#this is just the first of several

[faellain]

The Accidental Baby Trap Incident

Summary: About four years after the events of First Class, Erik arrives at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters with two little twins who he didn't know existed. Thinking he doesn't know what to do, he runs to Charles, not knowing the state his old friend is in.

Snippet 1

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erik's chest is heaving as he arrives at the door step almost stumbling to the already in need of a clean mansion. he frowns. charles had been so fastidious about keeping the place clean once they arrived. perhaps he wasn't home.

one of the children, the whitish-silver haired one- oh, yes, pietro that was it, tugs on his sleeve, "is this an orphanage?" the names of these children still didn't seem real to him. everything felt like a nightmare.

"it's a school," he corrects, "an old friend of mind runs it."

"is it a boarding school?" the girl (wanda, he reminds himself, wanda. his daughter. not just a girl. not just any child.) asks.

"of a sort," he replies and knocks again, louder this time, tempted to just throw open the door.

pietro stamps his foot, "you're gonna leave us here aren't you?" before erik can respond, his young son slams his heel on erik's toes, "fucker!"

erik hisses, "pietro-"

"peter. i don't like pietro. it's a stupid name!"

pietro had been the name he picked out when magda had once teased the idea of having children. it had been his grandfather's name. wanda was the once she had chosen, a name she had always been fond of since she was a girl. now those children were real and one was yelling at him.

erik begins to raise his voice again when the door cracks open. from the crack, he sees hank's eyes and nose peak out. a second later, he's opened the door a bit more, keeping his body between the inside and erik.

"what are you doing here?" he snaps, "who are they?"

"why aren't you blue?" erik asks, genuinely, "how did you reverse-?"

"i'm asking the questions," hank growls and erik watches a ripple of blue skin and yellow eyes appear. ah. not so reversed then.

"i need to see charles," erik explains, "to talk about them."

"there's no school. charles closed it. he can't help them," hank replies, "go somewhere else."

"hank, they're my children."

hank blinks in surprise and looks at the two of them, pietro trying desperately to tug away from his father's hold on his wrist while wanda stands next to him with her chin high. he sighs, "what do you expect charles to do?"

"i- i don't know," he admits, hating the glare pietro gave him at the words, "their mother is gone. i don't know how to raise children. i didn't know where else to go."

hanks shakes his head, "charles won't be of any help."

At that exact moment, pietro decides to vibrate his hand so fast, he burns erik's palm causing him to hiss and let go. normally, he's prepared for this trick. it's one of his son's favorites . being caught up in the conversation with hank took just enough attention away from erik to not prepare himself for the burn.

his son is about to bolt when wanda placidly says, "i've got him."

with a single lift of her hand, pietro freezes and falls face first in the grass, wriggling there like an earthworm. wanda was in an agreeable mood then. that was good. hank stared at them with a slightly stunned expression. erik gave him a withering look.

finally, he steps aside, "you're not gonna like what you see." a pit of dread grows in erik's stomach as he picks up pietro like an american football to carry him inside.

american football... he remembers better days. he remembers sean and alex always teasing him for calling it that. for calling "soccer" any number of colorful variants of football: football, piłka nożna, fussball. it was almost a game in it of itself. this place had far too many tainted memories.

"is he in his study?" he asks.

"he's barely gone in there in over a year. he's probably in his bedroom."

"is he asleep? it's two in the afternoon." charles only slept in when he was hungover. and it was tuesday.

"i don't know," hank shrugs, activating no small amount of annoyance.

"well if he isn't alseep, then he would know i'm here by now. he probably needs help," erik tries not to wince, memories of the beach still fresh as he recalls pulling the bullet out of charles' spine, "go fetch him."

hank gives him a tired glance that's partially pity and partially screaming, i'm not a butler.

"hank?" he hears the call from upstairs, "is someone here?"

hank winces as erik immediately bounds up the stairs with only a terse 'wait' to his children. both promptly ignore him, the boy zipping to catch up and the girl bounding along as best she could. he sighs, rushing after them. maybe he can bribe them with cookies he bought. they're just from the grocery store bakery, but kids hardly cared about such things.

erik flings open charles' door, feeling like a man possessed. charles was so close. he could fix this— or at least help erik. this man adored children far more than he ever could. not to mention, his old friend lived a much safer life. he could only go so long ignoring contacts from azazel, emma, and mystique before they came to investigate his sudden no-contact. charles always had answers. charles had started a school. charles—

looks like a mess.

the charles of erik's mind, when not the nightmare of a man in pain on a beach, was polished and coiffed to perfection. his fluffy hair was always styled, always dressed to the casual nines (or just the nines), oceanic blue eyes brightened by his clothes, two perfect ruddy lips that dipped into a heart shape at the top.

this was not the charles of his mind. before him stands a haggard man, eyes dull, lips pale, wearing nothing more than dirty sweats and a dirtier robe. he smells, reeks even. days old sweat, vomit, and the distinct, overbearing scent of alcohol wafts off charles. his hair hangs long in greasy strands. those pale lips quiver.

"charles?"

and then he is being punched. faster than he can comprehend, a fist connects with his cheek, sending him careening back into the wall until he hit it. unable to get his balance, he falls rather unceremoniously onto his ass, grasping at his chin. pietro’s chorus of mocking laughter shrieks directly into his ear.

"he got decked!!!" the child squeals in delight, "good hit!"

erik rubs his chin, "pietro, i told you to wait."

"you're not the boss of me."

"i," erik grimaces as he tries to ease his aching jaw. he didn't know charles could punch that hard. by the sight of charles shaking his hand out, he suspects charles didn't either, "i very much am."

"you shouldn't be here," snarls charles but his attention is clearly caught by pietro who is rocking back and forth on his heels.

"good to see you too, old friend," erik grunts out and then watches as charles steps towards and bends get a better look at pietro, "and walking."

charles snaps his head toward him, glaring, "no thanks to you."

truer words had never been spoken. erik attempts to brace himself against the wall. all his thoughts jumble in his mind worse than normal, fighting a brain fog from charles' outburst.

"papa!"

wanda's little hands clutch his arm as she tries with futility to help him up. a very agreeable mood then. good. keeping wanda agreeable was top priority. her eyes narrow at charles, though, which make erik cup her face gently.

"i'm fine. my friend was just surprised to see me," erik assures her. red sparks at her clenched fists, "wanda, deep breaths."

his daughter nods and does so, with no small amount of panic on erik's part. this is why he needed charles. he was a calm in a storm. usually.

hank finally catches up to them, "why don't you two come with me to the kitchen to get some cookies and leave your dad and professor xavier to talk?"

"cookies?" asks pietro before taking off, leaving both charles' and wanda's hair swinging in the breeze he left.

hank sighes and looks to wanda. wanda looks instead to erik with big pleading eyes. he nods at her as she moves, taking hank's hand, smiling at him.

"what kind of cookies?" she asks, rather sweetly as hank leads her down to the kitchen.

erik looks at charles, "we need to talk."

"my study, then."

[knightofleo]

Angela Orosco Silent Hill 2

[zrllosyn-art]

I put way too much effort into this LMAO but, have a translated version of the clip the official KN8 twitter put up.

It didnt seem like they planned on puttin out an english subs ver so I did it myself

[wuntrum]

severance nation. time to lock in

[egophiliac]

Hi it's just to let you know that the official romanization of Revaan's name is Raverne ! Also they have romanized Baul's name to Baur !

Twst coming back at us again with the least expected romanization! thank you everybody (oh god my inbox) (no it's great, I literally asked for this and the reactions have been INCREDIBLE, thank you all!)

I do like Raverne though, I think it's got a nice fancy sound to it! (I had kinda suspected it was going to be an R instead of an L, so the fact that it's SO close to Laverne except for that is hilarious to me personally.) and Dragoneye Duke is honestly probably the best translation for his title, I wasn't envying the localizers that one. :') Baur instead of Baul I was NOT expecting, but in retrospect I think his name's supposed to be a reference to the Bauru crocodile, so that actually makes way more sense!

someone else also said Meleanor has become Maleanor, which is the REALLY weird one to me, because I was so surprised it was written as Mel instead of Mal in the first place?! oh god no I can't decide which one I like better. 😭 (I wonder if they might change it to Mal...they have made romanization changes before) (like I remember House of Distraction being corrected to House of Destruction in Playful Land) (I did check and she's still Mel for now, but I dunno, they might Mal her up and some point and save me from having to make a decision about which one to use) (HECK I CAN'T DECIDE)

uhhhh thank you for letting me ramble about anime names, let's just say MONOGRAMMED SWEATERS FOR EVERYONE

[roachingurcoach]

he was shocked here. before, he could see his soul coming from miles away, had the time to prepare himself for his presence, to compose himself. this was a surprise.

[tarteggs]

shoutout to the house of healing. gotta be one of my favorite places to get dubious and deadly medical surgeries

[ceilidho]

fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 1 masterlist

-

In the end, gazing out of the ship's portholes into the dark vastness of space proves to be less comforting than the architects must have originally anticipated. You can attest to this more than most.

Every morning, you get up an hour earlier than the rest of your crew and make your way to the galley to make your morning cup of coffee. A pack of instant crystals into your favorite mug and hot recycled water from the kettle. Sometimes you stay to have breakfast, but often you take your coffee with you to the main viewing deck for your morning sojourn. 

There, you sit curled up in the navigator’s chair and stare out of the flight deck window until your breathing levels out. Early morning meditations. With the sun only visible through the rear porthole, the Milky Way stretches out before you, immeasurably vast. Ancient cosmic entities, some already long dead. 

Stars fill your field of vision like an intricate latticework of varying brightness. The watery glass warps at the edges, bending the far off light. All things with their propensity for brightness and decay.

A deep, steady hum fills the room. It’s cathartic to be alone. Sometimes, when you look out into the depths of space, you imagine yourself as a cartographer of old, labeling everything beyond this point: “here there be dragons.” 

Farah is the first person to join you, the ship’s maintenance technician already washed and dressed, floral cumberbund cinched around her midriff and her headwrap pinned in place. She greets you with a firm nod upon her entry, never one to mince words. In the months since your ship set off on its course for Jupiter, you’ve exchanged all of ten words, most of your conversation one-sided. 

She glides in like she’s been up for hours, likely running through her routine maintenance checklist. Monitoring propulsion, life support, and all critical systems. You wouldn’t doubt if she had been, descending into the bowels of the ship and cataloging every minute difference from the day before. Nothing if not thorough. 

Graves sweeps in not twenty minutes later, his uniform pressed and ironed. When he glances your way, you shrink under his gaze, self-conscious about something unidentifiable. He is every bit the commander you met briefly back on Earth, never a hair out of place. If he were less intimidating, he’d be insufferable. 

“Morning,” you murmur, the mug still close to your lips making your voice reverberate. He doesn’t respond. You wonder if he even heard you greet him. It likely wouldn't matter.

Medic has a different connotation this far from Earth. Hierarchy out in space is typically determined by way of one’s importance to the ship, and the scope of your role does not, unfortunately, include maintaining the ship. What that means, unofficially, is that you speak when spoken to, and not for any other reason. 

In the months to come, there may be moments or days when your usefulness is acknowledged, usually much to your colleagues’ chagrin. Though it’s not likely that any of the crew will encounter foreign pathogens while on a hermetically sealed ship in the middle of space, they’re all still susceptible to falls and cuts and worse. Nikolai, the chief engineer on board, had sprained his wrist during the first week of the mission, lending you immediate purpose and validation. 

You make way for the second officer when he finally deigns to make an appearance, sliding quietly out of his seat and stepping to the back of the cockpit, back pressed to the wall closest to the door. 

“Morning, everyone,” he greets, peppier than the three of you despite his rumpled appearance. His thick mustache twitches with the force of his smile. “Ready to seize another day?”

“Jesus Christ, Keller, let’s tone it down ‘til about ten o’clock, alright?” Graves sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.  

“Our clocks are off, commander,” Alex jokes, coming over to give him a little shake by the shoulder. It would be insubordination from anyone else. “I’m about ready to eat lunch.” 

“Let’s just get through formation and then you can go fill up the bottomless pit you call a stomach.”

The morning briefing never takes up too much time. It’s as much of an excuse to have coffee together as it is to go through the day’s schedule. Graves spends most of the time reviewing the flight course, charting where the ship will be by day’s end. 

“Almost through the belt,” Alex remarks, staring down at the monitor in front of him. It’s an incomprehensible jumble when you try to peer over his shoulder, but he must be able to make sense of it. 

The crew had been on high alert since entering the torus-shaped region between Mars and Jupiter a month back. For the most part, they needn’t have been so on edge—the average distance of the asteroids in the circumstellar disc between the two planets tended to be quite substantial—but a collision the previous day had reinstated their earlier anxiety. 

“Can we switch from manual yet, Farah?” Graves asks from his seat at the helm of the ship. 

She shakes her head, lips tightening with frustration. “I still have to figure out what’s going on with cruise control—it’s not responding correctly.”

“Was that from that little ding the other day?” you ask, blurting out the question without thinking.

Farah’s expression is flat when she glances over at you. “That ‘little ding’ nearly took out our communications system altogether.” 

You wince at that, staring down at your feet instead. Better to just shut your mouth than make a fool of yourself. Had you not blurted out the question, you might have even surmised the nature of the situation given the comm specialist’s notable absence from the cockpit. 

When Nikolai eventually ambles in with a thermos of coffee and deep troughs under his eyes, Farah looks up and frowns. “Where’s Hadir?”

The man shrugs, nonplussed. “Cargo?” he grunts, rolling the toothpick between his teeth around the words. 

She sighs. “I’ll go find him.”

No one says anything when she leaves, the double doors sliding open and shut automatically at her approach, and she doesn’t bother saying goodbye. 

“Dismissed, I guess,” Graves sighs, collapsing into his chair and spinning around to face the stars proliferating in front of him. 

The informality digs at you sometimes because you know you can’t indulge in it. The times you’ve attempted to, you’ve been rebuffed. Sometimes unintentionally, but often to remind you of your place.

This isn’t a crew you’ve ever worked with before. From conversations you’ve overheard, you’ve gleaned that they’ve all worked together in different capacities before, years of familiarity breeding an easy trust and companionship between them. Two of them might even be lovers—though Farah maintains a neutral facade at all times, the same can’t be said for Alex, the man always hovering nearby, eyes going soft at the sight of her. 

You’re the only odd man out. The newcomer. And though you sit with them in the mess for meals and partake in conversation and pass jokes like small stones from hand to hand, you know deep down, in the dark well of your heart, that you are not one of them. You are a passenger that they picked up along the way. A straggler. 

This wasn’t supposed to be the case. When you signed on to the mission months ago, the circumstances were wholly different. A newer ship, a different crew, some of which you’d worked with before. Then ownership changed hands and budgets were cut. Slashed to ribbons even. You had a chance to tour the ship before the launch date, and even down on Earth with all the glitz and glam available to trick the eye, you hadn’t been convinced of the vessel’s ability to withstand the extreme conditions of space.  

But by then, you were locked into a contract so iron-clad that the consequences of breaking it seemed worse than simply seeing the mission through. 

Most days, you feel like you’re waiting for something to give. You pass through halls that echo with low creaks and a deep, rhythmic thrum. Sometimes the walls of the ship groan so loud that you wait with baited breath for the hull to implode around you, to feel the metal crush the delicate eggshell of your body beneath its weight. 

It’s not any better to just stay in your room, your quarters too cramped to nurture anything other than claustrophobia. A recent, unfortunate side effect of spending months on such a small ship. You’ve become accustomed to crews numbering in the tens and hundreds, ships so colossal in size that even months spent aboard weren’t enough to explore all of its nooks and crannies. Cargo holds with excavators and backhoes for excavations on Mars and humvees for getting around the rough terrain. 

This ship barely holds six people and the payload you’ve been hauling to Europa. Pipes hiss in the corridors. Once a week, the radiator splutters or the intercom overhead crackles, kicking your heart into hyperdrive. 

You leave formation more out of sorts than ever. Vaguely aimless. With nothing to do, you grab breakfast in the galley and eat at the counter, too uncomfortable to venture over to the mess. Your days consist mainly of hovering around the ship or sitting quietly in the medbay, waiting for something to happen. A morbid preoccupation. 

The stairs clunk under your feet as you make your way down towards the medbay. You’ve long grown used to the sharp sound of your boots against the metal floor. 

Rationally, you know they don’t dislike you. You might even venture to say that you get along with the majority of them, particularly the chief engineer and Farah’s brother. The big man likes that it only takes a single drink to get you plastered, often howls with laughter when you stumble out of the mess after drinking with the crew, always the first to turn in for the night. Farah herself is only frosty because she works twice as hard as anyone else, burning the midnight oil on the regular. 

You swallow half-truths like stones to help settle your stomach. 

It doesn’t replace real companionship though; it approximates, but doesn’t quite replicate it. You feel its absence most acutely in the sidelong glances you sometimes get of real affection: Alex grazing his pinkie across Farah’s when he thinks no one is looking; Farah’s eyes softening at the sight of her brother; Graves and Nikolai reminiscing about something a decade past, hardly even aware of your presence in the room. 

It’s something you’ve endured before, but never for such an extended period of time. Prolonged isolation prickles at the mind, feathering the edges. It purples space; passes through the vents. The crew rarely goes on spacewalks (hardly any need for it), but sometimes you swear the ship’s oxygen has a faint sulfuric undertone, like rotten eggs. It permeates the air wherever you go. 

Someone knocks at the window just as you walk by.

You pause mid-sip, the mug raised to your lips and just pressing into your bottom lip, not yet tilted. 

“Hello,” you hear through the thick-paned glass, the voice muffled through the layers of glass and plastic partitions. “Could you let me in, please?”

Though your reflex is to look up, you don’t for some reason. The muscles in your neck stay locked instead. Shoulders stiff, weighed down by an unnatural force. 

The thing outside the ship knocks again. “Love? Can you hear me?”

Your head turns towards the porthole, the hand holding your mug drifting away from your mouth. It tips in your hand and a drop leaks down the side. Your lips tingle, almost numb. 

There’s a man outside the porthole, clear as day. He hovers outside the window, a hand raised in a friendly wave and full lips splitting to reveal perfect, white teeth when he smiles. He’s dressed in a spacesuit, no different than any of the crew on a spacewalk. Through the helmet, you can make out dark eyes and dimples. A close cropped beard.

It’s not a face you’ve ever seen before though. You think you might’ve remembered someone so handsome working on the ship with you.

Something needles inside of you though. A sickening feeling, like something you’ve forgotten but you desperately need to remember. 

“Hi there,” the man says, voice as charming as you’ve ever heard, so velvety rich that you feel the blood heat your cheeks. “Glad you were passing by. Mind letting me in?”

[secretsimpleness]

Sometimes I want to bring Morrigan but then I remember I play as a face-tanking rogue and I bring Wynne. Warden Cousland, Morrigan, Wynne / Dragon Age Origins (c) Bioware

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

If I was in a lucid dream with a ghost, I would simply impress them with my blunt rolling skills

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 292

“Oh I am blaming all of this on you T,” one of the beings in the summoning circle groans, burying their corpse-pale head in clawed hands as their white hair flickered. 

“Me? Excuse me, I wasn’t the one to accept the summoning!” another being protested, hood hiding most of their face save for molten-gold eyes and glittering runes or code on dark blue skin. “I was trying to figure out how to convince PK to change our schedule to include more sleeping, so don’t look at me, look at S!” 

“Well I didn’t accept it,” the only girl-sounding one scoffed, her crown of thorns seeming to writhe and bloom in her black hair for a moment. She crossed her arms, narrowing green eyes just a few shades darker than the white-haired one. “Maybe talk to whoever decided to summon us?” 

All of the sudden the cultists and heroes were being peered down at by a trio of… honestly whatever they were, because they didn’t seem to be the “Infinite King” the cult had been attempting to summon. Actually, they kind-of-maybe looked like kids… Which probably meant their parents or caretakers wouldn’t be too pleased. 

[stardryad]

All that Stevie art inspired me so I made this pic into steddie 🤲💐 (trans Stevie my beloved)

[little-pondhead]

DP x DC Prompt

…

There are no more heroes.

Well, okay. Rewind a bit.

Danny has been doing the hero thing for a while now. He’s had a big reveal; everyone has accepted him (including his parents), the GIW disbanded, the Anti-Ecto acts repealed, and generally, everything is going great. Some of the A-Listers are even training as junior ghost hunters to help give him a break from his rogues! (Being Ghost King makes things hectic sometimes, and he just needs the extra help. Sue him!)

The point is, literally nothing is wrong with Danny Phantom’s afterlife.

And then Valerie Gray, the Red Huntress, disappears in front of his eyes.

Danny is baffled! She’s just…gone! Valerie just popped out of existence, like she was never there. But no matter how hard he searches in the Ghost Zone, he can’t find her soul anywhere. His core isn't broken in grief. So she’s not dead. Which is good. So then, where is she?

Some of the others come forward with ideas on how to find her. A few ghosts volunteer to go out into the mortal realm, an area Danny had declared off-limits, to see if she was out there. Danny approves it. He rounds up some of the friendlier (i.e., discreet) ghosts and Amity Parkers and demolishes the outside travel ban.

So everyone spreads out, looking for their dear frenemy and teammate. But it becomes apparent very quickly that something is wrong with the rest of the world.

There are no more heroes.

Every single living superhero on the face of the Earth has just…vanished. Villains are running amok; the countries are in chaos! Some aliens are invading Earth, mythical deities are trying to take over, and society is crumbling to the ground. Everything is on the brink of collapse.

Well, Danny was still there. And so were his people. They were pretty spread out, so could they just…take up the mantles? He also knew where to find the souls of dead heroes in the Zone; surely they wouldn't mind coming out of retirement for a little bit, especially if they couldn't die again. Oh! And that skeleton army leftover from Pariah Dark's reign might be useful in repelling those invading forces.

Honestly, there were more than enough hands to go around! And with the heroes gone, Danny didn't mind letting everyone out for a little break, as long as they followed his rules. They wouldn't stop the search for the other heroes, but hopefully, when they found them, the heroes wouldn't mind Danny's intervention too much. :)

In other words:

Someone fucks up, and all of Earth's living heroes are either wished out of existence or are whisked away to some far-off realm where Danny hasn't checked yet. In the attempt to figure out what's going on, Danny lets the dead run amok over the Earth as they search for clues. The skeleton army repels the invading armies, the souls of dead heroes deal with the world leaders, and his rogues and other Amity Parkers set up shop in place of famous heroes, trying to get the cities under control again.

Basically, they just do their best to keep everything from imploding until the Justice League and others are back.

(And why is it that Danny hasn't disappeared? Well, whatever caused everyone to go poof! only affected living heroes. Anyone heroes that were dead in the first place, or even just half-dead, stayed behind.)

[daily-odile]

everything is the same except Odile is the one looping

oh. heheheheh. muahahahaha. hold on *digs through my pile of disorganized sketches*

Odile loops au; a sketch compilation!!

Some old fic drabbles + associated sketches under cut (a6 secret spoilers):

hc: Since equipment carries over, as long as Odile uses her book in a fight, she can write down notes and have it carry over loops

toxic doomed yuri (for a more fleshed out fic I highly recommend The Sweetest Thing by soreimoon, it's amazing)

[mssoapart]

Day 7

Free-day (Out of order and late) Alenoah as Sherlock/Moriarty.

I like it when two characters play mind games and scheming against or with each other.

I didn`t plan to create an AU, but – my rant and bits of literature/character analysis (The Vision). Also, draw concept sketch.

Noah (Detective Sherlock Holmes). I mean, they're both geniuses, introverts who don't care about social opinion and some versions depicted him as being good with dogs. In Victorian England, I totally see Noah opening a detective agency, because you either go working on a plant or you might use your geniuses’ intelligence to solve crimes, like game puzzles, and make monies to pay bills and buy new books because in 1800 many books were expensive and produced in small quantities.

Plus! I might look at this too far, but I think the Sherlock and Watson analogy was implemented in London episode when they strip team Chris just to Noah and Owen for investigation.

Owen (Dr. Watson). Basically in the original books, Watson plays the role of the guy, your typical visual novel MC, well narrator, who has character, but his whole purpose is just to be a witness to detectives doing, asking questions for the audience. This leads to usually representing Watson as either annoyed with Sherlock's antics or (usually in kids' media) naïve but with good intentions because of this simplification, to show his kindhearted nature in cartoons and caricatures he is portrayed as chubby, which is what we need! But all of them did service in the Anglo-Afghan War, even Disney version mentioned it. (Also if you want to do Nowen version of Jhonlock I don`t mind, sure go for it)

Alejandro (professor Moriarty). Do I really need to explain? Both archvillains in their stories. Professor, respected in society for his talent and achievements, wealthy, but behind all of that façade he`s "Napoleon of crime". He doesn’t usually do crimes himself but rather, schemes, orchestrates the events, or provides the plans that will lead to a successful crime, like paying money to a court so that someone can be released from prison.

Heather (Irene Adler). OK, in the original books (all books written not by Arthur Conan Doyle are basically fanfics) her character and Sherlock don`t date (But if you like, it`s fine). She was more like “I know what you are” towards him.  I want to base it more on Warner Bros Sherlock where Irene works with Moriarty, but they also try to get rid of each other. She is also famous for blackmailing royals, If it isn`t most Heather thing I don`t know what is.

Eva (Mrs. Hudson). The landlady. I think it would be funny, she yelling at them to pay their bills in time.

See you next week

[xxplastic-cubexx]

the way u tuck charles hair behind his ear like a dainty elf princess whenever u draw him sends me every time, i know erik would agree 🙏🏻

i fear im adopting 'dainty elf princess' into my vocabulary here on out thank you for this wonderful gift anon

might you accept my small gift in turn ... i was inspired ...