#Watson’s like I should get shot more often

[contact-guy]

“It was worth a wound–it was worth many wounds–”

- Sherlock Holmes, the Adventure of the Three Garridebs

Full text and individual pages under cut:

In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and had fired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron had been pressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmes’s pistol came down on the man’s head. I had a vision of him sprawling upon the floor with blood running down his face while Holmes rummaged him for weapons. Then my friend’s wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair.

“You’re not hurt, Watson? For God’s sake, say that you are not hurt!”

It was worth a wound–it was worth many wounds–to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.

“It’s nothing, Holmes. It’s a mere scratch.”

He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife.

“You are right,” he cried with an immense sigh of relief. “It is quite superficial.” His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. “By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?”

#Watson’s like I should get shot more often #it’s a love confession #I’m fine I’m normal #sherlock holmes #john watson #acd holmes #acd canon #my art

[girl-next-door-writes]

Force Majeure

Characters: Mycroft x reader

Summary: Mycroft Holmes is so caught up in analyzing his own feelings that he doesn’t see they could be reciprocated. Lucky for him, his little brother is an interfering shit.

Word Count: 2103 words

Prompt: unexpected kiss, everyone knows, trapped in a closet

A/N: This is for the ineffable @vintagevalentinex as part of my ‘build-a-blurb’ follower celebration.

Force Majeure. An unforeseeable circumstance or event that prevent a party from fulfilling a contract. Mycroft Holmes was more than adept at sidestepping such matters. He liked things to be in order, predictable, manipulated into place if required. He had a very clear vision of what his life would be like, a definite plan, a contract with himself as to what he needed to do and what he needed to sacrifice to get where he wanted to be. What he had not anticipated, was you falling into his life.

“Sherlock, this is a matter of national security.” He sighed as he followed his brother into his flat, his frustrations growing with each passing second. There was a mountain of things he needed to address, and yet his little brother saw fit to be obstinate.

“Then perhaps you should entrust the task to one of your people who is responsible for national security.” He shot back, nodding a greeting to you and John as he crossed the room.

“Oh, good, they are arguing.” John rolled his eyes, holding onto the chair you were currently stood on, changing the overhead lightbulb.

“You mean there are people Sherlock doesn’t argue with?” You smirked as you concentrated on the task at hand.

“Good point.” Watson chuckled.

“That is an ill-advised replacement for a step ladder. That particular chair has one leg a tenth of an inch shorter than the rest.” Sherlock hummed as he picked up his violin, turning his back on you all.

“That is precisely why I have John-“ the chair wobbled beneath you and you leaned forward to counterbalance. Realising you had over calculated, you then leaned back and felt the world shift beneath you. Your heart was in your mouth as you felt gravity take hold and you closed your eyes as you awaited the inevitable harsh landing.

To your surprise, and to the surprise of everyone else in the room, there was the sound of an umbrella falling to the floor as two arms wrapped around you. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see the astonished expression on Mycroft Holmes’ face as he held you, as if the two of you had been dancing and he had just dipped you. Your hands rested on his biceps, and you felt your breath catch.

“Are you okay?” John’s voice seemed to break the spell, and Mycroft settled you onto your feet before taking several steps back and retrieving his umbrella.

“Think about the offer, Sherlock.” He said hastily, not wishing to allow his brother any more time to deduce anything about the situation. Especially as he wasn’t certain what had just happened.

“I might have to get you to fall on my brother more often. I believe that was a record time for getting him to leave.” Sherlock hummed, studying you carefully, wondering if your wide eyes and stuttered breathing was a result of the fall or, inconceivable as it was, the close proximity you had shared with his brother.

It was actually Mrs Hudson who realised that you and the eldest Holmes were on the precipice of a potential budding romance. It was glaringly obvious. Mycroft was somehow softer when you were there. The abrupt response she would usually get from him upon answering the door was a stark contrast to the stuttered greeting you would receive. It was as if his words were tripping over themselves. And, she had noted, he always wished you a good day, as if he honestly wanted you to have a nice day after your paths went their separate ways.

The landlady witnessed furtive glances once you felt the others back was turned and lingering conversations which were incredibly awkward but held a reluctance to end. She had said as much to John, who had laughed it off at first. You and Mycroft? Mycroft Holmes actually having feelings? That was a laughable thought. The Iceman was incapable of sentiment. Wasn’t he?

The thought must have been playing in the back of his mind, because when the two of you encountered Mycroft outside of Speedy’s, he caught a flash of what Mrs Hudson had observed. Mycroft had hurriedly stubbed out the cigarette he had been indulging in, looking almost guilty as he spotted you.

“Those things will kill you, Mr Holmes.” You said, and John got the feeling this wasn’t the first time you had said that to him. “Such a shame to lose such brilliance early due to a bad habit.”

“The flame that burns twice as bright, burns half as long.” He shrugged, the hint of a sad smile perhaps playing on his lips.

“I hope that is not the case for you Holmes boys. Right, John, did you want a cream cake?” You gave your friend a bright smile before heading into the café as originally planned.

There was definitely a strange energy between you and Mycroft, and it wasn’t too long before everyone in your little social circle was aware of it, including Sherlock. For months they observed the interactions between you, especially the silent ones, and they waited, some with bated breath, for the two of you to realise that there was genuine affection there.

It was a process that was taking far too long for Sherlock’s liking. So, he decided to create an unforeseeable circumstance.

Granted, some elements of his plan were far easier to execute than others. Breaking into his brother’s house, for example, was simple. Ensuring you were at his house, a little trickier but easily navigated with a ruse about dropping off some files. Making sure Mycroft invited you in, that was… weather dependent. Sherlock believed that his brother would not leave you standing on his doorstep in the rain and was very happy when his hunch proved true. Now, all he had to do was force his big brother into his panic room with you. For this to work, he needed you both inside and, although he had coordinated his attack to send you both that way, he could not guarantee that Mycroft wouldn’t send you in alone while he went to play hero. The imagined threat Sherlock had created would be enough to terrify his big brother, but he could not be certain that terror wouldn’t be outweighed by his need to protect you.

Standing at the open door of the saferoom, Mycroft had ensured your safety, and intended to take out the threat, even as his hand shook slightly, grasping his gun. He steeled himself to face whatever was out there, although he had his suspicions as to who was behind it. The one thing he needed was to make sure you were safe. It was an irresistible compulsion that had been growing stronger since the first time he had held you in his arms.

“Mycroft.” You grabbed his arm and he turned, his chest aching as his eyes met yours. “Please, stay.” Part of him knew he should go out there and track down the intruders, but how could he refuse when you looked at him like that? As he stepped inside the small room, the door closed and clicked shut, locking the two of you in together, which was Sherlocks plan all along.

The room was small, but comfortable. A bank of screens ran along one wall, images from various camera’s throughout the house showed only murky darkness and Mycroft’s eyes scanned each one, trying to gain some clues as to how many there were and which direction they were likely going to approach. It took a few moments, but his body language turned from anxious to angry in an instant.

“Sherlock!” he growled, spotting the familiar coat billowing as his brother race down a hallway. All this was just an idiotic prank by his little brother. His cheeks glowed as he thought about how stupid he must have looked to you, how over-protective and insane. You had witnessed him pulling out not only a blade from his umbrella handle, but also a pistol. That had to count as extremely extra. What must you be thinking of him right now?

His anger at his brother, and his humiliation, dulled as he felt your hand come to rest on his back, your eyes scanning the screens as you tried to see what he had.

“Bloody Sherlock! How about you hold him down and I’ll kick him in the balls? What the hell did he think he was playing at? He scared the shit out of me!” You frowned, watching the figure wandering down the hallway towards the panic room.

Mycroft couldn’t help but smile at your little outburst. At least he wasn’t alone in his frustration at his brother. The moment was short lived though as Sherlock made his demands known. Holding up a sign to the camera, he made it very clear that the two of you would be locked in that room together until you had kissed. He had figured that was the one way you both would realise your feelings for each other were reciprocated.

“Does he think we are a pair of stupid teenagers?” Mycroft grumbled as he picked up a microphone and his voice was heard throughout the house. “Sherlock, you can’t just lock people in a room until they do what you want.”

“Why not? You do that on a daily basis.” Sherlock shot back, causing Mycroft to roll his eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss you, but not like this. If you shared a kiss now then it would be false, under duress, meaningless.

The two of you sat in the panic room in awkward silence for two hours before Sherlock gave up on his plan. He worried that if he left you in there for much longer then any chance of the two of you being together would diminish until there would be no hope left. Although he had reached this conclusion, he did not want to be present when you did emerge, so he set a timer and made a break for it.

Mycroft couldn’t help but keep glancing over at you. Did his presence make you uncomfortable? Or was it the thought of kissing him? He supposed he should be grateful to his brother for showing him that any thoughts of being capable of having a relationship with you were unfounded, perhaps now he could leave these pesky feelings behind.

There was a loud CLICK and the door slowly swung open. You got to your feet and smoothed down your clothes, almost reluctant to leave. Taking a deep breath, you walked out into the cool air of the hallway.

Mycroft got to his feet and followed you out, his shoulders slumped a little as he resigned himself to the fact that this was it, the end of that little fantasy he had been cultivating. If he hadn’t been so caught up in his thoughts, then he might have seen you stop and turn to face him. He might have caught the determined look in your eye, might have anticipated your hands raising to cup his face. If he had been less introspective then he might have savored the moment when your lips met his, but the whole thing took him by surprise which meant he froze for a second before one arm wrapped around your waist and his other hand found it’s way into your hair, eagerly returning the kiss.

When the two of you finally parted, panting a little as you gazed into each-others eyes, Mycroft couldn’t hide his utterly elated expression. He wanted to kiss you again but wasn’t sure quite how to ask, and then you spoke, your words causing sweet explosions in his chest.

“I wanted to kiss you because I have wanted to for a very long time, not because Sherlock wanted me to.”

There were so many things Mycroft could have said. He could have told you that he knew he was capable of living without you, he just didn’t want to. He could have told you that he had seen a future with you so clearly in his dreams that he was now getting a solid seven hours of sleep every night in order to relive that reality. He could have told you that you were the single most important person in his life. Instead, he closed the gap and kissed you again, vowing to himself that he would kiss you as often as he possibly could. You had been an unforeseen circumstance, derailing his carefully constructed plans for his future, but he knew you were a ‘Force Majeure’ he would willingly bend for.

#Mycroft Holmes #Mycroft x reader #something i wrote #gndw fic

[goodluckdetective]

Am I still writing “Sherlock Holmes but make it fantasy lesbians?” Yes, yes I am. (Previous Entry Here)

This has a very niche audience, but I’m having fun and isn’t that the point. And apparently some of you guys enjoy this niche so take this:

From “A Study in Sigils” by Dr. Joanna Watson “You were entirely right about me,” I told Holmes as she glared down at her foot, still stuck to the floor from the low level curse. She knew as well as I did that physical force wouldn’t help any, but I assumed it made her feel better to try. “Pardon?”

I bent down, taking a look at the sigil. It didn’t look too strong, in fact it might be the kind bought for keeping things attached to the wall when nails would not suffice. “You were right: I was a solider, I was shot, I did have a brother, and my sigil is related to my job. 

The notes of Sherlock Holmes, found in the margins of a copy of the Strand:

This is a lie, though one I do not begrudge. Watson fibs quite a bit when writing up our adventures: sometimes to persevere privacy but mostly because it “makes a better story.” More than once she’s written herself out of a chase scene or had Gregson say something especially foolish that he never uttered. I care not for fiction, of course, but she is quite steadfast about her changes to the facts, and I doubt I’ll ever convince her.

I digress. The above passage is perhaps one of the biggest lies Watson has ever put in print. It is a necessary one, that I agree, but I find the fictional version lacks what made the conversation so interesting.

Everything up to my blasted foot being stuck is the truth. I was indeed trying to pry it loose with force: it can be accomplished should one pull at just the right angle, but it takes a bit of trial and error to find the right one. Watson had indeed bent down to inspect the sigil and told me that I had made an error. 

“You were right: I was a solider, I was shot in the shoulder, and I did have a brother,” she actually said.  “But you were wrong about my sigil.”

This wasn’t a total surprise: I had considered Watson’s sigil might be related to her military career instead. I’d guessed medicine because most medical professionals had sigils that aided in medicine even if they had a particular non-medical speciality. “Combat skills then?”

Watson shook her head and she looked almost insulted. “That took work. And training. No, no, just-“

She reached forward towards the sigil keeping me attached to the floor. For a second, I thought she would get her right hand stuck along with my foot, and then we’d look particularly ridiculous when the Yard arrived. It wasn’t until I saw the glow of her sigil’s shape that I understood.

Watson’s sigil was not that of two interconnected circles, like those of medicine. Nor was it a shield, often seen in those whose magic aimed to protect. It was not even a straight line, which could be seen in some who excelled in a particular task. No, Watson’s sigil shape took the form of a circle. The shape of those whose magic worked on magic itself.

The sigil attaching me to the floor vanished under her touch. I had not stopped pulling my leg from the floor and almost fell over from the sudden change in weight. Watson came up to steady me and I stared at her, stunned. And I was rarely stunned.

“You’re a cursebreaker,” I said. The yard employed one or two but they often kept their sigils open to see and even if they didn’t, it was easy to deduce. Meanwhile Watson had been in my company for weeks and I hadn’t even noticed. 

People often wonder why I spend my time with Joanna Watson, something she finds amusing and I find insulting on her behalf. Those few who know of her true magical talent come to a more irritating conclusion; that I let Watson accompany me for her useful spells. While I will admit Watson’s magical talents are useful, it is merely a benefit in my adventures, not the main reason I have taken to working with a partner. To list a few of her better qualities; Watson is often more clever than she portrays herself (even if she often misses minor details), she’s loyal and open-hearted despite encountering some of the darkest hearts in London. But that I would discover later. In that moment, I took to Watson an entirely different reason:

Joanna Watson is many things but she is one of the few people who can surprise me. 

#iz writes #sherlock holmes #god what the fuck do i tag this #a study in sigils #bbc sherlock got a lot wrong but I did enjoy they let Holmes be wrong about Watson for a sec that was fun

[topsyturvy-turtely]

OTP challenge - day 15

there are two parts because I couldn't didn't want to shorten it for the life of me.

I wanna apologize for not updating regularly - never mind daily. i hope you can forgive my non-existent organization talent! thank you to everyone who is still in on this challenge!

[link to day 14]

15. teaching each other how to do something

(pt. 1/2)

Five year old Rosie stopped playing the violin with a loud dramatic note. "Well done, Watson. Keep practicing and it will be perfect." Sherlock praised his little apprentice.

John scoffed which turned his daughter's and best friend's head around. "Whatever do you you wanna say, John?"

"Just that Rosie already sounds perfect to me."

"Oh, she is. However let's not feed her ego too much.", Sherlock countered and winked at Rosie who grinned up at him.

"Yeah, she is already better at everything I am, aren't you, honey?"

There was a proud twinkle in Rosie's dark blue eyes when she giggled at that.

"Well", John stood up from the armchair that used to be his. "Thank you for the lesson, Sherlock. Are you sure you don't want-"

"I will not accept any payment from my favorite student." Sherlock immediately interrupted.

John made an amused noise. "Yeah, alright. It- it was good to see you, Sherlock." Their relationship ever after the Culverton case has been fragile, they never quite went back to what it used to be but... each man took what he could get.

"Good to see you too, John", Sherlock said softly. "Watson", he added, making the littlest bow towards Rosie. John adored how Sherlock treated his goddaughter. It made the doctor feel soft inside and sometimes this softness creeped through his walls to show through a smile. Like right now. Then he caught himself and clapped his hand against his thigh - a sign to say goodbye.

"Say thank you, Rosie, so we can head home."

Rosie finished putting away her tiny violin, then stretched her arms out, so Sherlock would pick her up. The detective did so, and then let her kiss his nose. "Thanks, Sherlock. Love you."

"Love you, too, Watson.", he said and kissed her temple.

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson walked into the room with a tablet of freshly baked biscuits. (Sherlock doubted it was anything but very calculated timing. She missed John terribly and adored Watson horrendously.) "Hoohoo, darlings! Buiscuits and tea anyone?"

"Mrs. Hudson!", John exclaimed pleasantly surprised (he had of course not seen through the landlady right away like Sherlock). "It's so good to see you!"

"Oh John, you should visit more often! Baker Street misses you.", she shot a meaningful glance at Sherlock, who pretended to busily clean his violin bow.

"And my sweet little Flower, how have you been?"

"Good! I love my violin sessions.", Rosie said enthusiastically.

"I can imagine, it sounds lovely from downstairs. Ooh! But I gotta go! The next round of biscuits is in the oven still!"

"May I come?", Rosie asked excitedly.

"Of course, dear.", Mrs. Hudson immediately agreed (no doubt this was her plan all along).

"Dada, may I?", Rosie asked her father.

"Yeah alright, I'll be right down."

"No hurry!", the two girls said in unision, on their way out.

John laughed after them, "Yeah, I see how it is."

Sherlock smiled, "Hudders adores little Watson."

"Everyone adores that kid.", John replied, shaking his head affectionately.

"Yes, indeed.", agrees Sherlock. He still had that soft smile on his face. Back in the days John liked to think it was only for him. These days, Rosie Watson was on the receiving end of it most of the time. John was glad at least one Watson had that honor.

"You're a fantastic teacher, Sherlock. Rosie... she really loves you.", John wasn't sure why he felt so awkward. They used to flow, now they are stuck in unspoken words and unspeakable emotions.

"It's my pleasure. She - both of you - mean a lot to me."

John softly carressed Rosie's violin case. "Do you know why I wanted her to learn to play the violin?"

Sherlock didn't say anything, but his interest was piqued, John didn't have to see him to know that - he felt it.

"It reminds me of you.", John said quietly and now he did look up at Sherlock. He hoped Sherlock knew what he actually meant: John missed him. How they used to be together.

For a long few seconds Sherlock looked at him. As so often, John could not look away. He didn't want to anyways. Then Sherlock breathed in sharply, turned around and grabbed his violin. John immediately fought an eye-roll. Of course they wouldn't be able to talk, how had he ever thought they-

But Sherlock held the violin out for John to take. "Sherlock, what do-"

"Take it."

Bemused John looked back and forth from the instrument to the man. "Are you sure- ", he started.

"I want you to try. Take it.", Sherlock insisted.

Hesitantly, carefully, John took the instrument. It felt fragile, but it was heavier than John had expected it to be.

"Put it under your chin. Like-"the gentlest touch redirected John's chin. Cold fingers. "-this."

"Hold the bow like-" Again, cold fingers on him, gently, just a whisper of a touch. "There you go."

Sherlock's mouth was close to John's ear. His voice velvet and deep. It crept inside of John, making the fine hair at his neck stand on ends.

"Now play for me.", Sherlock whispered. John surpressed a shiver. He was pretty sure, this shouldn't sound this alluring.

He didn't try to push his finger on a string. He simply let the bow glide and he produced an actual passable sound from a violin.

"Good, that was an A. Now try-", but John forgot to listen when Sherlock stepped behind him, feeling his fingers placing his index on the string, feeling his hand wrap around his bow hand, feeling Sherlock's chest against his back. John is pretty sure he forgot to breathe.

Sherlock was simply too close. He registered the man saying something, but he didn't know what. He tried hard to force the fog away. Instead he felt Sherlock leading his hand over the string, it was so darn cold against his own sweaty hand. A tone played and it was all so surreal: Sherlock teaching him to play the violin, Sherlock against his body, Sherlock whispering in his ear, Sherlock's cold fingers against his own warm ones. The tone sounded on and on and it sounded like the beginning of something. Like the beginning of something magical. Like the beginning of them.

But soon this something, that danced in the room to the tone they had played together, was interrupted by the thunder of upstairs-running kid's feet.

[to be continued in part 2!]

---

Special thanks to @totallysilvergirl whose series "Drawn to Stars" but especially "Teach Your Children Well" has subconsciously inspired me to write this incredibly talented and loving Rosamund Watson. I didn't realize until later, that it was very much inspired by you. Check this series out if you haven't yet! I love it so much!

tag list! (please tell me if you wanna be added or removed! 💚) @catlock-holmes @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @boredsushi @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee

#turtely writes #turtely's otp challenge #day 15 #day 15 pt 1/2 #prompt: teaching each other how to do something #happy about reblogs 🥰 #btw i don't play the violin #i don't even fucking know if ever even HELD one in my hands #so i apologize for any inaccuracies #pining #pining john #cheeses the pining... #this is like so chliché but... idc i wrote it take it or leave it. don't judge #(judge as in hate on it) #my writer's soul is a fragile one #johnlock fic #johnlock ficlet #johnlock oneshot #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #sherlock x john #thanks for reading #*throws badly cut out paper hearts at you*

[jaimehwatson]

20 Questions for Writers

tagged by: @sybilius thank you! <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I'm currently sitting at 99! I'll have to do something a little special for my 100th :)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

214,959

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The ones I've written for the most are Our Flag Means Death, Warhammer 40K (mostly the Ciaphas Cain series, my favourite boy), Snowpiercer (the TV show), and Sharpe! But there are quite a few more I've written at least a one-shot for - I get inspired by a lot of different things, and I also love exchanges like Yuletide!

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Restless Nights (OFMD)

You're the sun that makes me shine (OFMD)

Want to do something weird? (OFMD)

The Hidden Places Where The Fire Burns Hot And Bright (Stranger Things)

Sounds kind of dumb when I say it, but it's true: I would do anything for you (OFMD)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Almost always! I really appreciate nice comments so I make sure at least say thanks :)

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

The first one that came to mind was one of my Sherlock Holmes fics, Some things you do just to see how bad they make you feel, which deals with Holmes's depression and drug use negatively affecting his relationship with Watson. It's a really sad one that I didn't come back to add a happier sequel to until a year later!

But I've written some pretty angsty Our Flag Means Death ones too, particularly I hope it stays dark forever, I hope the worst isn't over and It isn't that much fun, staring down a loaded gun

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

I think a lot of my fics are pretty happy! If I'm not writing something fucked-up and sad I'm usually writing a happy couple having good sex and a generally nice time. But if I had to try to pick one, maybe my little trilogy What makes Ed happy?, which gets a sweet Ed/Stede reunion at the end

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've fortunately avoided that so far! The comments I get are 99% lovely and maybe like 1% something kinda weird that maybe comes across a little bit negative but just makes me shrug my shoulders and say oh well

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

Often! If there's any particular kind I gravitate towards it's probably characters slightly awkwardly but excitedly exploring a bit of light BDSM for the first time

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

One of the first fics I posted on Ao3 was a crossover between Death Note and The X-Files called The エクス-Files! (Translator's note: エクス means X) It was a really fun writing experience, and if that idea sounds fun to you at all, you should definitely check it out

But my craziest crossover (and maybe my only other one so far unless I'm forgetting something) is definitely my 2023 Yuletide fic Danger and Dance, in which Remington Steele and Laura Holt investigate a mystery involving DJ Crazy Times of "Planet of the Bass"!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, is that a thing people do?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so but I'd be honoured if someone did!

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

I have not yet co-written anything that's published anywhere, but a good friend and I once put quite a bit of effort into a story taking place in the universe of The Dark Crystal like a decade ago - now I want to dig that up again and see if it was any good, I remember we had fun with it!

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

Ciaphas Cain/Amberley Vail! The Ciaphas Cain books and Warhammer 40K in general were what really got me into writing fic regularly and participating in fandom more. Part of what made the ship so initially appealing to me, beyond just how much I like the characters, was that they're 100% canon but their relationship isn't the focus of the canon - you just get little hints and references to the fact that they're definitely fucking offscreen while the main thing going on is fighting aliens and shit. So it provides a great opportunity to speculate about what goes on when they're alone together and you don't see it, and how it might tie into their character development and the events of the canon storylines.

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

I mostly write a lot of shorter fic, so I don't really have any longer WIPs that gradually fizzled out the way I know some other writers struggle with. That being said, I do have plenty of sparse drafts that I started writing or outlining a little bit of and then never sat down and finished because I got distracted by some other idea. One that comes to mind was a Warhammer 40K fic that would have involved Cain and Yarrick meeting and getting involved in a Wild-West-style saloon shootout in space - fun idea but it never really went anywhere

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm pretty good at character voices, especially when I write fic for books I love and I can imitate the style of the narration

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I don't think my description is as good as my dialogue. A lot of my writing experience before I got into fic was in theatre and video games, two mediums where you're much less likely to have a narrator, so I don't have as much practice at it. I find it difficult sometimes to really get across the image in my head in a way that makes sense and flows naturally. But I do think I'm getting better at it all the time!

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

I've never really done that beyond the occasional word here and there! If I was going to, I'd want it to be a language I can actually speak, and/or have a friend who speaks it look over it. Maybe one day I'll get to use my French skills in a fic but it hasn't happened yet!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

In the sense of actually deciding "I am going to write fanfic and put it on the internet for other fans," it was the Pathologic games! But in a more general sense, I've been making up stories about my favourite characters since I was a little kid. A while back my mom found something I wrote in high school based on Lord of the Flies that was really cute

20. Favorite fic you've written?

My proudest accomplishment is my OFMD wrestling AU, Tonight on Ring of Revenge!

Tagging @augustmourn @grandmastattoo @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book @scyllas-revenge if you feel like it!

#tag games #fanfic #my writing #our flag means death #ciaphas cain

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Well, I’ve finished all the videos on the YouTube page for No More Jockeys. Here’s another list of things I like about the shows, to add in whatever I’ve come up with since I last made this list:

- Tim Key sneezes like a cat. The other two looks baffled and amused every time, but not as baffled and amused as one would expect, suggesting he’s done this for years.

- Late running joke to come in with not much explanation for it: Tim Key being obsessed with the Have I Got News For You people.

- Alex Horne wearing either a suit or something absolutely unhinged and there’s no way to guess which it will be before the video starts.

- In the first of these lists that I did, after I think I’d only seen about half of the first set, I said I loved the way this game’s rules are set up to create intense debates about really specific subjects that do not matter at all. I love that this turned out to be an enduring feature.

- Tim Key’s creative play makes every aspect of the game more fun.

- Mark saying every time that he’s not going to play into Tim’s creative strategies by answering his questions, and then immediately answering everything he’s asked anyway.

- One time Tim Key was starting to Google a challenge to one of Alex Horne’s plays under a 90-second time constraint, and Alex said, “Tell us about your book, Tim,” suggesting that Tim should use that opportunity to advertise a book he’d  recently published, and it almost worked. Tim must have been doing lots of publicity for it, and you could see those words activate his instinct to publicize to the point where he started to put the phone down, before remembering where he was and saying you won’t distract him that easily. The fact that that almost worked makes it one of my favourite plays in any parlour game.

- The further they went into the sets, there more room there was for mind games, and the more fun that made things. I still really enjoyed watching their faces to try to guess when they see a challenge and try to pretend they didn’t until the person’s finished walking into the trap; I don’t know if the poker faces have improved over time but they have evolved. Tim has also pioneered a new strategy of telling people before they say the category that they’re going to challenge a name, to get them to back off it even if it’s safe. It is genuinely interesting to watch people try to figure out how to respond to that.

- Every once in a while Mark Watson will drop an out-of-character level of mean and/or petulant comment, normally sarcastic, sometimes under his breath, often tailing off at the end as he loses confidence in it, more likely when he’s drunk. It’s always very funny.

“You pricks never walk.”

- How fast they can jump on everything each other says or does, until any little phrase has the potential to snowball into a long-running joke.

- The time Tim Key caught a live mouse and made it a guest on the episode.

- How frequently they’ll show up with merchandise based on a previous episode (a shirt or a mug or something that represents a controversial figure from a recent game, Tim Key sometimes wearing job gloves).

- Mert Aksac

- The day after Queen Elizabeth died, they didn’t air The Last Leg because that would be tasteless, but they did release the first episode of No More Jockeys to feature a clear shot of one of the players’ unclothed penis (censored, but only for the viewers, it’s worth noting, not for the other two players or the guy edited it).

[thran-duils]

Total Eclipse (P.1)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part One) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 1,816 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always Author’s Note: more warnings may be added for other chapters. As always, 18+. Also, the song inspo is def Total Eclipse of the Heart but its the Blvck Ceiling remix!

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

The carriage came to a stop outside the glove shop in front of you. It matched the description on the note that had mysteriously found its way into your cosmetics bag at home last night. And as the note had said, the gloves you picked up were already paid for. A practical gift from an absurdly practical man. One you could easily explain away to your husband as a gift he had simply given to you that he had forgotten that he had. He gifted items to you so often, it would not be hard to have this small token pass under his radar. Small to him but it was a symbol of a large wedge in your marriage, and it would always be.

The door opened and Sherlock was leaning out, smiling coyly. “May I offer you a ride, ma’am?”

“Do you even know where I am going?”

“Well, no. But if you would tell me…” You kept your face neutral at his toying and told him the address. He smiled broadly and said, “What a coincidence. I am heading that way and it looks like it might rain…” He turned his eyes skyward. It was cloudy. What a coincidence indeed. There was playfulness in his eyes as he pressed, “Ma’am?”

Sighing, you took his hand and let him help you into the carriage. He swung the door closed and tapped the wall behind him. The carriage took off.

“My, I’m pleased I was able to assist you,” Sherlock started cordially. “That is quite a lovely gown. Persian silk, is it not?”

“It is,” you answered stiffly.

You hated the games he played. He was going to pick you apart just for his own amusement now. Comment on all your riches simply because he had such a keen eye for everything with his travels and his intellect. And also because he liked you to remember how intelligent he was; it was something about him that had drawn you in in the first place. It still impressed you but now you knew it was him simply being petty more than anything. He wanted you and he wanted it badly. He was superior to your husband intellectually and always would be, something that would eat away at you. And besides intellect… Sherlock knew how to work your body like a well-tuned clock. This was foreplay for him. Assessing everything that had been going on with you in his absence since your last tussle in the sheets.

“Hmm. What lengths your family or husband must have gone to to acquire that fabric. You must really be special. Or they’re just woefully arrogant about their wealth.”

You shot him a disapproving look and he merely smirked briefly.

“I think it’s the latter personally. But what do I know? I haven’t seen you for four months.”

“Yes. What do you know?” you quipped.

“How is your son?” he returned quickly.

“With the nanny.”

“How aristocratic.”

“You never wanted children,” you told him tightly, getting tired of his questioning.

You knew why you were here. He was jealous still, even more so that you had had a child. And especially a child that was not his. He had been on a case across Europe at the time of conception… leaving no doubt about the father. But he was here now, wanting what he always wanted. A piece of you.

The two of you grasped at whatever pieces of the other you could get to hold close.

“Presumptive. We don’t know each other,” Sherlock replied, shooting you a look. You glared back and he merely simpered in response. “You look tired of the games.”

“I can’t even begin to describe how tired I am.”

The shades were drawn immediately by him, leaving the two of you in almost total darkness.

He was on you in a second and he pulled you close. “And how lonely?”

“Did you really shut yourself inside for four months?” you hissed back at him, as his hands played with the buttons of your bodice. “You are one to talk about loneliness! Watson told me!”

“I was only inside for two,” Sherlock responded lightly, as if that made it any better. “I had a case I did. But… two months inside was nothing. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? And why is Watson tattling to you?”

His hands were running up your sides, holding you close. His breath was hot, and he was coming in quickly. He claimed your mouth with his, the kiss deep and passionate. His tongue slipped past your lips, swirling and you responded in like. The two of you were panting with the intensity, hands grasping tightly on each other.

Sherlock managed to pull you down to the floor of the carriage and you hit him in protest. “My skirts! The dirty floor!”

“Say you fell. Make up a story of a heroic war hero – think of Watson for inspiration – helped you up off the cobble stone. It’ll make a great dinner story,” Sherlock spoke in hushed tones as he turned you around.

Your hands hit the opposite seat, chest planted firmly against it. Your heart was beating loudly in anticipation of the pleasure you were about to engage in. And the excitement that you truly could be caught at any moment if the carriage stopped for any reason.

Sherlock’s lips were at your neck, kissing up earnestly. He sucked deeply and you knew to let him; he knew the rules. He would never suck hard enough to leave a mark. No matter how much he wanted to. He nipped at your ear before circling back down; you turned your head to let him pull you back into a kiss.

He took this distracted opportunity to pull away, leaving you in a haze as he pushed your skirts up. You had done specifically as he liked and he was impressed.

“No undergarments,” Sherlock commented quietly his hands gripping the sides of your ass. “That’s very inappropriate and screams hussy in society. But… it’s very appropriate for me. I’m just delighted.”

“Will you get on with it?” You said impatiently. He always spoke so much and at the most inopportune time.

He chortled at you. “Always rushing. It’s what got you into your marriage in the first place, my love.”

His fingers traced. Running down between your thighs and pressing your legs open as you huffed indignantly at his rude comment. He always had to talk down about the situation you had found yourself in as a woman, no less. He knew why you had given in and still!

“And the fact—oh!” You gasped loudly at the last.

Sherlock’s fingers had dipped into your folds. He laughed quietly and warned you.

“Quiet now, dear. I paid the driver for discretion about who was in the carriage. Not discretion about any gossip he might hear. We should hurry it up though. We’ve taken three turns which means there are only four left. About fifteen minutes.”

Sometimes it paid off how perceptive he was but it still annoyed you right now when all you wanted to do was get off.

“How I wish I could turn around and sink onto you. That would ensure this would be done quickly,” you hissed at him.

You felt him at your entrance immediately and he pushed in. You groaned and he did in turn too. He filled you to the brim and sat stationary for just a moment, seeming to cherish the feeling before pulling out and setting himself a good pace. You pressed back onto him and one of his arms came to hold you tight across your chest. He still laid sloppy kisses along your exposed skin at your neck as he fucked you.

“Another turn,” you said sarcastically, just to rile him up.

And it worked.

He increased his pace in response, driving deeper. You lost your breath, fingers digging into the carriage seat as his teeth sunk in slightly. Bastard. He was pressing the rules just to teach you a lesson to be quiet and let him work.

His hand slipped back down to toy at your nub and your breath quickened.

Sherlock’s hand slapped across your mouth in anticipation. You hated he could read you so damn well. You moaned against his hand, your cunt clenching around his cock. His fingers dug in on your cheek, struggling to hold your pleasure in as you came undone as you were drawing it out of him with your tightness. He grunted loudly, sputtering. And then he was spasming just like you.

The third turn. The two of you felt and you were away from each other in a messy way. You pulled yourself back up onto the seat, touching at your hair. No, that was fine. He was always careful to not mess that up unless you two were spending the night together.

Across from you, Sherlock straightened at his waist coat. “The ball two days from now—” he started to say.

“It’s a masquerade.” You straightened your skirts out and sad back down on the carriage seat opposite him. You pressed them down further and did not miss the amused expression on his face.

“I’m quite aware, darling. Perfect opportunity.”

“For you to greet everyone? Come out of your shell?” you returned.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Watson told me I should.”

“I’m telling you that you should.”

“And that is enough.”

He had a sincere look in his eyes.

In your tryst, the rain truly had started to fall, a steady beat on the top of the carriage.

You had only been married for less than two years. And god, how you wished it was to him. But that was never to be.

The carriage came to its final turn and your house was so close. Your big… big house. It was so empty. The two of you were locked in a gaze just as the carriage came to a stop.

Swallowing sharply, you grabbed your purse off the bench beside you and said loudly, “Thank you for your courtesy. My husband would have been angry if this silk had been ruined in the rain.”

“You better run quick since there’s no butler here to greet you.”

“Ass,” you snapped, and he smiled again. You hated his smug smile so much, but you cherished seeing it too all the same. You climbed out, reluctantly taking his hand to help.

“You didn’t even say ‘welcome back’.”

He was actually pouting.

“You’ve already made yourself at home, dear,” you quipped.

You slammed the carriage door in his face and heard him chuckle from inside.

Turning, you went up the pathway quickly to the gate and threw it open, not bothering to look back. You knew you would see him again at the ball. The light rain was no bother.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney  @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl

also @mcnegan​ if you are interested haha!

(THIS IS THE ONLY TIME I’LL USE THE MARVEL TAG, OTHERWISE I’LL TAG SPECIFIC PEOPLE AFTER THIS SINCE IT IS NOT MARVEL, AND JUST AN RDJ CHARACTER! If you wanna be tagged, let me know! :D)

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes x ofc #rdj sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #my shit

[melon-kiss]

This is just going to be a ramble about everything Sherlock. You’re most welcome to discuss or just ignore it. I needed the space to vent.

I watched Sherlock. Again. I think it’s beginning to become my annual tradition. And I have a crisis. Don’t get me wrong, I am always Sherlollian at heart. It’s just… I have doubts sometimes. And what triggered those doubts this time was the fact that Sherlock calls Molly “John”. Twice. And then Irene Adler. And then one post on Tumblr. And many, many more.

OK, these are just my random thoughts. Enjoy if you’re willing to read them.

 1. “John”. “Molly”.

We often mix up names of people we consider to have the same place in our lives. Which is good, right? Right. Only, in Sherlock’s case, we’d have lean into the theory that Sherlock does love John romantically and feels the same way about Molly. Or concede the fact that he loves them both platonically. Neither of these options is really satisfying, isn’t it? Well, that’s why I’m struggling… One could say he’s in denial of feelings for Molly and identifies them as friendship, as this is the strongest, purest relationship in his life, the only one he describes as emotional and the closest he’s ever had to love. Besides, Molly and John are similar in one way – they both share the same – medical – knowledge. Of course, Sherlock doesn’t realise her other qualities until The Reichenbach Fall when she says she can help him whenever he needs it. It’s not until she’s honest with him again and tells him, without a shred of grudge, that she knows she means nothing to him, that he realises he has at least two friends. He calls her “John” when his mind is busy with something else, so there’s no room for any purposeful confusion. The same thing happens in The Empty Hearse. What else can it mean if not friendship?

 2. Nothing Hits Like Irene

Irene Adler is created as the love interest for Sherlock. Is she, though? Well, we see Sherlock utterly confused upon their first meeting. We also see him flirting and creating an atmosphere of sexual tension for the first time. OK, he saves her but then she vanishes, he got over her, I thought. And all was fine until The Lying Detective came and Irene Adler sent a text to Sherlock, first in such a long time. John, of course, suggests that if Sherlock should be romantically involved with anyone, it should be her. And then it hit me.

Irene Adler is the symbol of chemistry in Sherlock’s life.

She’s a dominatrix. She’s all about sex, that’s obvious. At the critical point of The Scandal in Belgravia Sherlock says: I believe John Watson thinks love’s a mystery for me but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very distractive. Sherlock discovers that he, indeed, can have chemistry with people. He doesn’t mention love, he merely says sentiment, referring to the crush Irene Adler had on him. She is, indeed, a simple distraction – you can see it clearly in his memory palace when he yells at her to get away. But Molly… Molly stays. She leads him through the entire process of surviving a shot.

And then Irene Adler returns in The Lying Detective. John confesses to Sherlock about texting with a stranger met on the bus. And that he wanted more. Sherlock says everyone gets to be human sometimes. Even he can’t resist the urge of replying to Irene Adler sometimes. It was all about attraction again.

And that’s why she’s not considered a romantic relationship in his life. John rambles about love changing him, to be more specific, the love of his woman changing him. But he says Irene’s a dangerous criminal. How would that change Sherlock in any way?

In The Final Problem, upon deducing the coffin, John suggests Irene Adler but she’s not his first thought in general once they all hear that this is about someone who loves Sherlock. Sherlock’s response is very telling: Don’t be ridiculous. Look at the coffin. It seems like Sherlock pieces the puzzle at once – the coffin, plus the “name” on the lid – it couldn’t have been Irene Adler.

And that’s why Sherlock calls her The Woman. As a symbol of his sexuality. The Woman who’s woken up certain impulses in his life.

 3. Makeshift Gauge

Who is she?, Sherlock asks John in His Last Vow.

Based on what Mofftiss duo said about Molly, she was supposed to be featured in two episodes top. Yet, she stayed. The uncanonical character not only stayed but became fans’ favourite. I think she became a useful tool for Moffat and Gatiss. I think that not only she represents Sherlock heart (of which existence he has no idea at first) but later becomes our makeshift gauge. For what? For measuring Sherlock’s progress. See, it’s like when you live with someone, you don’t notice when they put on weight or grew a little but those who see less of them will notice all changes right away. So, when Sherlock runs around with John, we don’t notice the change in his behaviour at once (also because he’s always been nice to him, from the very beginning), we need to focus to see that. But Molly pops by once per episode and we see how Sherlock’s perception changes. In season one, he has good intentions, but they turn out bad. In season two, he’s more neutral but doesn’t restrain himself from rude comments. And Molly is being Molly – tells him he’s rude in her natural, soft way and he says sorry. For the first time. Without anyone making him do that. Almost the same happens in The Reichenbach Fall – but this time, Molly doesn’t let herself be fooled by Sherlock’s arrogance and just ignores it, going straight to the point. She says: “I’m here for you” and lowers his defences. In season three, he spends an entire day with her, smiles at her and is the sweetest, softest Sherlock we’ve ever seen. Moreover, when Lestrade asks him about her helping him solve cases, he says: [John] is not in the picture anymore, implying that she not necessarily had to be a temporary replacement. In season four, he says I love you to her.

What can we deduce about his heart?

 4. The Eurus Conundrum

We could write an entire book about Eurus and not even be able to grasp her spirit. I’m not going to do that right now.

I have issues with what happened in season four finale. I mean – Molly, of course. Mycroft says Eurus and Jim Moriarty met five years ago, so before Moriarty revealed himself to Sherlock. They both planned the entire game for Sherlock. Does that mean Sherlock never really won with him? Does that mean Moriarty let him use Molly to “win”? Since she was included in Eurus’ plan, we can safely assume Jim knew about Molly back then. At first, when I saw Moriarty saying We both know that’s not quite true [that you don’t have a heart] in many Sherlolly fanvids, I was like naaaaah. He didn’t see her as one of the important people in Sherlock’s life, it couldn’t have been a reference to their meeting. But now… how deeply back in time was Eurus’ plan allocated? Which events did she predict?

Or maybe I’m missing something? Any thoughts on this?

 5. Sherlock Evergreen

I once came across a post here, about how BBC Sherlock is literature, about sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s struggle with his own genius character. He was over with him, didn’t feel like writing any more of his stories so he killed him, but fans demanded more. He kept writing, although he hated it from the bottom of his heart. Season four, so often considered as the worst of all of them, is a way of saying that Sherlock character is, unfortunately, invincible. Immortal. He will live forever. We can’t kill him, no one can. Even his creator couldn’t have done it.

In season four, Sherlock goes back to the start. He is a clean slate again. He went through the entire process of change – became a good Sherlock, considerate of other people’s feelings and emotions, appreciative, supportive, loving, ready to mend what he broke. That interpretation, although very good, kind of killed my Sherlolly spirit. But I guess every interpretation like this would do it. If we stop treating characters like real human being, we’re left with what they really are – a construct, tools, puppets in the author’s hands.

Based on this, I think we’re safe to say there will never be a fifth season of BBC Sherlock (gosh, how I wish I was wrong!). Why? Because, despite what Moffat said in an interview once (after season three finale he said they’ve plotted out the entire fourth and fifth season – liar, liar, pants on fire!), season four had the perfect ending. As mentioned above, Sherlock became a good man and Mary Watson summed up what Sherlock is all about: two man, a genius junkie and a former soldier, who solve the weirdest, the toughest of cases together in flat on 221B Baker Street. Now, Sherlock is ready to be taken over by other artists who may find a new way to tell his story (though, I don’t think so) all over again.

And that’s a big, big shame… I think I speak for at least most of Sherlollians when I say we’d like to see Sherlock and Molly’s first encounter after the call. The finale really closed all the story arcs and subplots, except for this one. I mean, c’mon. You don’t have to be a Sherlollian to be annoyed by this – just remember that it was such a “biggie” that Moffat was asked about this in an interview. And this may be another reason as to why we won’t ever get a fifth season of Sherlock – because that would mean taking a side. And none of the creators will do it because Sherlock cannot be an open-and-shut case. It has to be like literature: big, open, twisted, unclear and full of room for interpretation. As long as there’s no certain explanation – yes, Sherlock loves Molly, no, Sherlock is gay – we create more and more content out of the need of closure. Thanks to the room for interpretation, the story lives. I mean, it’s been four years since The Final Problem airing and here I am, discussing BBC Sherlock still.

 Coming back to Sherlolly… don’t worry. Though I’m still not sure that we can harvest any hard evidence for Sherlock’s feelings for Molly (other than friendship and respect), I’m still a Sherlollian. There two new fics waiting for me to pull myself together and write them. I think it’s good to have doubts – it means my brain hasn’t rotten yet and I can still be critical, I’m able of having my own opinions.

 Thank you if you managed to read it all! I’d love to discuss if you have any conclusions. If not, that’s fine, too. I just needed it get it out of my system.

PS WHY DOES MY POSTS IN ENGLISH SOUND SO SOPHISTICATED IN MY HEAD BUT WHEN I PUT THEM IN WRITING, THEY’RE SO SHITTY?!

#bbc sherlock #sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #irene adler #molly hooper #sherlolly #molly x sherlock #thoughts #eurus holmes

[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 7

“You’ve been a big help, Holmes. I really appreciate it every time.”

After the case had been closed. With the truth uncovered, the furious locals had been mollified; somehow, they’d managed to avoid the worst-case scenario. Now Sherlock and Lestrade were on their way back in a carriage, and the inspector gave him a deep bow.

Facing him, the detective broke into a wry smile.

“You should be thanking Gregson. In various ways, today was certainly both unorthodox and entertaining, but don’t get me wrong — he was the star of the show.”

As he said that, Sherlock felt as though he were a mother bird watching her chick leave the nest. Perhaps Gregson hadn’t wanted to share a ride with him: after the incident had been wrapped up, the assistant inspector had already made preparations to leave.

Hearing that, Lestrade scratched his cheek as he nodded.

“That’s true as well. He often jumps to conclusions, but for today’s case, his information provided some big clues.”

“Not only that, the deductions he made towards the end were rather sharp. I did give him some hints about the trick; but the fact that he was able to reach those conclusions from that alone is a testament to his ability.”

Thinking back to Gregson’s successes, Sherlock’s expression softened into a smile. But suddenly, it morphed into a serious mien, and he stared out the window. Seeing that, Lestrade pursed his lips.

——Just before they’d left the scene of the crime. as Mike Myers was about to be hauled off into another carriage, Sherlock called out to him.

“Say, there’s something I wanted to ask you. Your methods were certainly novel…… But to carry them out, you had to purposely book a room below the victim’s. Moreover, you couldn’t be sure if the shot would be fatal after the bullet passed through the ceiling, and if the officers had been deployed differently, you wouldn’t even have been able to carry out your plan — I get the feeling there were an awful lot of places where you were banking on pure luck. To be frank, it was your misfortune that the bullet had exited the body, since the wound’s condition allowed us to eliminate the possibility of suicide. Though, it would’ve been difficult to even go so far as to calculate whether the bullet would pass through completely.”

“…………”

Stopped in his tracks, Mike gazed at the detective with an oddly cold stare.

Sherlock continued. “Also, I’m not quite convinced of your motive: although your face was burned, if the three of you were rounded up as suspects and placed in an identity parade before the other fugitive, he would’ve ratted you out immediately. We’d conducted the investigation on the assumption that you wanted to silence him, but was that really your objective?”

Mike responded in an ominously quiet tone.

“Banking on luck, huh. You’re absolutely right: I was doubtful myself as to whether this plan would succeed.”

“Oh? Then why did you do it?”

Mike looked vacantly at the sky.

“Why, you ask? If I had to say—— it’s because I wanted to try it.”

“……You just wanted to try it?”

“When we went at that inn after hearing rumours about the Yard, this plan suddenly came to me. So I booked a different room from him, and only told him the escape plan for when the bobbies arrived. Then when I was sure the police were nearby, I started the fire without telling him……. Part of me wanted to avoid being sold out. But more than that, it was fun setting up this kind of scheme.”

“You mean to say, you killed for fun?”

“It’s a strange feeling. I know murder is bad; until now, even though I’ve committed numerous crimes, I’ve never hurt anyone for no reason. But after joining that attack on the department store the other day, when I saw that man, Jake Voorhees — something within me changed……. No, it was crushed.”

“……This Jake, he’s the mastermind behind that incident, huh.”

“That guy worked according to a different set of morals from the rest of us. To inflict such sickening cruelty without blinking…… Even as it disgusted me, it made me wonder if the ethics and morals I believed in were, in fact, nothing more than frightfully small and silly ideas.”

“…………”

“Well, if I think about it more, I’m sure there are many other reasons. But I killed him because I wanted to. That’s my motive, Mr Detective.”

Mike uttered those words in an intensely gentle voice, before he was taken away and put onto a carriage. Both Sherlock and Lestrade looked on in disgust.

——Thinking back to that horrifying exchange, a grave silence descended over them.

“……A senseless murder is truly frightening.”

“More than that, this Jake was truly abnormal to have been able to influence him to that extent.”

He didn’t want to talk about this case any more than he had to, and so Sherlock Holmes kept his mouth shut. The truth had left a bad taste in his mouth, as well as an agitation in his heart. Just then, he recalled one of the suspects from the case.

Judging from how the events leading up to the crime had unfolded, it was highly likely that someone had led the two fugitives to the inn. Sherlock had supposed it’d be the “Lord of Crime” who would do such a thing, but his objectives for doing so were yet unclear.

The only element he could think of was that man, Jerry Dorff…….

“In the end, who was he……?”

“Hm? What’re you talking about?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Never mind. It’s about a trifling ‘riddle’. Anyway, I’m sure he’s long gone by now.”

“………?”

The detective put an end to the conversation; a short while later, the carriage arrived outside his apartment. It was now late into the evening, and the setting sun shone across the home he’d grown so familiar with, dyeing it in a warm colour. Today’s extraordinary case and that troublesome companion had drained him, both physically and mentally; without realising it, Sherlock let out a huge sigh.

“Well then, please send my regards to that naggy assistant inspector. And tell him I’ll never be his assistant again.”

“Gregson told me the same thing as well. I’ll be seeing you then, if there’s a case.”

“Yeah. I’ll be waiting for a tough one.”

Saying his goodbyes, Sherlock stepped off the carriage, and Lestrade bowed once again. Then, after he signalled the driver, the carriage set off at a brisk pace through the city streets.

Sherlock waited until it disappeared around a corner to send him off. Then he entered the building, climbing the stairs while gently rotating his shoulders, and opened the door to his apartment.

“O—i, I’m done for the day~”

As he listlessly announced his return home, two familiar voices called back out to him.

“Welcome home.”

“Welcome back……. Also, I’m home, Sherlock.”

He looked inside, and saw John H Watson standing there with a kind smile on his face. Apparently, he’d also just arrived home.

“Oh, good work today, both of you.”

As he looked at his partner’s face, at long last, Sherlock felt himself unwind all the way to the very depths of his heart. Replete with exhaustion, he sank into his armchair.

Such was the state of Sherlock before him, and John spoke up in apology.

“Sorry; I heard it was a difficult case today, yet I couldn’t accompany you.”

“It’s alright. It’s not like you can be here all the time, anyway: there’re times like this too.”

“……I see.”

Perhaps John had been anticipating a barrage of grumbles and complaints; in response, he gave Sherlock a slightly relieved, or perhaps even lonely smile.

Picking up on that delicate and complicated mesh of emotions, the detective continued.

“……After all, you’re my only partner, John.”

At those words, John went a little pink.

“I-I see……. Hearing that face to face, is a little embarrassing.”

“Yeah, somehow it sounds like the greatest detective in the world wants his assistant to be his lifelong companion, huh.”

Miss Hudson had said that in a teasing tone, and in a breath, the atmosphere had settled into an amicable one. Breaking into a smile, Sherlock was just about to crack a retort — when the face of that assistant inspector, with whom he’d spent more than half a day, surfaced in his mind.

In an instant, his entire body felt heavy as lead.

“Aah, in the end, it’s a good thing you’re my partner…… At least, I’ll never pair up with that guy again.”

As John and Miss Hudson smiled before him, Sherlock muttered in a somewhat weary tone.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows #illustration insert

[bigfan-fanfic]

Now Let’s Have a Talk About Journalistic Integrity (Headcanons)

Requested by anonymous for  Crossover reporter headcanons: Clark and Lois mentoring Mary Jane Watson, Cat Grant poaching Peter Parker from JJJ.  SAVE THE SPIDER BABY!  

Now, just take into consideration that this is not the Michelle Jones MJ portrayed by Zendaya in the MCU but more of my idea of Mary Jane Watson as shown throughout multiple media. Also Peter Parker is much the same as his MCU portrayal, except without his whole 

Okay, here’s some things to know about Lois Lane.

She’s actually older than Clark by about three years.

She’s also one of those people who generally sees anyone younger than her as “smol baby” which is part of the reason she’s often so dismissive of Clark when they first meet.

“Miss Lane, we should really think about not going into there-”

“Can it, Smallville. I’m older than you.”

Not to mention Clark pretty much doesn’t seem to ever get any older (and she swears one day she will find what kind of moisturizer he uses and steal it because that stuff has gotta be from the fountain of youth or something.

She’s also very much annoyed with Perry for planning to stick the newest intern with her and Smallville instead of Stupid Kenneth down in Entertainment or Joyce in Sports.

The girl is cute and she seems pretty eager (although Lois isn’t really into the perky nickname MJ she gives herself. Is this girl even old enough to know who Michael Jackson was? Besides, Lois is the one who gives the nicknames around here) but Lois is ready to set aside her personal issues and help uplift another young woman trying to drill her way through the patriarchy in journalism, so she makes sure she’s the best dang mentor she can be.

MJ is eager to prove herself and often reminds Lois of herself, but really she reminds her of Clark a lot more. While Lois has a dedication and commitment to the truth, no matter whom it’ll hurt, MJ and Clark always seem to focus on the people behind a story. It’s something Lois admires in them, but struggles with herself.

Lois’ upbringing under General Sam Lane and her sister Lucy was not a happy one, and she has frequently come into conflict due to her commitment to honesty and the truth, even when exposing the military and government in falsehoods. She doesn’t talk to her family, she hasn’t seen her sister in years. 

MJ is bright, and smart, and she’s good at both writing and listening. Lois knows she’s going to go far, but she has Smallville to help bolster her spirit. Lois knows what these idealistic people need. Someone like her to warn them about how harsh the world can be, who can help them weather the darkness with their light intact. 

Meanwhile Clark becomes fast friends with MJ. She actually quickly discovers his secret due to witnessing his quick change in a phone booth while getting Lois coffee.

Clark learns that MJ doesn’t have any family in Metropolis, and that her family didn’t approve of her leaving New York and thus don’t speak to her, and he invites her to the Kent farm for holidays. Basically she becomes a little sister to Clark 

Lois tries to stop herself from being jealous when MJ scores a big interview with Superman that skyrockets her career at the Planet. Because honestly it’s a little irksome when you expect to hear a familiar smooth-voiced “Miss Lane?” and receive an “Ah, Miss Watson?” instead.

Still, Lois and MJ and Clark become a fine journalistic team, with MJ often volunteering to take Clark’s place when he needs to be Superman at a function.

Also, MJ flies nicely under the radar since people tend to like the media narrative of the subtle flirtation between Lois and Superman, so MJ can “safely” go interview Lex Luthor without being kidnapped. MJ also ends up working for the League to get information.

Meanwhile, we have Peter Parker working to make a quick buck at the Daily Bugle. He’s a good photographer, particularly of posed Spider-Man shots, so JJJ knows he has talent, but he also knows he’s not gonna pay a snot-nosed young adult full price for anything.

So Peter is doing professional-level work for peanuts... until CatCo Worldwide Media gets wind of his talents.

It starts with Cat Grant taking a visit to New York to make the rounds and meet the local talent and such, and she sees a Bugle front page spread of Spidey.

And Cat Grant prides herself on being able to spot talent a mile away, so of course she decides to pay J. Jonah Jameson a visit. Needless to say, he does not make a good impression on her.

She offers Peter triple whatever Jameson pays him to work for CatCo Worldwide Media (later this tripled salary triples again after she learns that Peter really was paid some horribly low fees.

People are interested in superheroes, she knows, but Peter needs to prove he’s got what it takes, so she has him come out to National City to get her a fabulous shot of Supergirl.

Of course, the world being what it is, Peter can’t help but break out his suit to assist Supergirl against a villain, and to thank him, Kara makes sure he gets a really good photo.

Peter practically yelps when Cat introduces him to her assistant, “I want to say... Kiera?” and Kara has to shush him.

But basically, Supergirl and Spiderman team up on occasion, because who should be the one to get sent to check on Peter’s progress but Kara?

Also also probably Peter almost definitely but maybe but like totally has a crush on Lena because she’s awesome and one of his science heroes but also he totally crushes on Cisco when they have one of their interdimensional thingies and they get to meet. Also Cisco being like “whoa, Spider-Man’s real here!”

Also, though, for real, Peter meeting Iris and Barry and just having super crushes on both of them.

#headcanons #supergirl headcanons #superman headcanons #spiderman headcanons #marvel headcanons #dc headcanons #my thoughts

[janeofcakes]

Soulmates: How John Met Sherlock...Again  Chapter 7

Happy Friday, my friends! I'm so sorry for making you all wait so long. It has been a busy week with lots of travel and time with the kids. Parts of me are SO sunburned. Haha! I hope all of you are having as much fun.

This chapter is shorter than some of the others, but it's a good one and I think you'll agree that it moves things in a positive direction. Let me know what you think at the end!

---

The fresh produce aisle at Tesco is far too busy for three o’clock on a Thursday afternoon. John Watson inches his way in between two older women to grab some apples with a minimum of dirty looks. Once he extracts himself again, he glances down the way and debates on how he’s going to get his hands on some oranges. After a moment of seriously considering bananas instead, a hole clears out in front of the display and he hurries to it. John just slips in before a woman speaking loudly on her mobile can take the spot and she glares at him all the while until John has his bag of oranges. He knows her type - can’t be bothered to wait for anyone else or show any consideration - so he makes sure to take his time and gives her a false friendly grin as he turns to walk away.

John heads to dairy and the refrigerated sections for milk, cheese, yogurt and eggs. He takes a jaunt through frozen foods and catches the bread before starting down the coffee and tea aisle. Plucking two of his favorite kinds of tea off the shelf, he makes his way to the coffee. How he and Gracie managed to run out of so many things at once, he has no idea.

The coffee section is as ridiculously full as fruit and veg was, so John waits off to the side a minute or two until it clears out. His eyes are scanning the shelves for his brand when the corner of a basket pokes him in the side. When he turns his head, he is greeted by the face of the loud woman from before. John can’t stop the frown on his face and she must remember him too because she gives him a sour expression before turning her back on him. John turns back to the coffee and tries to tune out her noisy complaints to the poor bastard on the line.

John just has the coffee he wants in his hand when a basket shoves up against his back again. The woman’s shrill voice still in his ear, John rounds on her with every intention of putting her in her place. He has dealt with more than his fair share of pompous idiots over the years and will not put up with it in bloody Tesco.

“Do you mind?” John demands, every inch of him exuding Captain Watson, but he stops before saying anything more. The rude woman is a good six feet away and heading up the aisle, nearly shouting into her mobile. It couldn’t have been she who bumped into him. To John’s surprise, directly in front of him and holding the offending basket is Greg Lestrade. John blinks once, a movement mirrored on Greg’s face as they stare with slackened jaws.

“John? John Watson?” a grin blooms on Greg’s face in an instant. He moves his basket aside and offers his hand, which John shakes without hesitation. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hello, Greg,” John greets warmly. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

“It’s been bloody years,” Greg exclaims as he shifts right to let a shopper pass by. “How have you been?”

“Well, bit of a rough start, but good. Very good,” John tells him, angling left for a passerby.

“Glad to hear it,” Greg remarks with a nod.

“What about you?” John asks before Greg has the chance to continue. “I heard you got a promotion, Chief Detective Inspector.”

“I did at that,” Greg laughs good-naturedly. “I don’t get out into the field quite as much. Paperwork’s a bitch, but it gives me time to take a day off for shopping. It’s good for my DIs to muddle through on their own every once in a while.”

Greg pauses a moment to let a woman with a pram pass and John mirrors his motions. The aisle seems twice as full as when John set foot in it.

“And you?” Greg asks when they have a bit of room again. “You’re back for good?”

“I am,” John puffs up his chest, genuinely pleased. He had wanted to move back to London as soon as Mary left. “Sort of inherited a practice from an old friend, so here we are. My little girl and I. Gracie. She’s eight now.”

“Fantastic. You’ve settled in and all? Been here a little while then?” 

Before John can answer Greg, an irritable man pushes past them and they both find themselves a little off balance and cursing.

“Bloody hell,” John says loudly as the bloke hurries on. When he turns back to Greg, the CDI is holding his basket in the space between them to allow more room for people to pass.

“Look, you’re almost finished, yeah?” Greg begins and John nods once. “So am I. No perishables and you can run yours home. We’ll meet for coffee in an hour. D’you know the Division Cafe?”

“I do,” John replies, relieved for the good fortune of Greg’s picking a place he is familiar with. “Sounds great. I’d like to catch up, but what the hell are you going to do for an hour while I drop this lot?”

“Take a leisurely walk to the cafe,” Greg chuckles as they start for the front of the store to cash out. “It’ll give me a chance to check in on the office.”

“Oh no, don’t do that,” John jokes. “No need to spoil your day off. I don’t want to be responsible for that. How will I sleep tonight?”

“All right then,” Greg tells him wryly. “I’ll just tag along with you. We’ll have plenty of time to get back up to speed before we even get there.”

“If you insist,” John is delighted by the suggestion. He has truly missed the CDI over the last ten years and often considered phoning to talk, but never did follow through. Now with Greg in front of him and plenty of time on his hands since Candace is scheduled to watch Gracie after school, he is loath to refuse his friend anything.

“I do insist,” Greg laughs as he places items on the conveyor belt for checkout, “and I’m buying.”

John grins and shrugs.

“Who am I to refuse?”

The next hour passes quickly as they catch a cab to John’s flat and make their way to the cafe. Not a moment is spent in silence. John tells Greg all about Gracie and their flat in Bath. He touches on Mary and Rosie, but quickly jumps ahead to the move back to London. For his part, Greg fills John in on his biggest cases over the years with an emphasis on those that brought about his promotion. By the time they reach Division and sit down with coffees, Greg has just gotten to the cohabitant Sherlock had mentioned in the park. John has the sneaking suspicion that Greg wanted to wait until he was sitting down before mentioning it, so it should be pretty good.

“I heard you were with someone,” John sips from his mug. “Anyone I know from the old days?”

“Uh, yeah,” Greg answers, running his hand up the back of his own neck and wearing a sheepish smile. “Mycroft Holmes.”

“What?” John’s eyes are wide. His lips remain parted in disbelief as the right corner of his mouth quirks up in a half smirk. Greg shrugs in affirmation. “Now that I did not expect.”

“Five years now. Actually,” Greg hesitates and John can tell he is trying to contain a really brilliant smile, “I asked him to marry me only last Sunday.”

“Oh my god. Congratulations,” John declares. “Greg, that’s fantastic news! Tell me, has he mellowed over the years?”

“He has, actually,” Greg answers, reigning in his laughter. He bites the inside of his cheek and looks John over with trepidation in his eyes. His friend eyes him quizzically from behind his mug. Decision made, the CDI picks up his own cup and brings it to his mouth as he says: “Being a doting uncle helps too.”

John swallows and places his coffee cup on the table between them. His brows arch briefly before falling again.

“It’s hard to imagine,” John says ruefully, not meeting Greg’s knowing gaze.

“No more than his baby brother having a child,” he remarks easily, watching John closely. The doctor shoots him a sharp look and chuckles under his breath as he leans back in his seat. With a sardonic smile, John looks down at where his hands rest on the table with his fingers wrapped around the mug of dark liquid.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” John mutters. He raises his eyes to his friend’s face to see Greg’s lips turned up on one side in a crooked and very amused smirk. John doesn’t say a word, giving him ample time to explain.

“Is it?” is all Greg says, his smirk growing more satisfied. John huffs a quick laugh and shakes his head slightly. Straightening up in his seat and leaning his elbows on the table, John fixes Greg with an incredulous face.

“Come on,” he begins and is unable to keep the touch of a plea from his tone. “You can’t say something like that and not fill in the blanks.”

“What? He didn’t tell you?” Greg replies coyly, turning his cup on the table and picking it up by the handle.

“You damn well know he didn’t,” John huffs again. “We ran into each other at the bloody park after ten years of not speaking.”

“Yeah? And whose fault is that?” Greg mutters grimly. 

John stills instantly, lips parted with words that die on his tongue. Greg doesn’t look angry exactly, but he certainly isn’t pleased. Of all the people John expected to hold onto any animosity toward him, Greg Lestrade wasn’t even on the list.

John takes a shaky breath and closes his mouth. How can he even explain? It doesn’t even make sense in his own mind anymore. He swallows audibly, the very beginnings of sweat blooming at his temples. Greg is asking him to do what Sherlock could have in the park. What he still could, but probably never will. Not the Sherlock John knows.

“Mary was done,” John’s voice is choked and quiet. “With London and the surgery, but most of all with Sherlock. Revealing her secrets to me was the last nail in the coffin.”

“Funny you should say that,” Greg leans forward, his eyes ablaze and his voice low. “She shot him, John. She killed him. Stubborn bastard brought himself back from the dead and for what? His best friend to run off with his killer.”

“She was my wife,” John croaks barely above a whisper. “She was carrying my child.”

“You were married for all of two months,” Greg’s brown eyes are hard and bore into John’s very being like a hot poker. “She was a liar from the beginning.”

Greg clenches his teeth as if to stop himself from saying something and John has no doubt the words would cut him to the core. The muscles beneath the skin stretched across Greg’s jaw work constantly as he struggles to keep his cool in the crowded cafe. He sits back ever so slightly, pulling his elbows closer to the edge of the table, his intense gaze pinning John to his seat.

“When she left you,” Greg growls, trying to keep his voice even, “you could’ve called him. Hell, you could’ve done it before that. You knew where he was. You knew his number. He had no idea where you were and it nearly destroyed him.”

Silence hangs heavily in the air between them, even with the noise of the milk steamer and patrons all around. As much as John wants to look away in shame, he cannot break away from his friend’s furious glare. The source of Greg’s ire is suddenly crystal clear. Sherlock may have refused to hear Mycroft’s news of John’s life over the years, but Greg obviously hadn’t and it fueled his anger as time went on. John clears his throat, wincing at the sting of its sudden dryness.

“He started using again?” John’s heart sinks to his feet as he asks it. He had hoped against hope that Sherlock wouldn’t fall into oblivion without him. Greg lets out a mirthless laugh.

“No, he didn’t bloody use,” the words are a sneer and his lips curl. “But he was miserable. He disappeared into the flat for months and looked like hell when he resurfaced. He worked cases, but he was on auto-pilot until he met Jessie.”

“Jessie?” John asks, desperately curious. This, this is what he wants most to know. Olive’s mother. Sherlock’s wife? Where is she? Who is she? How did they meet? John has a thousand questions and now he knows for certain that Greg holds all of the answers. John need only ask, or so he thinks.

“No,” the CDI shakes his head and leans all the way back in his chair. He chews on his lip and puffs out an angry breath. “If you want to know, you’ll have to ask him. I’ll be damned if I give you an easy out.”

“You’re right,” John breathes out his shame in a sigh. “Anything I want to know should come from him.”

He raises his troubled eyes to Greg’s face and sees some of the anger on it has dissipated in favor of irritated approval. John straightens his spine and scrubs his hands through his short, silver-blonde hair. Pressing his lips in on each other, he inhales deeply and shakes his head. 

“God, how I failed him, Greg,” John murmurs. Words he has thought often and never actually uttered. “I was so tired and felt betrayed and he kept saying I should stay with Mary. That I should forgive her because she’d actually saved his life by shooting him. It’s such bullshit.”

“He wanted you to keep her close for Rosie’s sake,” Greg tells him. His eyes are softer than they have been since they walked in the coffee shop. “And for yours. He knew you would never live in 221B again, but you and Rosie were worth it. I don’t think he realized Mary would convince you to leave.”

“Her final revenge,” John mutters angrily as Greg sighs.

“Just...don’t make the same mistakes twice, John. Don’t shut him out,” Greg advises sagely, finally raising his coffee cup to his lips again and taking a quick sip. “Olive says she and Gracie want to have a playdate at the flat, but you’re holding them up.”

John watches Greg uneasily. Memories of 221B start skipping through his mind and with them, feelings he has left buried for ten years. John shakes them away and wraps his hands around his own mug.

“I don’t know if I can go back there,” John says.

“It won’t be easy,” Greg tells him, placing his cup on the table. He leans in and fixes John with a very serious gaze. “Stop running, John.”

With those three words, John’s mind clears. The simplicity of it is stunning and utterly heartbreaking. How many years would he and Sherlock have been friends again if John had just faced his fears, accepted responsibility for his mistakes and reached out to the detective? What the hell had happened to him and when had he let go of Captain Watson? John had lost half of himself all these years and never seemed to take notice. Sure, he had thought that Sherlock didn’t care anymore, even after Rosie died, but when had the man’s moods ever stopped him from horning in before? He punched him in the face as a cover, fucking wrestled him to the ground because he was angry with the git. He tried to comfort Sherlock when he thought he was in love with Irene Adler, for Christ sake. John Watson...always by his side and ready to kick the shit out of anyone who would touch him.

Filled with a new resolve, John squares his shoulders and meets Greg’s eyes. His own are determined and set, the decision made. He will accept Sherlock’s invitation and take Gracie to his old home. Maybe he’ll even invite himself in for tea and see if the man who was once his best friend will allow him back into his life. Maybe Sherlock will let him try to repair their friendship. God, John hopes so.

---

All I can say is Greg Motherfucking Lestrade, the dark horse in this story. Hell, yeah! 

Thank you so much for all the love and support. I definitely wouldn't be here without all of you! Love, Jane

@johnlock-rocks

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock fanfic #sherlock loves john #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #John loves Sherlock #Mystrade

[shintorikhazumi]

"It's called an existential cry, sis."

A/N: More discord shots. Medieval/Aristocrat stuff AU where Akko was an orphan adopted by Hannah's fam when both were 4, but has always been hidden from the public until one day she wanted to go to Luna Nova. And Han, who doesn't necessarily hate Akko; she was just not allowed to interact with her much once they got to their teens. And now has to look out for her sis.

Yep. Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

T'was another pleasant day in the prestigious Luna Nova Ladies' Academy. The birds chirped their elegant songs into the flowing spring air, leaves dancing along. The clouds lazily traversed the sky, no destination in mind. Yes, here stood the institution that served as the training ground for all young women to prepare them for society, for the world, and most importantly, for marriage-

"This isn't going to work out for me." Hannah sighed, face dropping into her textbook as she accompanied her sister in the library for study period.

"Hmm?" Akko looked up from her own copy of the material, giving her sister her attention. "What won't work?"

"Akko. I'm gay."

"...yyeuuupp." Akko said, emphasizing the pop on the p. "I know. We both are. You and Barbara aren't the quietest in the shower sometimes. Hmm... Though I'm bi, so does that make you a little more gay than me?" She wondered aloud. "Why do I feel like I've lost? But anyway. We established this pretty long ago."

"Akko. Ignoring the other things you just said, you do know what that means, right? In a society like ours, so hooked on the concept of political marriage. We're going to be married off, y'know?  Maybe even to some rich bastard who doesn't know what to do with all his money."

"Heehhh..." Akko couldn't have sounded more disinterested. "I mean, if I had to be forced to marry some dude, I guess I'd settle for Andrew. We get along pretty well." The girl referred to her best friend who she often attended parties with.

"That's not the point-"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

"Akko?!"

"SILENCE IN THE LIBRARY!!!"

"S-sorry!" The girl called, shrinking back into her seat, face almost entirely hidden by her book, but eyes locked onto *something*.

"Akko! What the fuck was that?!" Hannah whispered in harsh tones. "All of a sudden!"

Akko opened her mouth, about to reply normally, but then her eyes took on that playful glint that Hannah knew was about to be associated with something utterly stupid.

"It's called an existential cry, sis."

"Akko." Hannah groaned. "And what 'existential crisis' are you going through exactly? And so suddenly?" She decided to humor her sister anyway.

"I'm gay."

"..." Hannah slapped a palm to her face. "I know. We've established this, as you've said. Right?"

"Nooo, no! Like... gay, gay. Super gay. I don't think I'm bi anymore, Han."

"Oh?" Hannah leaned back into her chair, brow cocked in interest. "And I assume you just saw someone that made you feel this way?"

"Ah, quick-witted as ever, my dear Watson."

"And? Who's the lucky girl?"

Hannah followed Akko's finger pointing to one specific direction. Narrowing her eyes to better focus them, eyes scanning over the sea of heads of studying folk and landing on...

Oh look! Her best friend Diana was back from her home visit! She should go over and talk to her, and maybe not introduce her to her sister... huh?... who just so happened to be... pointing... at... her...

"She's so hot, holy crap! And so so so gorgeous too! Ne, Hannah, what's her name? Who is she? Why have I never seen her before-"

"Bloody, Fucking hell."

#hannah england #kagari atsuko #diakko #and #hanbara #h&b #hints #hannakko #sibilngs #lwa #Little Witch Academia #discord shots

[dani-luminae]

Oooohhhh, if you heard how bitchy Emma was about that yellow dress. It was an ugly on-sale prom dress. Cinderella’s was 200x more elegant, flattering and gorgeous.

I’m not sure for the context of this but “Emma” and “yellow dress” and the comparison to the Cinderella dress is telling me “Beauty and the Beast remake nonsense” which is a topic I will gladly contribute to any day.

Just look at this:

And half the time in the movie, you couldn’t even see the weird golden embroidery. Although I will say that I liked that necklace and got one for myself from Hot Topic.

I don’t know if these rumors are confirmed or not but I heard that Emma Watson had a hand in the design of this terrible-looking dress. Which, if it’s true, should not have happened at all. (She also apparently made a big deal about not wearing a corset for the role... then wore a corset for Little Women a couple years later? Does that mean she actually learned about the roles and functions of corsets or that other director just wouldn’t let her get away with this nonsense?) I welcome learning more about this issue. I really don’t think that Emma Watson was a good choice for Belle, from her facial expressions or sadly-obvious lack of singing ability. 

Admittedly, that yellow dress looked okay in motion... when you didn’t have the time to focus on the weird mix-match style of it. But in the promo still shots and especially when it was presented as the new iconic golden ball gown, it was So Bad. “Ugly on-sale prom dress” is pretty right. Even some of the merchandise costume dresses that Disney and some retailers produced look better than the actual thing in the movie! 

I often look fondly at this dress and imagine it for the remake. It was made by a cosplayer, I believe, but it fits so much better than the remake one:

Even some designs from the literal Disney Parks themselves offer lovely interpretations and alternatives as a jumping-off point for what the live-action dress could have been:

(I’m particularly fond of the rose-adorned one directly above, it’s from the Sounsational Parade at Disneyland.) 

My parents and I always go to the Enchanted Tales with Belle attraction when we’re in the Magic Kingdom, and I’m always wowed by the style and the movement of Belle’s ballgown when we’re there. Makes me even angrier at the remake dress honestly. 

Cinderella’s remake gown was far better, even if I question the need for some odd-looking and slightly-tacky butterflies, but it was beautiful in still shots and in motion. They made it work, regardless of the whole “was the actress wearing a tight corset or did Disney digitally-alter her waistline?!” issue that was around at the time of the release.

(I like to joke that it’s like they traded Cinderella and Belle’s dress shapes for the remakes: live-action Cinderella got the off-shoulder neckline and the far-poofier skirt that animated Belle had, while live-action Belle get structured over-the shoulder-sleeves and a more drawn-in skirt from animated Cinderella.)

But yes, this dress was bad and it didn’t fit at all with the whole “time period accuracy” that they tried and failed to fit in the remake. I will never stop being annoyed with it.

I own none of the pictures in this post.

#i'm really sad about the beauty and the beast remake #it was my favorite story and the remake actively made just about every element of the tale very very bad #anti batb 2017 #anti batb remake #anti beauty and the beast 2017 #anti beauty and the beast remake #those are tags apparently?

[shyrose57]

Brothers anon back again after like a week, sorry about that. But as a sorry I worked out a bit more with the Great SMP town! Also idk if you know but the Brothers au link is broken on your pinned post, I tried using it to skip to the questions I had yet to answer and it didn't work. 

1: The idols people could choose from where Technoblade, Sapnap, George, Ranboo, Bad, Fundy, Karl, Phil, Tommy, Tubbo, Sam, Wilbur, and Eret. People who choose Technoblade or Sam often become the guards of Mizu and those who keep laws inforced. The difference between following Technoblade or Sam is, for Technoblade you focus purely on fighting and less about laws, you also learn more about history. While for Sam you focus much more on laws and even restraining and helping people (If its confusing think of Sam followers as the police and Technoblade followers as SWAT). Technoblade followers are also sometimes called to provide protection during resource gathering missions. For Karl you tend to learn story tellings and study writings, Karl followers are also the main librarians and take care of books and preserve them. Sapnap and Phil followers are the people who go on supply missions or runs, though for Phil you learn how to address wounds and further study most things. While for Sapnap you further study monsters and their weaknesses, along side where they most commonly spawn. George followers tend to study architecture and tend to be the architectures of Mizu, designing new sections of the city and planning out where stuff goes, their also the people who handle stuff like ventilation and supply of water and checking damages on almost anything. Eret followers study history like many other idol followers, but unlike the others they focus solely on history and laws, they tend to be the leaders of Mizu and the ones who organize basically everything. Bad followers study and learn psychology and reward and consequences situations, while Eret followers make the decisions, Bad followers are also great helps and a very important part of what's basically The Council, as they study and guage how actions will affect the city and provide their input. Wilbur followers of course learn entertainment, like they learn how to play instruments, how to write and play in plays, some even make games! Tommy and Tubbo aren't actually common idols, their referred to as "Mix" idols most of the time, as the people who pick them typically have a wide range of skills and interests that just don't fit in any other idols. So Tommy and Tubbo followers really just go through a college type thing, where they learn a wider range of things than any other idol follower, those followers tend to pick up basically whatever job they want. Tubbo differs slightly though as Tubbo followers can focus a little bit more in a certain field than Tommy followers, which can allow Tubbo followers to often be picked or asked for help for things like building, or recording history, though they CANT be used to help Technoblade or Sam followers, and can't be chosen to go on supply runs or missions. Than Ranboo followers are similar to Karl's, in which they are the librarians and study writings, but they are also the main recorders of history and are tasked with writing down what happens every single day. 

These are the things some idols share, Technoblade, Phil, Sapnap, Sam, and Eret followers all study weapon and armour formations and how to make them. All idol followers learn at least some history of what their learning and their own idols. Bad and Phil followers tend to be the doctors in Mizu. And every idol has one representative in The Council.

2: Its how he shows that theres no hard feelings against the other person, and that he has already completely forgiven the other person. He continues to gently prank the other person until the person either also says that they forgave Grievous or that they show their comfortable around him again. Jackie and Cletus found the situation incredibly funny and laughed hard when it first happened. Watson just kinda watched it all play out with his amused father face but also was ready to step in if it seemed like Grievous went to far. 

3: Benjamin has a lot of life experience in stressful situations, which allows him to relay on pass experiences in a great multitude of situations. And he's just a very calm person. So he's able to just handle the situations better than anyone else. 

8: It was Jackie's birthday when Levi gave him alcohol, Jackie was tired and Levi gave him it, telling him it would keep him awake and make it easier to talk with everyone. Jackie did drink it and got a bit tispy before Watson figured out what happened and stole it away from Jackie, then going and hitting Levi. 

Almost everything from the SMP was lost due to time and weather, the buildings still remain, although crumbling and ruined and many things are missing from them, but a few things (like weapons, books (although heavily weather worn), discs) did survive and are somewhere in the world. The town in the Greater SMP does have 2 weapons, Orphan Obliterator, and Dreams Nightmare sword, and have the original copy of Ranboos memory book. People knew it was there at first, many visited and a few attempted to even preserve everything, but over time, other stuff happened. New kingdoms popped up, with quite a few claiming that the history of the SMP was just made up, a cleverly devised story and since at this time its been a decade or two since the SMP fell, and people just aren't as into it or studied the history as much, they believed them. So people stopped visiting, and everything fell into ruin. Only the town in the SMP grounds still believe and study the SMP, but their often called the idiots of the world for what they do. 

Jackie gets hurt after he jumps about and accidentally steps on a magma block, Charles gets distracted by worrying over Grievous after he got shot that he isn't paying attention and almost falls into a lava pool before Ran saves him, and Cletus gets to cocky and gets hit by a wither skeleton before Watson has to come in and save him. By the end everyone is whining and saying how they regret it as Ran tells them off for not following what he said and how he said they weren't ready. They find a bastion and fortress! They find the fortress first and Watson, Cletus, and Grievous go in to grab blaze rods after Watson basically freaks out about blaze rods and won't shut up about getting some for potions. And after Cletus gets hit by the skeleton they rush to a nearby bastion they saw to barter with the Piglins for the cure. But after they get it they stay behind and continue to trade as Watson teaches them about Piglins. 

10: I'm thinking of adding maybe mind control or hallucinations to the battle. With Ranbob being so close to Dream again, and even though he'd tried so hard to break Dreams control in him, Dream is still able to control Ranbob to some degree. Causing him to have hallucinations during battle of him killing his family again and Ran trying to kill him. While for Ran, Dream manipulates him, trying to get him to believe that this all is still Ranbobs fault, and how Ranbob doesnt care about him or anyone, and only cares for himself. Basically he's trying his last ditch attempt to separate the two so he can get his puppet back, and get rid of a annoying nat (in his opinion) in the process. 

13: A lot of people know of him being the General actually. But it only matters to people who actually fight in the Pit, as again its merely a fighting title. Not many people have been able to beat him, only 2 have actually been able to bet him and win whatever the prize was when they competed, but those people also choose to not take the general title. But they've said it was very hard to beat Jackie with his speed and him being able to do whatever he wants basically. Jackie, Ran, and Watson are all at some part on par, they share similar fighting moves and tatics which are obviously shared in battle. But other than a few shared tatics, their not considered on par at all. They do! The Corporal fights first, Sergeants go next, then the General. 

14: A few times Ranbob tried to break off from the group and head back to Mizu, but every time someone caught him, weither it be Charles or Cletus or even Jackie, and were able to bring him back home. Talking to him and talking him through the whisper episode, keeping him calm and in charge of his mind.

Nice to have you back, Brothers Anon! I tested the link, and it worked fine, so I think it might’ve been one time, but I went ahead and re-linked it, so I hope it works for you now.

1: Honestly sounds cool. I call studying Karl! With all the different builders, Mizu sounds like a beautiful place. What would you say some of it looks like? Any special areas? And also, the Council? What’s that? I assume they’re the leaders, but is that all they do? Do they make decisions over everything, or are they divided for certain areas, like farming and education? Does every idol have a representative, or are their multiple under one for the Council?

2: Aww. That’s actually kind of sweet. Grievous gently pranks people to show affection. I like that, anon, I really do.

3: What kind of situations?

8: Levi! You should be ashamed of yourself! Bad person, bad!

That’s really interesting, actually. Was there a reason people claimed it was just made up, or did it just happen? Also, do any of the gang realize Nightmare is Dream’s sword? Does Dream try to get one of them to bring it back?

And SMP town isn’t believed? Were they never in contact with Mizu?

Honestly, all those injuries were about what I expected. Charles was worrying over Grievous? Just general concern, or have they forged a friendship? How’s Ranbob faring with the whole ‘two of my idiots just about died’ thing? He strikes me as a worrier. 

Do they have fun, at least once it’s all over? What kind of potions do they up and brew? Do they just sit down and experiment with all their supplies for a bit, and see what happens? Does Ran commandeer it all?

10: Oof. That’s gonna hurt. If Dream has that power, why didn’t he use it before, to force to fishermen to give Ranbob back? Did they have some sort of protection against it? Does it only work for certain people? Also, if I may ask, why is Dream so vested in Ranbob? Surely he could get another puppet, eventually? Is there a particular reason, or is it more of a ‘I worked way too hard on this one to give it up now’ kind of thing? Is Ran the nat? If so, what’s his opinion of all the others? 

13: Huh. So Jackie’s pretty strong, then. In what way are they not considered on par? Is one considered stronger than the other? Faster? Is Jackie considered stronger than them aside from shared tactics, or is it the other way around? Also, can there only be one Corporal and two Sergeants, or is it simply because those were the only ones to catch Porkius’ eyes.

14: Oh, so this happened during the road trip? Jackie even got involved? How did the gladiators react to Ranbob trying to bolt for Mizu randomly? How far has Ranbob gotten? Was it ever far enough to seriously concern the fishermen? Does bringing him back ever get physical an evolve into a fight, or does he usually stay pretty docile during it?

#dream smp #dream smp au #Brothers AU #tales from the smp #ranbob #ran

[hoffmannwrites]

You Better You Bet

Previous - PART EIGHT - Next - Masterlist

Author’s Note: We are back in business BAYBEEE!! I posted a full detail update if you want to read that for all my juicy secrets. Thank you ever so dearly for being to patient and so kind. I can’t even fathom that so many people actually like this. It’s really crazy. Y’all are the best. Stay safe and stay home if you can. 

Pairing: Riverdale, FP Jones, and 19-Year-Old Reader

Description: A bet with Jughead leads to so much more than winning.

Warning: Language, Adult themes, Age Gap, Teenage drinking, Sex talk (but no actual hanky panky here), Wholesome female friendships, Pining, Brief mention of female masturbation

Song Inspiration:  Savage (Remix) by Meg Thee Stallion Ft. Beyonce (Nothing to do with the chapter, but this has been on repeat for 24 hours)

It’s been 7 days. One whole week since you last saw Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Second. The morning after your last little rendezvous proceeded much like that after the first, however when you finally returned home, you stayed there. No texts from a taunting Sweets. No follow up calls from the man himself. Not even a disapproving glare from dear old Juggy. A whole week had passed and nothing changed at all. It seemed to be that the entire world had forgotten you fucked FP Jones (many times). School crawled on as usual. Betty and Jug were off playing Holmes and Watson. Archie and Veronica were fucking on every expensive piece of furniture they could find. Cheryl bought a new red lipstick. Kevin decided that Spring Awakening was his latest Magnum Opus. Homeostasis achieved. Right? 

Wrong. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t seem to pry your mind away from thinking about The Serpent King. You’d find yourself in the middle of a class, biting on your pen, absentmindedly thinking about the way his brown eyes looked right before he was about to...until someone called your name loud enough and often enough to snap you out of it. You’d get a shiver down your spine getting a flashback of his hands on your hips. The worst, though, was the smell of him. It followed you around and cling to your hair and clothes no matter how much time had passed. When the wind blew the right way or you turned your head quick enough, you’d get a strong gust of him that was enough to make you whimper. 

No one tells you this, but it sucks when someone you don’t particularly want to date is the best lay you’ve ever had. It’s not so much that you didn’t want to date FP, but you couldn’t. He’s more than double your age, and a father of 2 children (one of whom is your best friend), AND he’s the leader of a gang. Imagine brining that home to mom. As much as you didn’t have any feelings for him, you couldn’t very well track him down anyway. You didn’t have his phone number (and weren’t planning on trying to get it from anyone else) and a trip to the Wyrm alone again would look needy at best. Instead, you were stuck alone, rutting against your fingers or your pillows, chasing after a high that only FP could give you. 

Saturdays were for the boys, sure. But Sundays? Sundays were for the girls. Pops on Saturdays was a ritual of catching up and hanging out and making plans for the week. Sunday’s were for shit talking and chicken wing eating and face mask applying. This Sunday was extra special, considering you had bailed on last week’s event due to a mild limp and the overall body ache. When Betty and Ronnie showed up at your house, already in PJs with Twilight DVDs, buffalo wings, and the finest Champagne Veronica could steal from her parents’ liquor cabinet without being noticed, you knew this was just what you needed to get your mind off FP. 

Or so you thought. Soon the wings had been devoured, the Champagne bottle was emptied, and Edward was left sparkling in the sun. All that was left to talk about was the elephant in the room. “So (Y/N/N)... care to spill some sinful details to your doting BFFs?” Veronica inquired with a shit-eating grin. 

“I have no idea what you could ever be talking about, my dearest Lodge,” you replied, sad that your I-don’t-need-no-man bubble was being popped. 

“(Y/N), come on, girl. Even I want to know what happened.” Betty pleaded with you. 

“Betty just wants to know if big dicks and praise kinks run in the family. For her sake, spill!” Veronica teased, earning a bright red blush from Betty. 

And so you did. Perhaps it was the liquid courage, or maybe you just needed someone else to know it was real too. You told the girls everything- no detail spared- gossiping like a bunch of, well, teenage girls. 

“Fuck.” Betty was the first to break the silence after your monologue was over. 

“But he hasn’t called you?” Ronnie asked, indignant. 

“Nope.” you replied. 

“Men are such fucking trash. They can cum in you for 48 hours straight, but god fucking forbid they pick up a phone!” She continued her rant. “You should call him. Show him you’re more than just a two-night stand.” 

“By doing what?” you questioned. “Asking him to fuck again? Plus. It was just a fling. It was a bet. Remember? And I won. So it’s over now. Done. Finito. Terminado. Fertig. Ip-shay has Ailed-say.” 

“Oh yeah you sound real happy about that...” Betty giggled, pulling her knees up to her chest with a smile. You shot her a glare. “I’m just saying! Those Jones men are addictive. I think you should shoot your shot.” 

“How would I even do that? I can’t go to the bar AGAIN. People are gonna think I have a problem,” you deadpanned. 

“Well...it just so happens, that I am dating your paramour’s son. So it would be justifiable that I would have said paramour’s phone number, in case of emergencies.” Betty said, chin resting on knees. 

“It’s an emergency,” Veronica declared, holding out her hand for Betty’s phone. 

She obliged and soon your phone screen was looking up at you, with FP’s number in the contact line and a blinking line waiting for you to type out the perfect message. 

“Okay. What do now?” you asked, looking to your friends bug-eyed. “I don’t talk to people.” 

“How about ‘Hey it’s (Y/N). with a little smiley face,” suggested Betty. 

“OUH!! Or you could send him a nude!” proposed Ronnie.

Your brow furrowed and you turned to the brunette “...no....” you said, almost concerned for your friend‘s mental stability. “How about something...flirty. Something so he knows it’s me. Like an inside joke or something. OH. Wait i think i got it.” You tapped on the screen excitedly, like a child writing a letter to Santa. You showed the girls the finished message before you sent it. 

“Hey, Jones. You up for another round of pool? Promise I won’t make you dance this time.” 

With their approval, you pressed the little blue send button and practically threw your phone to the ground like it was a hot potato. 

You waited. 

And waited.

And waited. It felt like you were staring at the screen for hours before three little gray dots made their debut. You screamed. You couldn’t bare to look. Veronica did it for you. Men never made you act this nervous or childish. (Women did, but they had boobs and nice hair, so it was a completely different set of rules. Girls are pretty, yo.)

You heard it. The faint sound of a message hitting your line. Veronica picked up the phone and read the text quickly. “Bitchhhhh...” she said, handing the phone over to Betty. “Oh my god...” the blonde whispered into the palm of your hand, before handing the phone back to its owner. 

You read the screen. 

“Wyrm’s closed on Sundays, baby girl. But my door is always open for you. Don’t you practically live here anyways?” 

Somehow, all the air you had was sucked out of your lungs, while an anvil lifted itself off your shoulders.  

Taglist: @ragweed98 @reblogserpent @cassidyiscool @cyberbadman @ohhmyexo @anondunar @startwiththeridingcrop @colie87 @derangedcupcake @scintilla-morningstar @princess-east @xxghostnappaxx

#fp jones #fp jones smut #riverdale #riverdale smut #riverdale imagine #rattwrites #riverdale fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #betty and veronica #veronica lodge #betty cooper

[lovemademoisellebelle]

Uh oh... did we do that?

Pairing: Draco x y/n

Warnings: underage drinking, mild swearing

A/N: been reading and writing fan fiction for years but I've never uploaded any of my own work, so please be nice! any feedback is highly appreciated. P.S. this sounded and looked a lot better in my head 

inspired by Emma Watson dancing in The Bling Ring, endless amounts of videos on DracoTok and the vibes that 212 by Azealia Banks gives me

Slytherin common room party – think low-key green lighting, firewhiskey, Draco in an all-black suit that kinda thing 

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

In the hundreds of years since Hogwarts’s conception, not once have the Slytherin house hosted an ‘all houses invited’ party. Sure, they were invited (and rarely came) to the Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor parties, but they never thought to return the favour. That is until Pansy’s raging crush on a Ravenclaw boy in the year above prompted her to throw an all-inclusive rager, much to the dismay of her Slytherin classmates.  

Naturally, this caused some concern from the other houses, as the new spread around the Great Hall the morning of the so-called ‘unmissable’ event. There was a palpable buzz of deliberation from the separate tables, with the clearly same queries on everyone’s minds.

“I don’t know Ron – I mean, these are the Slytherin’s we’re talking about,” Hermione cast a furtive glance to the sea of emerald robes on the far side of the hall, much to Ron’s dismay.

“Oh come on ‘Mione, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Oh I don’t know, how about humiliation from Malfoy’s smug face when we realise it’s a prank, or maybe a fight where irreversible hexes are thrown around?” Harry quipped, clearly sharing Hermione’s caution.

Ron and y/n shared a knowing look, both being the more carefree members of the group.

“Here’s an idea,” y/n explained rationally, “how about we just show up anyway – fashionably late, of course – and if the whole thing turns out to be some big joke, we can host our own impromptu party in the common room? That way it won’t be a complete waste of time… or alcohol.”

It was Harry and Hermione’s turn to share a look, knowing no matter how hard they tried they were inevitably going to give in eventually.

“Fine,” Hermione grumbled, “but if it all turns pear shaped, I’m sending you both to the hospital wing with a nasty bat bogey hex.

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

The much-awaited night had finally rolled around, and y/n felt that nervous but excited anticipation that she often felt before occasions such as tonight’s. All day the latest gossip of the party could be heard between the older Hogwarts’s students. At one point, Madame Pince had to usher around 20 students out of the library for whispering ‘too loudly’ about the event. Multiple classmates had come up to y/n throughout the day, all asking the same question: ‘Are you thinking of going tonight?’ As usual with Hogwarts, news never failed to travel fast.

“Are you sure this looks ok?” Hermione twisted her hips side to side in the dorm’s full-length mirror, trying to discern if the length of her skirt showed to much leg or not.

“’Mione, are you kidding? You look incredible, seriously. Ron’s gonna flip when he sees you, won’t be able to take his eyes off your a-” y/n’s sentence was cut short by a well-timed pillow being tossed at her head by Hermione, who had started to form a pink blush across her cheeks.

With both of them re-checking your outfits and makeup in the mirror, y/n and Hermione did a quick, pre-party shot for luck and headed down to the common room to meet the boys.

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

By the time they had arrived at the Slytherin common room, the party was already in full swing; couples were spotted around the corridor outside, claiming to ‘need some air’ whilst making out against the stone walls, and the pungent smell of firewhiskey with a slight cut of something sweeter (butterbeer?) hit them like a brick wall as the group entered. The room was encased in dark green lighting, highlighted by the murky lake shimmering some light into the otherwise darkened room.

It seemed as if almost every student – 5th year and above – were present, either seen dancing and grinding on the makeshift dancefloor at the back, loitering around the drinks table in search of another drink or, if you were Pansy Parkinson, sat on one of the plush sofas on the lap of a Ravenclaw boy, who looked equal parts satisfised and confused about his current situation.

Either way most people were already fucked, or at least on their way.

“What were you saying earlier about a prank Hermione?” Ron smirked smugly, as he grabbed her hand and pushed his way over to the drinks table with a blushing Hermione trailing after.

Y/n couldn’t help but think, maybe tonight will be fun after all.

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

An hour later, and y/n could definitely feel the numb tingling of the firewhiskey spread throughout her body, offering a pleasant release from the previous week’s stress. Though not yet brave enough to venture onto the dancefloor, she swayed her hips lightly to the music as she chatted happily with Luna in the corner – apparently the Ministry were behind the recent surge of wrackspurts in the air, using them to control our minds.

“Well well, if it isn’t Weaslebee and Scar-head polluting my common room,” a little ways across the room however, Ron and Harry were having less of a pleasant time.

Turning around to see the towering, slender figure of Draco Malfoy with his signature smugness, flanked by his usual cronies Crabbe and Goyle. Stood tall in his black turtleneck and blazer combo, with his platinum hair perfectly styled (of course), Draco was unsurprisingly catching the attention of most of the girls (and a fair amount of guys) in the room. Wherever he moved, eager eyes tended to follow, with the hope of him glancing their way. Harry and Ron, however, were unfazed.

“Malfoy,” Harry briefly and glumly acknowledged Draco with the turn of his head, before turning back to people watch.

“You know, I’ve always heard that Gryffindor parties are supposed to be some of the best,” Draco taunted, “but I have to say your lot seem pretty boring to me. I mean, I thought you were supposed to be the ‘fun ones’”. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind him, always quick to boost his ego.

“This is nothing,” Ron countered, the alcohol only intensifying his competitive nature, “you should see the way y/n and Hermione get when that bloody muggle song of theirs plays – they go mad.”

“Yeah right,” the blonde scoffed, “they’re both too stuck up to ever actually have fun.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll prove it to you!”

“C’mon Ron, let’s just leave it-”

“No Harry, there’s no way I’m losing this argument. Oi Lee,” Ron hollered to Lee Jordan, the trusted DJ at every Hogwarts party, “put on that song – you know – that one muggle song… can’t remember the bloody name now,” Ron started to trail off.

Luckily, Lee was able to decipher Ron’s drunk slurs, “You got it Ron.”

As soon as the first few beats thumped out of the speakers, y/n let out a squeal of joy. Searching for Hermione, they caught eyes from across the room and both knew what they had to do; meet on the dancefloor between them and let loose. Both being muggle born, the two girls shared a love of muggle music that their magical born friends didn’t. It bonded them when they first became friends and now had influenced even those who weren’t muggle born to enjoy it too.

As the beat dropped, the girls started to dance. Bopping their heads from side to side, they swung their hips in time with the music. With her back to Hermione’s chest, y/n let her head roll back onto her friends’ shoulder as they drunkenly laughed for no apparent reason. Y/n’s black mini dress had begun to ride up her thighs slightly, meanwhile her hips continued to roll and grind suggestively – neither girls remotely aware of anyone around them, nor the shock of particularly their Slytherin classmates, who weren’t used to seeing this side of them.

Especially not Draco Malfoy, his jaw slack as his eyes were entranced in the girl’s direction.

“Uh oh,” Harry teased, “looks like Malfoy’s got his eyes on your girlfriend.”

“Um Harry,” Ron stared at Draco’s face in disbelief, with a slight hint of amusement, “it’s not ‘Mione he’s looking at.”

Unaware of the intense gaze from her long-time enemy Draco Malfoy, y/n continued to dance seductively.

Draco’s initial expression of shock had now turned into his signature grin, his icy blue-grey eyes trailing over y/n’s curves. His eyes expressed admiration (something rare for someone who usually showed distain for almost everything) and apparent attraction for the girl. His head filled with lewd thoughts as he yearned to know more about her – until now he thought he’d had her sussed, but now he started to question his good-girl perception of her. His hand rubbing at his jaw slightly, completely entranced by every swing of her hips.

“Godric, he’s looking at her as if he’s in love with her,” Harry uttered, entirely bewildered by the look on Malfoy’s face – it was a look of attraction and almost tenderness that was starting to scare him.

Ron brought a hand up to his forehead, “Uh oh… did we do that?”

hey, if you managed to get all the way to the end, thank u sm!! any feedback is appreciated. I have an idea for part 2 if anyone wants that :) 

#harry potter #draco malfoy #dracotok #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco