybe by season 2. ANYWAY stede’s an off-brand james bond ed is a criminal mastermind they do a little dance make a little love etc

quicksilver in your hand | the left hand of darkness | god. fuck i was just consumed by the thought of pre-canon estraven pining for the weird alien. trying to make some of it happen but the way i need a glossary on hand makes it a little slow going

.....and that’s what I have! shorter than I expected but my list of unwritten ideas is much longer; the stuff i have actually put hands to keyboard about is blissfully brief. I am also not counting anything partly written that I will probably never have a reason to finish and post or we would be here all damn day!

damn the hannibal mutuals are tagging each other already well let me add @chaotic-plotter who may well have been tagged already and then ask around for @eternalgirlscout and @motherfuckingnazgul and @returnsandreturns and @heliological in the wider fandomsphere since we’ve been writing in different circles but I’d love to see what y’all are up to. FEEL free to ignore me or talk about original projects instead or whatever floats your boat

[oh-surprise-its-me]

So full disclosure @aki-draws-things I’ve got cold meds in my system sooo hopefully this makes at least some sense!

But here’s a criminal au!

Let’s pretend that marriage between three people is legal for shits and giggles.

(Also! Mostly inspired because we talked about Mick Rory and Leonard Snart and I spent all of yesterday doing through the fan fics)

Chris never thought he would be a lawyer. Let alone a lawyer for two art thieves.

Two art thieves he’s fallen in love with.

Chris always knew that Tommy was pretty. Ron was just as pretty. The rumors of them being together never fading.

When Chris walks back into his penthouse he catches sight of a new statue. “Tommy!”

Ron sticks his head out of the kitchen. “You okay Baby?” “Did I call you? No. I want the idiot we call a husband.”

Ron nods. He hopes Chris doesn’t yell at Tom too much.

Tom runs down the steps. “Hey Chris!” Chris smiles at him. He loops his arms around Tom’s neck. He leans close almost to kiss him but breaks off at the last second. “Is that a goddamn Michelangelo in our living room.”

Tom smiles. “Absolutely it is!” Chris sighs. He bites Tom’s neck. “Are you fucking insane!” Tom at least has the class to look guilty. “No? Just wanted the best of the best for you baby.”

Chris leans his forehead onto Tom’s shoulder. He hears Ron’s footsteps come up. Ron wraps his arms around the two of them. “If it makes it better I helped him?”

Chris raises a hand. He smacks it over Ron’s mouth. “I love you both but if I have to convince and blackmail another jury that y’all aren’t criminal masterminds I’m divorcing you.”

Ron winces. “Yeah that’s fair.” Chris leans back. “Fair? Fair?! Yeah it’s fucking fair! I want my husbands to be home for a while. Jesus Christ lay low.” Tom presses a kiss to Chris’s head. “We were careful don’t worry. It’ll all be fine.”

Chris shudders. He’s tired. So tired. “Help me with my clothing then I’m starving.”

They both grin. Chris has been compared to the most breathtaking art in the world. Better then anything in the Louvre better then all of the museums in the world. He knows how much they like stripping and taking care of him.

Ron slips away with a squeeze to Chris’s hip. “Gonna finish dinner. Tommy take care of him?” Tom nods. “Course Sunny.” Chris gets an actual kiss this time around. He leans into it, he’s tilts backwards and looses his balance. Tom catches him.

“Time for you to change babydoll. I’ll help.”

Chris is ushered upstairs, he changes fast. Knows there’s a statue to look at when he gets back down the stairs. They would never steal something boring. They only steal the best.

Tom is gone again when Chris exits the closet. The man is silent. Ron is too but you would never guess with how tall he is.

Chris stares at his diploma of law. Well. He’s definitely using it. Maybe for more crime related reasons then he originally thought but plans change. At least he can’t ever testify against his husbands and they can’t testify against each other. He can defend the hell out of them though.

“Baby come on food!” Chris snaps out of it to Ron’s call. He drags his finger across the Rodin that lives in the bedroom. “We’ll be back.”

[terrainofheartfelt]

Do u have any book and movie recommendations?

sooooo many. you might regret asking.

I love books very very much, just in case you didn't know, so let me fire off at random some of my all time faves with and without blurbs.

poetry: Devotions, Mary Oliver | No Matter the Wreckage, Sarah Kay | Leaves of Grass, Whitman | Post Colonial Love Poem, Natalie Diaz

nonfiction:

My Life in France, Julia Child --- her memoir of moving to France with her husband post WWII and her discovery of cooking and deciding to write her cookbook and it's so charming and so her and it's just a delight

Open Me Carefully, Emily Dickinson --- a chronological collection of letters, poems, and letter-poems Emily sent to her lover sister-in-law Susan Dickinson. it's intimate, playful, kind, passionate, and the editors do a great job of putting it all together. and you read it and just know that you are only skimming the surface of the deep love these two women had for each other i gotta lie down

What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding, Kristin Newman --- funny sexy travel memoir by a TV writer who spent her hiatus months in the aughts summers by traveling solo and having whirlwind romances and also her reconciliation between being the woman who can't be tied down but also wanting to build a life with a partner.

The Real Traviata, Rene Weis --- an opera book because me. a biography about Marie Duplessis, the French woman who inspired Dumas to write La Dame aux Camellias and therefore Verdi's Traviata and THEREFORE Baz Luhrman's Moulin Rouge. she had by the most objective accounts a difficult and short life full of fear and illness and abuse but also full of strength and color and love and I found it really moving.

fiction: aka the novels I am thinking most about right now.

House of the Spirits, Isabel Allende --- an all time favorite. a historical, multigenerational epic that left me staring at the ceiling after finishing it. and cemented Allende's place as one of my fave authors

The Sentence, Louise Erdrich --- it's about ghosts and independent bookstores and indigenous women and community and love and trust and the pandemic. great novel.

Sex and Vanity, Kevin Kwan --- people are always looking for who they should crown the modern Jane Austen, and it's him. it's kevin kwan. this is a modern remix of A Room with a View and it is funny and sexy and sweet and was a delight to read.

Beautiful World, Where Are You, Sally Rooney --- my favorite of hers. I love how the chapters of story are interspersed with emails between the two leads. yes there's romance, but the real center of this story is the friendship between the two women.

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong --- entirely lives up to the tumblr hype. possibly exceeds the tumblr hype. I told my best friend to read this book. which she did. then scolded me because while she agrees it's beautiful it's also so heartbreaking. truly some of the most beautiful prose I've ever read. I checked it out from the library but i really want a copy of my own to mark up.

Bright Young Women, Jessica Knoll (out Oct. 3rd) --- i got this ARC at the librarian convention. I'm in the middle of it right now but I have to talk it up because it is sooooo good. It's about women who meet because they have the worst possible thing in common: their best friend was murdered by the same serial killer. It hops around between the '70s and the present day, reads like a thriller, and the thesis is really about destroying the myth of the criminal mastermind, a la all those true crime docs about dahmer and bundy. I'm almost halfway through and the murderer is only referred to as "The Defendant." It's about taking the narrative away from him, the universal defendant, and recentering it around the exceptional women whose lives he ended and/or destroyed. Again, please check it out when it comes out this fall. But be forewarned that the subject matter is dark.

as for MOVIES, well, if I tried to make a list like the one above I'd be here all day, so why don't I just list a handful that I consider central to understanding who I am as a person:

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

The Life of Brian

The Blues Brothers

The Princess Diaries 1 AND 2

Little Women (2019)

Juno

The Holiday

Pride and Prejudice (2005)

Star Wars, the OG and prequel trilogies

and, last winter I stumbled across The Four Seasons starring Alan Alda and Carol Burnett, and I thought it was delightful.

[handelplayssims]

So before we pop into Nier Automata household again, we had something weird happen with 701 ZenView. Like the preview screen for the home had all of it’s furniture but when I thought to test and move someone in, because the lot said it had 0 value, I was like, “What, why?” And it turns out that somehow it was completely unfurnished! So I also went back in and saved the bathrooms and kitchen because I can accept the bedrooms and living rooms being completely barren but I like my plumbing and my kitchens to be set up, thank you very much!

2B is hungry. Why? I dunno. Something something uncontrolled Sims. Anyway, it’s a few hours until work for her so I have her take care of her needs. 9S is at an interesting part of his aspiration. He needs 50 romantic gestures towards his spouse and then 3 gold dates. I would but 2B has work to do. Have nothing really to do with 9S so uh, chess practice for his job, I suppose. ...he would have a Social Bunny, aka Twitter, though. 2B nah but 9S, absolutely. Time to work from home and it’s...research historic battles. Alrighty then. That’s easily done from home. After 2B finishes her yoga, we can do that. I checked the calender and oh fuck. It’s Geekcon. Of course it’s Geekcon. Annnd we got another Welcome Wagon thanks to the moving in and out for that one apartment. Nah, no thanks. Hmm. Don’t know when 9S is gonna wake up so we’re going to head off to fish somewhere with 2B! To the...ah, that shopping area!

Third location fished at and now we got her whim of fishing with bait finished. Woo! Next stage is to mount or bowl 5 fish and to fish for 10 hours. Already got the skill check finished as well. Everything she fishes today will go straight into the fish tank! Holy carp! Caught a sturgeon worth 133 simoleans! Jesus! Once it’s in fish tank, it’s getting sold. Fish bowled. Now it’s just a matter of time. But now it’s time to check in on 9S.

So 9S finally got his hug and got to talk to 2B about his brilliant ideas. And got a woohoo in before heading off to work. Anyway, time for 2B to fish some more. Alone preferably. -stares at the Sims who head to the fishing spots- Got four fish and one treasure. Time to head home, meditate a bit, gain the Time for Fun mood, and then head to bed. Same for 9S. He needs to head to bed as well.

Neighborhood Watch!

Kendra Donnelly in the Donnelly household left her job as an Assistant Manager in the Business career.

Riya Anand in the Anand household has died. Riya got on the bad side of a chicken.

Windenburg: The Stanford household has moved in.

2B is up and we got a little bit before work so more fishing time! Man it’s nice to have a fishing spot right next to your home. 9S is up and wants to date 2B. And hang around her so he doesn’t miss her. ...so we could have a date, if we manage to get an easy work-from-home. And I mean, it’s working from home so it won’t be that bad. Miko dropped by to hang out so let’s play a game of chess. It works for his job! She drifted off from the game – oh he won. Ah but let’s just play some more chess then. Annnd she decided to prank him by saying she’s a criminal mastermind. Alongside missing 2B, that pushes 9S into being tense. Annnd Liberty decided to be mean in 9S messages so she’s getting smack-talked! Online, of course. Work-from-home is write a report. Hmm. We’ll see how long that exactly takes.

Miko dropped right back in and asked to be best friends with 9S. Considering the tense moodlet, nah. You know what 2B can do? Other than fish and get onto the next stage of her aspiration? Give massages. She can help with 9S’s tense feelings! ...well it at least took him down from very tense into tense so let have 2B go fishing again! Ironically enough, the very tense now is from doing yoga. Sedentary lifestyle after all! Now 9S is feeling better and that report didn’t take long at all. Let’s ask 2B out!

...oh dang it. Both of the goals post the initial one are to be in flirty or playful moodlets. That’s no fun! (With Meaningful Stories that is) Thankfully we somehow didn’t need it, as we had one stage already clear. Welp!

Why yes! I did just add in a bush so that 2B and 9S could woohoo. Mweheheh. Annd it started raining. Welp. Might as well end the date early so we can head back home. And both still got great sentiments out of it! Huzzah! I’m at least getting the romantic gestures up to 10 before I go anywhere else. 9S wants to debate with geeks after all! 2B is no nerd so he must find those other nerds! And since online socials are heating up between the nerds in the Best of Friends household, might as well see Eddie instead.

Eddie’s scared. Likely because of the house he lives in and passes on his fear to 9S! Thankfully we are ultra focused so it doesn’t matter. We manage to successfully calm him down as well! Nice. And with some chatter, we are now good friends. Wooo! And with a quick check in done, it’s time to go home and time for-

Neighborhood Watch!

Ryo Fujiwara in the Fujiwara household has died. Ryo had his last laugh.

Yotsuyu goe Brutus in the Yotsuyu Goe Brutus household has died. Yotsuyu thought she could conquer a mountain, but the mountain conquered her.

NOT MY FAVORITE FFXIV VILLIAN! Alas and woe!

[gingersnapwolves]

having now finished Bloodhounds, would definitely recommend! my personal score would be 7/10 but others may rate it higher depending on what you’re looking for in a show. there were some plot and pacing issues that made me knock it down a few points. but the characters were great, the acting was good, the fight choreography was amazing. overall my issues were that it was less of a “criminal masterminds” show and more of a “let’s solve problems with violence” show. which isn’t necessarily a bad thing! just that my preference is for the former.

because this is my tumblr, I’m gonna nitpick about some plot things but that’s under a cut so it won’t spoil anyone and nobody has to read it if they don’t want to lol

I was really, really surprised that Hyeon-Ju didn’t come back for the finale. They built up the whole thing with Kim Myeong-Gil being the person responsible for her father’s death but just ... dropped it. Which isn’t necessarily unrealistic and I’m glad Hyeon-Ju is living her best life, but it also just seemed very weird in a show that had basically been about her and the two boxers up until that point. Made weirder because they sort of ... replaced her? With Mr. Oh’s granddaughter? Like, why? Just weird.

Will nitpick further in that it really seemed like our dear murder dads were way too smart to take Jang-Do back to Du-Yeong’s own shop to torture him and then leave identifying evidence there ... like I understand the plot dictated that KMG would find them and kill the old guard so Woo-Jin and Gun-Woo would be left alone to fix things themselves, but I feel like there were better ways for KMG to find them than LDY just like ... leaving all his identifying papers at the place where they tortured a guy. Or bringing that guy there to begin with.

But my biggest complaint is that KMG didn’t die. Like. I get it. Woo-Jin and Gun-Woo weren’t murderers. They didn’t want to become murderers. But KMG just being arrested left the story feeling unfinished to me. Over the course of the show he had *multiple* people working for him who were familiar with the police. I’m supposed to believe he’d going to just quietly go to jail and not try to get revenge? If the writers didn’t want to have Gun-Woo or Woo-Jin kill him directly, an indirect death would have been fine. He could have fallen off the boat or something. IDK, I was just really taken aback that it’s like ‘oh Interpol’s gonna arrest him and everything’s cool now’. Like um. I sure hope that works out for you.

(also very very nitpicky and just an indication of what I like to see in a show but after all the build-up of ‘KMG doesn’t trust anyone but KIB is like a brother to him’, I was *really* disappointed that they didn’t do something where KMG betrays KIB because he never really cared about him at all and KIB goes apeshit over it’. that would have been a great way to kill KMG without one of our two leads having to do it! okay I’m done now, that’s all.)

overall it was a good show, just maybe not as tightly written as shows like Beyond Evil and The Devil Judge have made me appreciate ... but again, it’s a different kind of show and if we were going to judge this one based solely on the fight scenes it would get 15/10 so it’s all in what you’re looking for

all right obviously I love the young trio in Bloodhounds working together, bonding, kicking the crap out of people, but I am also 100% in love with the "old guys who are sick of this shit and have decided it's time for some good old-fashioned murder" team

[sorcererinthestars]

Maybe the crew discussing how long they've been alive for??

They came together over the course of a year or two. For some, that would seem like a long period of time - its 1 (or 2) parts of a lifetime. But for them its like the blink of an eye, like something is driving them together. They all feel a need to go to Los Santos - why, they can’t explain: it’s a bastion of hell, it’s a place of death and fear and rage. There’s no explainable reason to go there, but after so long, they learn to follow these urges when they hit.Geoff is the first to cross the hallowed land of the city. To feel its thrumming in his bones, to breathe its life and walk its streets. He’s only there for ten minutes before he realizes that it’s his. It has to be; it’s just a matter of time before he owns the place. He buys a penthouse and sets himself up as a King. Orchestrating his hold on this City of Sin would take time, but that was a commodity he didn’t have to worry about. He could be extremely patient when he had to be.When the others arrive, all are drawn to that same place, to that penthouse door. It takes time for them to grow at ease with one another, but after so long without a friend… well. How do you explain to someone the weight of decades, let alone centuries? When you find someone like you, you tend to hold on. And hold on tight.Two years later, they’re reclining in the living room of the penthouse after a successful heist, getting drunk on hundred year old red wine and reveling in their victory. Boasting about their roles in a heist, robbing the Bank that Couldn’t Be Robbed, by the Crew that Couldn’t Die. Cackles fill the room, increasingly drunken and warm. They did it. The city was wrapped around their little pinkies. They owned it, hearts beating in time with the thrum of the traffic. It was theirs, down to the lowest of the lowlifes and the highest of the superstars. Los Santos Police Department had practically given up. No one could kill the myths, the legends, the Fake AH Crew. They try, of course, but rumors flood the city now - they say Mogar took a bullet to the throat and laughed as blood, cherry red and vivid, dripped over his lips. They say The Vagabond fought with the strength of ten men even when he was missing part of an arm. They die, they go down, and then rise back up again a few minutes later, whole and wearing a smile ready to set even the kindest of men on fire.Waving his arms, Michael laughs, relating some of his shots and mentioning how much better this was than the trenches. They knew they were all inflicted with the same blessing (curse?) but no one pushed about the knowledge of where they had came from. Their First Death, their Real Death - that was personal. Their life Before…. that was personal too. But drunk on wine and flush with victory, the questions start. And as they start, it becomes a torrential downpour. Michael starts, recounting his time serving in the First World War. His first death, blown to pieces by a mine in front of his best friend. How he served in almost every war since then - he didn’t know anything but how to be a good and loyal soldier. Until he fell in with crime, of course. This, he assured them all, was much more fun. They raise their glasses in toast, red wine shining like blood in their crystal goblets.Ramsey, laughingly, is the youngest (though not by much). Killed while running illegal liquor in the twenties, he continued on with crime. While he may be young in terms of years, he had the experience, and they all heaped on the praise until he was flushed and laughing, standing up and screaming the glory of their crew until they were all red-faced and grinning like loons, screaming the might of the Fake AH Crew into the setting sun.Gavin was a young lordling, killed off during the War of the Roses. He lived a variety of roles since then, from the humblest pickpocket to the richest man in England. He knew how to fit in in the highest courts and among the lowest denizens of crime. It fits his position as their Front-runner. Hackers came with a fascination for computers and a dogged desire to learn when they came on the scene late in his life. He leans against Ryan, wine blood red on his lips curled in a wicked smile, blond hair styled just so, teeth blindly white, and bows his head as they sing his fame.Jack’s also quite old. She wasn’t anyone of huge note, but was killed the first time fighting in the French Revolution, storming the streets and fighting the barricades dressed as a man. She was shot through the heart and pulls down her shirt to show the shimmering scar still there. They all hold their death scars and when they coax her, she screams Vive La Revolution! Vive le FAHC! to a chorus of ground-shaking cheers and stomps and drunken howls. Jeremy admits he was a witch with a callous smirk. Killed in Boston after the Salem Witch Trials. It explains the ring around his neck, hung until dead, and the aversion to water. He assures them all that men could also be witches and with a sly smile, admits that he was one of the few ‘real ones’. He thought for years it was his delving into “witchcraft” - blood sacrifices in the moonlight, dancing naked with his fellow Sisters and Brothers, etc - that gave him his immortality. He admits he’s since learned witchcraft is nothing of the sort, but hasn’t ever lost his taste for blood and sin and riding on the Devil’s dick. He says the end with a wink and leans closer to Michael and is applauded with shrieks of laughter and many, many kisses.Ryan’s last, the least drunk of them all but still sipping out of his decanter. He slowly admits that he was a Roman gladiator, hundreds of years older than even the oldest among them. He was killed as a young man in the Rings and traveled all around the Roman empire, fighting for the thrill and for the glory, changing his name every time he died. He grew to infamy and eventually picked up a life of shadowy crime, muscle and death for anyone who crossed him. Its silent for a moment as they all consider how long he must have been alive, but then a true chant of his name rises up: “Ryan!” “Ryan!” “RYAN!” as he takes an elaborate bow. They all come from different places and different backgrounds, united by both the sense that they cannot die and their desire to make the world quiver under their feet. They are Gods, for all sense and purpose. No doors can hold them out, no life they have not lived. Lying on the couch, wine that costs more than some people make in a lifetime spilling out onto their white carpets, they shriek and laugh and tease. Screaming their glory to the highest heights, laughing at the failure of the LSPD and at their own sick achievements. They are many things, apart. But together, they are the Immortal Fake AH Crew. They are one with the city, they breathe as it breathes, their hearts beat in time with the flashing of the city lights. They own it and it owns them, and they will be there until they turn into legend and song…. the legends of the crew that owned Los Santos. The legend of the Fake AH.