#lost mormor

[un1tamed1fox]

Sebastian: Blame, Bruises and Chains, I'll say your name, But I won't beg for you, my dear, These knees have bled Pulled out my hair, Didn't know you tried to burn us down Even when we tried to work it out.

Goodbye, Jim.

[detective4blog]

I managed to write something slightly coherent and it's of course some angsty bullshit reunion moment that takes place sometime during season 4. Under the cut bc I feel bad making long posts. Also no spoilers bc I barely remember that season anyway.

Those deeply colored eyes were trained on his. The flecks of lighter blue seeming lighter with a slight joy, but drowning in the sea of rage induced navy blue fire. Those eyes were different, changed. Toughened from his past, toughened from his present; his eyes truly were like diamonds.

Still, they were Sebastian's eyes. Not the eyes of some sick criminal or twisted bastard...not to John, at least. At least he knew what happened after that pit. Sebastian hadn't died, and seemed to make a living for himself.

If clothes with dried blood stains counted as that.

"I want to make it clear that I don't care about the Holmes, either of them." He spoke, practically growling. "Keep them away from whatever fuck-all island the younger one wants to go to."

John was confused, vaguely remembering that there was some talk about someone, that Mycroft didn't want him involved since he wasn't family until Sherlock said something. "...why?"

Sebastian didn't look surprised by the question, but his silence proved he hadn't thought of a response to that question. "Spite, I suppose."

"No, I mean why warn me."

Longer silence.

"Mycroft would try to recruit me and Sherlock would just arrest me. Or talk too much and end up getting shot." The answer was said in a bored tone. As if either of those options would be an inconvenience.

John looked at the pockets of Sebastian's pants and jacket, looking for the faint shape of a firearm. That seemed to amuse the older, holding his arms out in a way that said "go on, frisk me".

Despite better judgement, John did so. Keeping far away as he could but feeling around for a weapon; gun, knife, or worse. He could feel how Sebastian's arms were larger with muscles. How he had another shirt underneath the plain button up he had on.

No weapon.

"I don't think you're a threat to me."

John raised a brow. Sebastian sighed, continuing to speak. "If it came to it, you'd hesitate to shoot me. And if you did manage to pull the trigger, it'd be somewhere that wouldn't kill me. You'd do the same if Stanford got involved in shit."

"I could break your arm." John pointed out. "Non lethal and would keep you from doing anything. Worst I could do there is make it a messy break."

Sebastian looked amused. "You'd have to grab me. If I had a gun," he made finger guns and aimed it towards John's midsection, "it'd be over. A knife, maybe you could get away with it. And you'd be betting on the fact that I can't use my other arm."

This wasn't how most people who went to school together and served together talked. Neither of them were normal anymore, it seemed. Too wrapped up in different worlds that intertwined sometimes.

"You said spite earlier. To who?"

The smile dropped from Sebastian's face at the question, eyes darkening. Not angry but mournful. "A dead man."

John crossed his arms at that answer, head tilting to the side. "You weren't always so closed about answers before."

That drew a bitter booming laugh. "You weren't always one for messy adventures."

Touché.

John stared at the man for a bit. He wanted to speak more, but what could he ask? What would Sebastian reveal? He sighed. "If you know Sherlock, you know I can't talk him out of anything."

The mention of the detective made Sebastian's face become sour with hatred. "You can try. Or not tag along. It's his loose ends to tie, not yours. You've got a kid to worry about."

John's throat went dry at the mention of Rosie. A slight moment of regret appeared in Sebastian's eyes but his face remained blank. "How did you hear about that? I haven't seen you since-"

"That dead bastard decided to keep getting updates even from the grave. Bit stupid if you ask me, since I certainly don't care what shape Sherlock's shot into the wall or your baby." Sebastian interrupted with a shrug. So casual about admitting that the man he knew spied into-

"Moriarty."

That got a reaction from Sebastian. His eyes flashed with every stage of grief, his body tensed, and his fists clenched. It all relaxed after a deep breath, eyes turning to the side. "You've gotten observant."

"Happens when you hang around observant the Holmes brothers."

Sebastian still stared at something towards his life. Likely nothing of importance, but something that was good enough to keep his mind off of the loss he still was recovering from. "I gave my warning. Don't get involved with all that. It's messy and it'll just ruin your day."

"What is 'it', exactly?"

"One of the many charming skeletons in Mycroft's closet." Sebastian finally looked at John again. His eyes were returning to the ones John knew; the ones that glimmered with playfulness and had a fire burning in the background. "Tell him I said 'hi'. It might make him a bit grumpy, though. I've been a bit of a problem for him, after all."

John was silent. Those rageful eyes from earlier were that of a criminal but the anger was not at him. Could it ever be at him? Curiosity would kill him, and heaven knew when he'd see Sebastian again. "Could you shoot if it was me?"

Sebastian stopped, his back turned and only ten steps away. "Pardon?"

"Could you shoot me?"

The man was silent. The longer it lasted, the more the possible answer started to scare John. What would he do if it was a 'yes, without hesitation'? Just walk away and pretend that finding out an old friend would shoot you if it came to it was normal?

"Probably not. You've got that kid to take care of, and I'd hate to take you away from them." Sebastian thought for a moment, a grin growing on his face. "'Sides, you've got too pretty of a body to shoot."

"Someone disagrees with you."

"Someone hasn't seen you naked, then."

John was about to comment that of course whoever shot him hadn't seen him naked before stopping. Sebastian's incident happened before he was shot. He didn't hear of that tidbit of news. He frowned, shaking his head a little. "You say that as if many people have." He instead said.

Sebastian shrugged. "I'm just happy to be one of 'em."

"I see you haven't changed."

Another booming laugh, this one with no traces of bitterness. John couldn't help but smile at it, rolling his eyes. "Besides, I don't even know who shot me."

Sebastian stopped, concern lacing his eyes. "Was it here or back then? Because if it was here, I can easily find who did it and-"

"It was during the war, Sebastian. Jesus, calm down." He forgot how scary his old friend could look when angry. Even more now that he bulked more muscles and was rather obviously a criminal.

The man just nodded at that, scratching the side of his neck. "Sorry to hear. Hope it doesn't bother you."

"Not anymore."

"Good."

Silence washed over the two again. It was obvious the conversation was being dragged on longer than it needed to be. John didn't want to let go but Sebastian was already drifting away like sand in the wind.

"See you around?" He called hopefully after the retreating blonde.

"...maybe. Probably not, though."

There was a sad bitterness in Sebastian's voice. It thickened his accent and made his already deep voice go lower.

He was still so readable after all these years. John watched him go until he couldn't make out which walking person was Sebastian, then went on his own way. He kept what was said in mind, hoping to bring it up whenever Sherlock was in a mood to accept ideas that contradicted what he wanted.

Even if keeping him away from wherever was just Sebastian being a spiteful bastard towards Moriarty one last time.

[iris-qt]

𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜

🌱 ʟᴏʀᴇɴᴢᴏ ʙᴇʀᴋꜱʜɪʀᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🌱 ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

🌱 ᴍᴇᴇᴛ-ᴄᴜᴛᴇ

🌱 ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʟᴏʀᴇɴᴢᴏ ʙᴇʀᴋꜱʜɪʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴛʀɪᴘ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴡᴇᴅᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪꜱ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ʀᴜɴꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪɴ-ᴇxɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴍɪꜱʜᴀᴘ…ꜰᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʜɪᴍ ᴏᴜᴛ.

On his long-awaited dream trip to Sweden, Lorenzo Berkshire did not expect to feel so lost and alone. It wasn’t his fault he got so distracted looking out the train window, watching the lush lime glow of Sweden fall past him in the pouring rain.

Lorenzo was definitely more of a sunny day kinda guy but the muggy glow of the rain was absolutely magical. Until the magic ended, and Mattheo, Theodore, and Blaise were shouting at him to hurry up. Turning just in time, he watched the clear doors close on their gaped faces, and the train began chugging away.

It took Lorenzo a good minute to snap out of it. And then the panic begun. He couldn’t read those markings on the map lest he produce a headache at the tiny foreign characters swimming back and forth. Lorenzo looked around wildly, startling the locals. Smart Enzo had decided to visit a deep un-touristy part of Sweden in which very few people spoke English. He was going down the line, begging the confused locals to help, until he got to the very end of the car.

A cute girl with gorgeous hair was sitting with her headphones on, typing away at her laptop. He began his praticed questions, but the girl didn’t even acknowledge him. Confused, he stood there staring as she briefly looked up, and quickly became startled at this strange man’s face inches from hers. She slid her headphones onto her neck as she raised an annoyed brow at Enzo. He sheepishly grinned as he realized her loud music had tuned out his question. He began,

“HELLO! Do. You. Speak. English?”

Lorenzo thoughtfully enuniciated his words, hoping to get through to this girl. She just rolled her eyes at him. So he, red as the “no signal” alert on his muggle phone he carried in case of emergencies, was sad to have embarrassed himself in front of this enchanting girl. He quickly apologized with one of the few words he knew in Swedish.

“Förlåt.”

He bowed his head to convey some sign of respect and began to walk away. The girl snickered and called out to him,

“What do you need?”

He turned back with a surprised grin. “Hi! My name’s Enzo. So…I’m sort of lost and I cant speak Swedish,” he said ashamedly.

“Sounds like you can’t pronounce words in it either,” she said with a smirk.

“Oh no. How bad?”

“Mmm pretty bad.”

“Aw, Merlin.”

“Where are you trying to get to?”

“A place called Marstrand.”

“Oh, my mormor lives there”

“Your what?”

“My grandmother.”

Lorenzo smiled at the girl as she looked at him skeptically with his permanently happy face. She found it strange how someone could be so happy. Especially when lost in an unknown country. She found the silence to be awkward.

“We left Marstrand behind 2 stops ago. You’ll have to take a car or carriage back.”

“Oh my god, a carriage?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Like from some fairytale!”

“Yes, I guess so.” She couldn’t help but laugh at this strange foreign boy with the cute smile. Her laugh was music to Enzo’s ears. He wished he could capture the sound in an intricate music box as detailed as her and play it over and over again.

“So where should I get off?”

“As soon as you can.”

“The next stop?”

“Yes. Let me write out a note for you and teach you how to ask for directions. Once you get to the transportation place, just give them the note.”

“You’re a life saver..um…what was your name?”

The girl smiled and decided to shroud herself in mystery. Maybe then Enzo wouldn’t forget her, for you can forget a name, but not a presence.

“My name is confidential information,” she said, shrugging jokingly.

“Hmm confidential information. Guess I’ll have to abbreviate it to CI.”

“Doesn’t sound very pleasant.”

“Well then, it’s an oxymoron,” he said, grinning widely at his new object of attention.

“An oxy- what?” she said, brows creased, struggling to pronounce this new word. Enso just shrugged in his signature playful way as the announcer informed the passengers of the upcoming stop.

Lorenzo immediately felt a wave of sadness in leaving this girl behind. Something about her adorable stormy nature seemed much more appealing than the storm outside.

She began to get up, her bag and red umbrella in hand, and for a moment, Lorenzo saw flashes of romantically fantastical scenes in which CI disregarded her proceedings and explored all of Sweden with him.

But, unfortunately, she informed him her stop was after his, beyond the mountain, and she was just wishing him goodbye. Oh cruel, cruel reality.

[kissingghouls]

Can we have #4 playing with each others fingers with Terzo, pretty please? 🥺

You sure can Anon. Thank you for the prompt!

Very much inspired by the comics @anamelessfool shared with me about Terzo and Mormor (Secondo’s cat). Thank you for those! 💜 & divider by @gothdaddyissues thank you!💜

First Aid - Terzo x gn!Reader Drabble

TW for slightly injured Terzo. (nothing is described in detail).

“And how did this happen?”

“Erm.” Terzo squinted in the bright light, screwing his face up as he searched for answer. He bit his lip and focused on the ceiling tiles instead of directing his excuse toward you. “Paper cut?”

You studied the mangled skin of his finger. There was no way this wound was caused by a simple slip of paper. Unless…

“Terzo,” you prodded gently. “Did you get your glove caught in Copia’s paper shredder?”

“No!” He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I am not that clumsy—”

“Eh—”

“Ok, fine. It was Secondo’s stupid cat again!” he admitted haughtily. “She nearly took my hand clean off.”

“Oh, Terzo. Again? Why don’t you just…I don’t know, leave her alone?”

“I want her to like me.” He sighed, shoulders slumping as he leveled his eyes with yours. “One day that cat will love me, tesoro. You’ll see.” He flexed his hand and winced. “Am I dying? Does it need stitches?”

You smiled warmly at the man who had fought so hard to win a grumpy old cat’s affection—and lost. Repeatedly. “No stitches,” you assured him. “However, your glove…”

“Easily replaced, my love.”

“Maybe, but you are not.”

With a soft touch, you cleaned the scrapes and scratches while gently blowing on the wounds to ease the burn of the antiseptic. Terzo was a little dramatic on his best days, but he was especially bad at handling pain. Today however he stayed silent as he watched you finish dressing his wound.

You pressed a kiss against the thick into bandage and smiled. “All done.”

“What would I do without you?” he asked, turning his hand to examine your work.

“Hmm, probably get tetanus.”

“That…does not sound sexy.”

“Because it’s not,” you replied with a laugh. “When are you going to learn to keep your hands to yourself?”

He reached out with his uninjured hand, delicately tracing each pad of your fingers. His touch was soft and loving, still warm through the material of his gloves. He followed the lines to the other side, drawing over each knuckle with a thoughtful look on his face. “I will keep my hands away from the cat…”

“But?”

“But I could never keep my hands off you, tesoro.”

(trying to learn how to be comfortable with writing/posting smaller pieces so it's not just radio silence between my big projects?)

[dick-helmet-magneto]

Top Five Fanfictions you've read, and top 5 fanfictions you've written!

Jesus Kay...

I'm so bad at keeping up with fanfics i've read. I genuinely have no idea but I'm starting with my bookmarks and working from there Top five fanfics i've read (in no particular order)

Misunderstandings Galore - xXQueenofDragonsXx in which Erik thinks Peter is Charles's son. I've read this fic so many times i keep thinking about it and coming back to it. I love a good misunderstanding

Drive My Way - Schatz2020 Race car driver Erik, surgeon Charles. They meet and Erik crashes his car. cannot be sold enough race car driver Erik. The world needs more. Especially with hurt Erik? Tear that boy to shreds. I once lost this fic and spent weeks looking for it.

If It Happens One More Time ('More Than Adequate' Remix) - Butterynutjob Charles and Erik meet, Erik is insecure. Charles finds out it's because Erik's wife is controlling and emotionally abusive. Another fic I've spent weeks looking for at one point. I just love Erik being hurt and Charles caring for him. There's a big theme going on here.

The next two aren't cherik related but live in my head rent free. both are by @rammyrue (hope the tag is okay)

Emergency Contact Sebastian is bought a sex worker, then is mistaken as the sex worker's emergency contact. It's been so long since I've read this fic but I think about it so much. It's been a while since i've read any mormor fics but this this one has stayed with me in the best way

Profess Sebastian goes to the wrong lecture, falls for Jim and for the woman Jim lives with. I've read this more times than I could count. At least once a week it enters my mind. There are parts that I just suddenly remember and go back to reread like I'm watching my favorite episode of a show.

I could take the easy way out and give the like over all most popular fics i've written but I feel like that's not the goal here. almost 350 fics to sort through. Top five fanfics i've written (in no particular order)

Pawns and Rings 5 Times Charles and Erik play chess and 1 time Erik proposes to Charles instead.

Professors Stark and Strange Tony and Stephen are professors they're married, no one knows. It's a whole thing. This is on the list just because it is objectively, looking at hits and kudos the best fic I've written almost 12k hits, over 1.5k kudos, over 100 bookmarks.

See for Yourself Sebastian is going blind and what good is a blind sniper?

Not Who You Think I Am Sub Erik, dom Charles. Everyone worries that Erik is abusing Charles because of how intimidating he is. Less about the fic, more about the plot. I love fics where everyone thinks Erik is dangerous and going to hurt Charles but around Charles and Charles only he's the softest, kindest, most caring boyfriend.

Secret Dad-ing Unknown to everyone in the school, in the dead of the night, when everyone else sleeps, Erik steals some moments alone with his son.

[idkjupiterdraws]

The recoms: MANSK

FT: My oc Rio

-all of them holding a mormoral for Mansk. Everyone has candles and yeah-

Lyle: we are gathered here today by the recoms to morn the passing of my fellow recom Mansk

Mansk: -in the background- IM NOT DEAD!

Lyle: we haven’t found the remains of his body but we were told that he was dead by….Johnathan…..a scientist

Z-dog: -starts bawling- HE TAUGHT ME HOW TO COOK!

Ja: he stayed by my side when I was sick

Lopez: He taste tested my food to see what was wrong with it

Rio:…..I wish he would come back

-everyone crying and bawling their eyes out-

Fike: I WANT THE GRILL MASTER BACKKKKKK

Brown: DONT WE ALL!?

mansk: IM NOT DEAD IM RIGHT HERE

Everyone: …..MANSK!

-everyone goes and piles onto him-

Ja: WE THOUGHT WE LOST YOU BRO

lyle: YEAH WHO ELSE WOULD I TRADE SUNGLASSES WITH

Mansk: Rio

Lyle: …..their the second option. Sorry rookie

Rio: it’s fine I’m not offended

Mansk: Well I didnt die i just got lost and made friends with a thantor.

Quaritch: well is great to have you back grill master

Mansk: It’s Great to be back. so WHOs Ready for me to start grilling?

Everyone: ME ME ME ME ME

Mansk: ok ok I’ll start now after I wash my hands and get all my supplies. The helper for today is Lopez

Lopez: YES BITCH BEAT THAT

ja: GOD DAMN IT

brown: ………..REALLY

Fike: eh

-we stand grill master Mansk-

Warren: WHAT ABOUT ME

-SHUSH-

[abarbaricyalp]

Author Question Tag Game Thing

Thank you so much for the tag @cobrafantasies !!!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

131 (ElisabethMonroe)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

863,403

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Marvel/SamBucky (I've got a few Buddie WIPs languishing)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Truths Beneath Our Ribs The North American Superhero in a Domestic Situation Tying Me to You (never) Lost In Translation A Conversion of Worry and Love All fics I wrote while the show was airing. Please, casual fans, come back

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! But I am so behind right now :/

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably My Sunshine. I was rude with that ending. Though Stained and Sun Burst may give it a run for its money.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmmm. Most of my fics have pleasant endings. Maybe Until The Last Rose?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Knock on several pieces of wood, no. I've never gotten hate on a fic. Please, nobody take this as a challenge.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. I've discovered the hilarious pattern in my writing where Bucky is nigh on constantly giving Sam a bj. It's what Sam deserves. Other than that, I hope my smutty scenes are kinda sappy and lovey, for the most part.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

For my own personal enjoyment, yeah. I came into fandom with SuperWhoLock, so there was a lot of cross over there and I write a Raven Cycle/X-Files crossover when I'm bored or unmotivated.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hopefully not, but I used to get prompts stolen a lot when I RP'd back in ye olden days.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Maybe. A few people have asked, but never followed up. I totally get it. That's a lot of work.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not necessarily as a co-author, but I've done Bangs and had betas/artists that were essential to the process.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Y'all know I love me some SamBucky, but I do hold onto MorMor still. It just scratches the itch in my brain.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

So many. I think the one I most want to write but have the least confidence in finishing it is a Sam/Steve/Bucky Hunchback of Notre Dame AU. It's set in a future-Hydra Won world and has assassin and spy intrigue and so many identity issues

16. What are your writing strengths?

I always say dialogue on this question and I always hope it's true.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

1) Remembering to describe things, but I think if I have time I'm pretty good at going back and filling in the gaps. 2) Getting out of the research phase. I love to read about things and make as full of a story as possible, but I often spend so long doing that, I either lose confidence or lose interest in the actual writing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If you've read (never) Lost in Translation, you'll know I'll use it. If you read the comments on that fic you'll also know I'm bad at it and it takes a village.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Technically Twilight but I don't really count that. Really really officially, it was Sherlock/MorMor.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Currently it's Tell It to the Bees (and the birds). I also really like A Time for Dancing and i found something in the woods somewhere

Please, anyone who wants to do this, do so! I love reading responses to these kinds of things!

[hailsatanacab]

Challenge! 18 Questions for Writers

Thank you to @die-erlkonigin6083 for the tag!!!

How many works do you have on Ao3?

only 6... I am not a fast writer 😅

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

147,953 - 113,000 of which belong to cetbwa, which is incredible to me, I never thought it would get this big!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

on ao3 I only have mdzs and dpxdc rn! I've written for a few other fandoms, but nothing ever really got finished

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

close enough to be whole again

Unable to Forward

The Problem with Portals

My Father's Sword

almost (sweet music)

5. Do you respond to comments?

😬i.... do not. I really wish I could say yes to this, and while I try to get to the first few on a fic... I'm not the best at keeping up to date with them.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

so far, I think we're safe from angsty endings!! I really need to step up my angst game, don't I?

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

idk probably i wouldn't know where to start - if only because I included the tag "Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian Get Their Happy Ending"

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not that I know of! There have been a few rude comments, but nothing horrible, thankfully :)

9. Do you write smut fic? If so, what kind?

I'm pretty dreadful at writing smut, it just doesn't come easy to me at all. There's a wip that I'm trying so hard with and it is f i g h t i n g me

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what's the craziest one you've written?

hell yeah babe! I was never into crossovers until dpxdc gripped me by the throat and I have not looked back since!!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not!

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

uuhh I tried co-writing a smutty mormor sherlock fic way back when, but we both sort of just lost interest. Otherwise, nope! Would be interested in trying, though!!

13. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I'm not super into ships tbh? Like in my current dpxdc hyperfixation phase, I'll read anything - there's no ship I'll drop anything for and nothing I won't read

for everything else: hualian invented love, moshang invented some fucked up dynamics, wangxian are just perfect, (beefleaf honourable mention)

14. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

my mdzs psychic!wwx and detective!lwj murder mystery fic that I honestly still love the concept for, but now I'm just... onto other things. I'm sorry bby 🙇‍♀️

15. What are your writing strengths?

I love writing dialogue, I really enjoy it. Catch me in my room reading all my conversations out loud just to see if they sound natural

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Description! I hate describing things! I always forget to do it and it's always a hassle to make it flow within the story. You can't stop the whole thing just to describe what someone's wearing otherwise it's boring, but trying to get that sweet spot of letting the audience know vital information about the scene in a way that doesn't detract from everything else is... diff

17. First Fandom you wrote for?

yikes probably harry potter. I distinctly remember writing something on quizilla with an OC arranged marriage to Draco Malfoy. She had a secret base inside a tree and she was sorted into Gryffindor (because of course she was) and all the boys loved her. very oc.

18. Favorite Fic you've written?

uuhh!! i really enjoyed writing The Problem with Portals, it was just so much fun! Obviously cetbwa, too, because I can be so unapologetically angsty in that 😅 love to put that guy in situations

And I am answered! Thank you again for the tag, and in return I shall... @gilbirda and @thewritingowl

[okami-avalon]

[Mormor. Teenlock. AfterLife. PastAbuse. Sorry for my English in advance. We can continue via email if you like. :33 vaticancameos@outlook.es ]

Jim Moriarty woke up abruptly in the middle of the night. He was feeling terrible pain in his head. The Irish boy tried to think about the last thing he remembered. The St Barts Hospital. The Roof. The end of the game. Sherlock. All was going according to his plan. The plan he and his sniper had been talking about for months. But then...

'...Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them. '

And his worst nightmares became true. The Consulting Detective knew about it. About him. About his pressure point. And with all that implied... He didn't have any options. He couldn't even say goodbye to Sebastian, who was probably watching everything from the front building. He knew what he had to do. 'As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends; you’ve got a way out...Well, good luck with that.'  After saying those last words to Sherlock Holmes, he took the gun and shot himself...

Moriarty had never been afraid of death. But he didn't ever imagine that he would just go back in time. Back when he was just a teenager, to the exact moment where he was still thinking about killing Carl Powers for bullying him, his first step to building his criminal organization

But not only that. He was back on time. The time when he needed to survive.

Survive at the school. From the students, who liked to torment him for some reason. Survive at home with his father, who used to beat him up almost every day.

Survive on his own, sometimes not being able to eat, because he didn't have any money, or cause of his bullies. Sometimes sleeping in the cold streets to avoid being beated up again at home...

Of all the moments from his past, coming to that one was the worst one. 

But the good thing was that now he had an adult mind. He knew better how to handle most of those situations. 

Now, after weeks later, he was in one of the boring classes of his high school, watching the sky through the window with his chin resting on his hand, while the teacher was talking, something about a new kid joining the class, about to introduce him. But Jim wasn't listening; he was thinking about what could have happened in the future. About his organization. About Sherlock. About the last moments of his previous life. About his sniper. And mostly about how he was going to change the future now. He was completely lost in his thoughts, just when a boy behind him was about to hit him on the head with one of the books on purpose.

[soleilenchaine]

before i made this tumblr account, i used to have a wholock fandom account. i had it since i was in highschool (~2011).

highkey wished i didn't delete it bc it had so many of my old fics on it (like, a scary amount of mormor and amy pond self-ship fics), but i deleted it in 2018 when tumblr decided to go full steam ahead with its enshittification.

sometimes i think about how much tumblr content has just been lost due to this, either getting deleted during the Mass Porn Purge, or deleted by users who felt that the one platform they felt safe and comfortable expressing and sharing their art in was becoming hostile towards them.

and it makes me really sad.

so much art, gone. lost to the void because no one archived it. lost forever because some corporation decided that preserving their bottom line was preferable than preserving snapshots of a diverse culture that is so transient and fickle due to the nature of the internet.

[thehugwizard]

Hello hi I'm sorry if I'm incoherent rn but I'm v excited about a thing and I wanted to share it

Ok so I think I rambled about my Tipp tipp before but in case I didn't I don't know mush about her because the only time I ever heard about her was when my mormor got drunk and talked about when she came to the US after the camps which immediately segued into my mormor talking about other things but ANYWAY

When she came to California she got another star of David and it was this little wooden one that her husband made for her and it was on a little piece of string he made. And it got passed down to me and I thought I lost it when my house burned down but no my dad just took it and gave it to my uncle and he made me one out of silver so I could wear it if I wanted without having allergy problems and he gave them both to me and I am now crying /pos

Awwwwww

[maggicktouched]

In my long tradition of posting drabbles that have nothing to do with anyone but my characters and being entirely self serving I've written... this. I mean I think it's interesting bc I don't get to write Linnea much and I've been fixated on my HP verse with @bokketo. So this is what that's set in. I wrote something.... I can at least be proud of that.

.

She had known this conversation would go poorly. At first she’d had every intention of letting Fenris hang himself with it. She had told him the day he’d informed her of the arrangement that he’d be doing this himself. But, eventually, she had thought better of it. No matter how much power he had amassed personally, no matter how strong his birthright, if their grandmother decided to reclaim her position at the head of the Fox Clan, there would be little he could do to stop it—short of starting a war. Linnea Tandy was a warrior, a shrewd politician, and a lady from the old blood. Her old allies would pop up all over the globe and Fenris would be cast back to the Wolves. Beck would be forced to stay with the Foxes, with their grandmother, and conflict would ensue; people would get hurt, blood would be shed, and somehow even worse than all of that—despite how angry or frightened he made her—she feared they’d be separated forever. 

“I want to marry him.” She asserted, keeping her tone as light as she could. Be sincere. She told herself. Do the things she likes. Smile. Sit up a bit straighter–but not too straight. That looks tense.

Her grandmother was sitting opposite at a little round table made of green wrought iron, frowning and fiddling with the ring of her golden cigarette holder as she listened. Her face was mostly hidden by her sunglasses, but Beck could feel the anger gushing out of her like a wild ocean. And there she was, lost at sea, desperately trying to keep everything above water.

“You’re lying.” She finally said. It was even and tense, and Beck could never remember her talking to her in that sort of tone. Their grandmother was more lenient on her than most, bordering on indulgent. She addressed Beck often with the same cool politeness that she did everyone else, and occasionally with exasperation. Once, when she’d done something very foolish, her grandmother had scolded her properly, but that was alive with the hot, buzzing undertone of fear and embarrassment. She hadn’t heard her use this tone since that night when she was seven, and her mother and grandmother had fought.

“Mormor-”

“Do not lie.” She said, and Beck sank down a bit in her chair. Beck looked down at her cup of tea, and tried to keep tears from stinging in her eyes. Tears would only affirm her grandmother’s fears, she wouldn’t realize they weren’t from sadness but from fear of the rising ire in her tone. Her grandmother’s nails drummed slowly, irritably against the metal of the table, making the fine, shimmering china rattle quietly as it shook; mirroring aloud how she felt inside.

“Daliah Adelaida Tandy. Look at me this instant.” 

Beck winced, but she did as she was told. In the blackness of her sunglasses, Beck could see her own frightened expression reflected back on her, and it made her a little sick.

Her grandmother did not soften in light of the fear in her eyes. “Give me one reason.”

“What?” Beck instantly regretted asking it as her grandmother’s lips thinned into an angry line. She apologized reflexively, but that only made it worse.

“Give me one single reason that you want to marry that boy.”

“I-” Don’t have one. She thought. Draco wasn’t mean to her. There were times when they were alone, usually in the late hours of the night, where Draco would read and she would sit and knit nearby, one of them would say something and somehow, in the amber glow of the crackling fire, the awkwardness would escape both of them. In those moments they would actually talk, sometimes even laugh, and she thought that maybe someday that could be their life—maybe someday it could be more. But even if the light of the next morning didn’t bring back all of the discomfort and difference that had been cast aside the night before, those were not the sorts of things her grandmother would care about.

So she tried to think of something that would matter to her.

“He’s from a good family, among their sort, I mean. Old blood. Respectable folk.” Beck tried, when her grandmother didn’t so much as raise up a brow, she began to pick her fingers nervously and carried on. “He’s good at quidditch—it’s a sport—and he’s second best in potions class! Handsome too.”

“Second best. Precisely what I want for you.” She said flatly, mocking him. She was glad she’d convinced Fen to let her do this alone. Her grandmother shifted in her seat and Beck couldn’t take the eye contact anymore; she looked back at her fingers. A hangnail was starting to bubble with blood, but she couldn’t make herself stop picking it.

“And those things matter to you?” She finally asked, picking up her tea and taking a sip. When Beck didn’t respond, she chided her. “Dahlia! Enough of that foolishness. Wipe those hands and fold them on the table, and then you look at me when I speak to you.”

Oh she hated that name. There was bile rising in the back of her throat, but she couldn’t refuse her. She was too frightened. Beck looked up through watery eyes to see a handkerchief being extended to her; her hand shook when she reached for it.

“Please, mormor I just want-”

“You’ll answer my question this instant.” If the tears that started to fall had any effect on her, it didn’t show. “You’re concerned with his money? His status? His academic and athletic prowess?”

No. What did she care if Draco owned half the world or lived under a bridge like a field troll? She didn’t care about potions and the only reasons he had even bothered to learn what quidditch was, was for Draco, because he loved it.

There was a scraping of metal on the stones of the patio as her grandmother stood. Her heels clicked with each hurried step she took, and Beck flinched before she could stop herself, terrified she was about to be struck. But her grandmother didn’t hit her, and when Beck looked up, she realized that she hadn’t even seen her cower. 

“This is your birthright. Maybe you could not inherit my seat but you are to inherit this place. You do have my name, even if it displeases you. What status or wealth can tempt you? No. No you’re still trying to lie to me and I’ll not have it. I’ll not suffer this disrespect in my home.” Her grandmother wheeled around on her then, hand on her hips. And then even quieter than before she demanded. “You tell me the truth.”

“... You’ll be angry.” She whispered, biting into the inside of her cheek but too afraid to pick her nails again.

“Yes.” Her grandmother replied, as if it were obvious and she was being a fool. “But I’ll find the truth one way or another, and if it isn’t from you, if it isn’t this moment when I’m asking it of you, then I’ll be much angrier.”

“Fen arranged it.” She said quickly, and before anything else could be said, she went on. “He didn’t mean it like that, mormor. He didn’t mean to-”

“How dare he!” She ripped her sunglasses from her face and tossed them onto the table as she began to pace. Beck was frozen in her seat. She wanted to curl into a ball, to run into the woods, to shut her eyes and peel off every bit of skin through her nails and chew through her cheek, but she couldn’t. She was terrified that any tiny act of defiance would turn that rage on her.

“After everything I’ve done for him. I had every right to cast him back to his own sort. Back to the Wolves. Maybe they could have taught him some damnable respect. I took pity on him. I was soft because I was guilty—because of that heinous creature that I brought into this world and all she did to you. I gave him everything he could have wanted and he does this to me?”

This was why she had sent Fen away and told Draco to let her handle it. She could cry and bow her head and take whatever came from her grandmother’s first initial waves of anger where they couldn’t.

“He’s your grandson.” She defended quietly, but she knew it was a mistake the moment she opened her mouth. 

“Is he? Because he seems to think he’s my master and I’m his bitch.”

Next to her, a beautifully groomed miniature tree with amber leaves and blonde blossoms twitched as she passed. It was one of her favorites in the garden, and supposedly over a century old. Its rich bark went ashen as she got close to it, and it curled unnaturally as it turned an ugly black. The blossoms began to drip with rot, and the leaves shriveled up and fell away. A heartbeat later, the metal pot shattered. And she hadn’t even looked at it.

“Mormor, listen to me, please.” She begged. If her panic grew any stronger she was afraid she would actually bolt.

“To what? More lies?" The old witch whirled around to face her again and her expression was sharper than an ax. "How long have you hid this from me? How long have you lied to me? And why? To protect him?!”

“He’s my brother…” And that was the last of her strength gone. She cried in earnest then. No matter what he did, she couldn’t hate him. How many times had he defended her? Saved her? Patched her up? He had learned to brew healing potions stronger than anything she’d seen at Hogwarts when he was just a child, and he’d done it for her. He had gone hungry and risked beatings to try and get her food when she had none. For so long he had been all that she had, and even if it felt like she was losing him now, even if he frightened her or hurt her, she couldn’t help but defend him.

“I didn’t.” She swore, shaking her head. “I didn’t hide it. I promise I didn’t please…”

She wasn’t sure what she was begging for. Perhaps for her grandmother not to hurt her, or for her not to hurt him. Perhaps both. She put her head in her hands, trying to calm her rapid breathing.

For a long moment her own crying was all she could hear. No sound of glass or metal shattering, no chittering china, no heels on cobblestone. Finally, as she regained control of her panic, she heard the quiet groan of metal as her grandmother sat back down.

“I’m sorry.” She said gently. Beck wiped her eyes cautiously, and dared another look. The anger was still there, and that didn’t make Beck feel any better. Their eyes met, and her grandmother’s expression fell even further as shame crept in. “I scared you. That was wrong of me.”

Beck watched her reach over and take the handkerchief from the table. Carefully, she reached for Beck’s hand, and the young witch let her have it without argument. She tsked at the sticky red splotches of blood that had smeared over the skin from the hangnail and began to dab them away. The cloth was surprisingly cold and damp in a way Beck was certain had nothing to do with her tears or the blood. It also kept cleaning itself every time she pulled it away.

“I’m not angry with you.” Her grandmother finally said, but she was still angry. They lapsed into silence again, and the cloth fell away but her grandmother kept gently stroking her hand. “...Do you want to marry this boy, Dahlia?”

Beck shrugged and tried to think of a response that wouldn’t come back to bite her. “It’s fine. He’s not mean to me.”

Her grandmother let out a tired sigh and let her go so she could sit back. “I cannot believe he would overstep like this. This is my right. This is my place in this family. Do you know how this will look to our people? You haven’t even submitted yourself to the Order of the Nine before. We were meant to make that decision, you and I, after you’d submitted yourself and I’d found suitable matches. Then once you’d made up your mind I would negotiate with the parents and… This—this isn’t done. I cannot believe he’d make such a fool of me. I’ve never even seen this boy.”

She could take this sort of ranting. It was irritated, but the heat behind it did not burn. She wasn’t going to be hurt. That was a relief. 

“I made Fen promise-” She swallowed thickly, and reached for her tea even if it had gone cold. “I made him swear everything that comes after would be done by the book. I’ll go to the priesthood. I’ll arrange a meeting with his mother.”

"You'll do no such thing." Her grandmother chided. "Your brother has already made enough of a mess of things. If I choose to allow this madness to continue at all, I'll be the one to make the arrangements."

If she allowed it. She was still considering fighting this. The fear bubbled up inside her again. Beck tried to push a bit more. “If you’re worried about him it’s—fine. I could love him, probably.”

Her grandmother scoffed. “You don’t marry people because you love them, my flower. You marry for obligation, for power, maybe even money, if you’re lesser off. But you were born into the priesthood, and you’re my heir; you’ve no option for power and no need for money.”

That only left obligation. And she didn't love how that word made her feel.

“Shouldn’t Fen be your heir?” She asked cautiously. She wasn’t sure why, but that felt like a dangerous question at the moment.

“No. He’s the eldest. He’s a man. He is your father’s heir, and you ought to have been your mother's. But the circumstances of her death nullify that disgraceful excuse for a will, and all she had came back into my possession. That makes you my lawful heir.”

Beck winced. “But dad split everything between us. He-”

She stopped herself. That ugly look of rage was coming back to her grandmother’s face.

“Your father’s lack of propriety has nothing to do with me. And that entire marriage is a prime example of why we do not allow teenagers to arrange marriages. As much as I respect Alma, I can’t abide by it. She should have put her foot down like I did. Maybe then…” She didn’t finish. Likely because they both knew anything that she said after that was likely to hurt the both of them. “This only stands to benefit him. No one else. That is not how our people arrange marriages.”

Beck nodded at that. It was true. He wanted her to marry Draco because it gave him a foothold in the Wizarding World, and Draco had agreed because it gave him the same in theirs. Marriages were stronger than handshakes or contracts or even unbreakable vows. Having her in his home gave Draco leverage if he ever needed to use it—even if he would never say that out loud—and having her married to Draco would give Fenris a means to judge his new ally’s dedication to their alliance. If he hurt her too badly or worse (in Fen’s mind at least) let her escape, it would give him reason to rally even his enemy clans against the Wizards.

“I will fight for you, you know.” She said, sitting straight in her chair and looking out over the gardens. Her jaw subtly clenched and unclenched. “If you tell me you don’t want this, if you even say you aren’t certain, or if, spirits forbid, that boy raises a hand to you. I will fight for you. I will pay any price. I’ve done it for my family before, and I will do it again.”

Beck wasn’t sure if that promise made her feel protected or frightened. A little of both, she supposed.

“I don’t think the Malfoys are the sort that beat their wives. They’re too-” She didn’t like the term, but wasn’t sure how else to put it. “Well bred.”

Her grandmother made a little grunt, still frowning. “So was Elea. And that kind of thinking is exactly why she got away with it.”

Beck grimaced and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing them to warm the cold flesh. The sun was sinking, and she’d only been allowed off Hogwarts grounds on the promise she’d be back before curfew via the floo network. It was an hour or so ahead here, but she’d have to get back soon.

“I’m going to be ok, mormor.” She said, trying to make that sound sincere, but she was tired. Ever since Dawnbreaker had died she felt like there was little but suffering to her existence. Every time she thought she had something, imagined she’d won some victory, it was ripped away. Her prolonged survival felt more like cosmic mockery than living. But through all of the choking darkness, spots of bright light shone golden in her mind; good moments that promised that happiness was not entirely out of her reach. She’d fought to survive for so long, what was the point if she just gave up now?

“I’m tougher than I look.” Her voice was back to a whisper, and she thought she heard a small, anguished sound from her grandmother, but when she looked up, the old witch had not moved an inch.

“You shouldn’t have to be.” She said finally. Now it almost sounded like she might cry. “You shouldn’t have ever had to be. You should have lived here and grown up listening to fireside stories with the other children at the temple and playing in the gardens. You should have had every toy you touched in a shop and been tucked into a warm bed with gentle hands. You should have every sweet under the sun and more food than you could stomach. Oh—oh my ancestors, forgive me. I’ve failed you so much, and I won’t do it again.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept quiet. Beck shed her human form silently, and a half second later she was a fox, trotting along the grounds and hopping into her grandmother’s lap. She put her paws on the old witch’s shoulder and laid her head down on top of them, nuzzling into her neck. Her grandmother always smelled like lavender and fine perfumes.

Hands began to stroke through her fur, and her grandmother’s cheek rested on top of her head.

“I can do this.” She promised, shutting her eyes tight.

Again, the old witch sighed tiredly, but hugged her tighter. “Then I’ll be right beside you, my flower. I’ll be right here.”

Beck still wasn’t used to floo powder. She came through the fireplace in Dumbledore’s office sputtering and coughing. He smiled at her, but she was too exhausted to smile back.

“Are you alright?” His voice was so soft, and yet it filled every inch of the office.

Beck tried again to smile, but it turned to a grimace. “Thank you for letting me use your—fireplace.”

“That’s not really an answer, is it?”

“I’m always alright.” She said, rolling her shoulders and giving him a nod as she walked out.

She was too worn to eat, but as she passed the Great Hall she saw Fenris look up from where he was sitting and catch her eye. He abandoned his plate and followed after her as she walked toward the Slytherin common rooms. She wished he’d give her a moment to collect herself, but she knew it wouldn’t happen.

“How did it go?” He asked, catching up to her, and Beck tried not to glare. She couldn’t take a fight with him tonight.

“I tried to tell her this was my doing, but she knew I was lying. It only made her angrier. So I told her the truth.”

“I’m guessing I should stay here over Christmas holiday.” He tried to laugh, nudging her with her shoulder, but quickly stopped when she didn’t perk up.

“Where’s Draco?” She asked, dreading the answer a little. He wasn’t one to come looking to bother her, but if she bumped into him he’d likely ask, and she was tired of talking for once.

“I dunno.” Fen shrugged. “The astronomy tower, maybe? You know how he disappears lately. I could ask Potter. He’s always trotting behind him like a lovesick puppy.”

Beck made a face. “Lovesick is a poor way to put it.”

“Jealous, eh?” He nudged her again. This time the look she gave him made him back away and clear his throat.

“It just feels like a poor choice of words. Anyway, if I meant to find him I could. I want to avoid him. And you. I’m going to sleep.” She picked up her speed then, clearly trying to leave him behind, and Fen let her, stopping and watching as she left.

“Are you alright?” He called. When she looked over her shoulder again, he looked worried.

“I’m always alright.” She said blandly. Then she turned a corner and disappeared.

[consultingking]

When The Wind Blows

Mormor World War Two Boarding School AU

Chapter 2: Head Boy

I also wanted to add that there’s a little dedication at the end of this chapter to my best friend, Alex, who we unfortunately lost earlier this week. He was always the biggest supporter of my work and I hope everyone knows how special he is ❤️

[zrch4]

au where seb time-travelled

moriarty, 8 yo: what happened? *pointing at the carved JM in morans back*

moran: cat did this to me

[deavocado]

Okay had a rough weekend at work so it's time for more escapism.

I'm gonna try Hannibal because I've only ever seen a few episodes years ago. Definitely not just because Mads Mikkelsen is sexy and I love toxic relationships.

[dick-helmet-magneto]

Mormor 20 please?

20. things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

"I swear it's like he can read my mind. I don't know why I keep trying to hide it from him when I know he already knows. He has to," Sebastian says with a sigh. He watches the little fur ball in front of him close his eyes, purring in contentment in his lap.

"Things are so easy for you. You just get to crawl onto his lap, do that and he pays attention to you. When you're finished, you run away. I don't get to do that." His hand slides down the black cats back.

"I can just look at him sometimes and there's this look that he gets, like he knows all. Not just everything about me, every thought I've ever had, every secret the world holds, he has the answer to. But he either doesn't know how I feel, or he does and doesn't feel the same. But Who has ever known Jim Moriarty to let someone down gently?" he asks, then pauses, finding the answer to his question. "Maybe he thinks this is torture. A way to hurt me. We both know he likes to do that. It has to be what's happening, right? He has the ultimate piece of information to hold over my head, to use to his advantage."

A humorless laugh leaves him, "And you know what, Cat? I'd let him without a word. I'm lost on him. Totally fuckin' in love."

Standing in the doorway, right behind Seb, Jim bites his bottom lip and turns away, walking back towards his office. He never should have come out.