#January is a strange young man but on this he is So Correct | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twistedtummies2 · 3 years

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Green-Eyed Devil

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End

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billnoncipher · 3 years

Text

Losing Time

This story is not in my usual continuity, but was written for Wendip Week 2021, topic "Time Travel."

for Wendip Week 2021

---

Mabel faced a hard decision when she called in that favor.

She was nearly thirty, she was a successful clothing designer, she had a steady romantic partner, life was good. But then on a visit to Gravity Falls, she visited the grave of good old Waddles, whose heart had given out the previous winter, while she was off in New York.

And she hadn't been able to say goodbye.

And despite the fact that she was all grown up and everything, it ripped at her heart—that she hadn't said farewell to her most favorite pet of all time. It wasn't that he hadn't been well cared for—Soos saw to that, giving the pig all the comforts and plenty of food. It wasn't that he was cut off in his youth—seventeen is a good long life for a pig. It's just that—

Well, now she knew how Dipper felt.

Speaking of whom.

Dipper and Wendy were coming up on their tenth wedding anniversary, they had adorable twins, age six, names Alexander and Amanda, and they lived in the Mystery Shack. Grunkles Stan and Ford still technically owned the place, and Soos ran it, but over the years he and Melody had expanded it until their own growing family caused Soos to have a separate house built just across the road, and he and his family of six—he, Melody, Benny, Betty, Alma, and little Stanley—had made the short move. Dipper had inherited Grunkle Ford's role as investigator of the weird, Wendy was a nationally-known consultant on forestry issues, and they took over the living space that Soos had left vacant.

Ford, now semi-retired, still came over to work with Dipper down in the secret labs when some project was afoot. Grunkle Stan came over to help when the Shack was swamped with tourists in vacation season, but he spent a lot of his time visiting casinos all over the world, where his odd luck always brought him a steady income.

The attic bedroom had become disused.

"Can I stay?" Mabel asked in a small voice just at sunup that day. "Just for a couple weeks?"

"Sure, Mabes!" Wendy said. "Any time, you know that."

Dipper, now sporting a goatee and wearing glasses to correct mild myopia, said, "Sis, what's wrong?"

With a sad smile, Mabel said, "You can tell, huh? Just getting all sentimental. Missing Waddles."

"Oh," Dipper said. "That. We're sorry you couldn't make it back in January."

"It was so unexpected," Wendy said. "He was OK, you know, kinda slow and sleepy all the time, and then one morning we found him in his stall. He'd passed in his sleep."

"He was comfortable to the end," Dipper said. "The heat was on. He didn't freeze or anything. He looked peaceful."

"We buried him down the hill," Wendy told her. "Come on, we'll walk you down."

The place was pretty, a small clearing off to the right of the Mystery Trail. Grass had greened the mound, dewy now with the dawn, and—Mabel couldn't help sobbing—Dipper and Wendy had put up a marker, one of those you could buy for a cherished dog or cat. It read,

---

WADDLES

2012-2029

Always Loved

---

"Could you just leave me here for a few minutes?" asked Mabel.

Dipper hugged her. "Sure, Sis," he said. "Take y our time."

Wendy hugged her, too. "You gave him a good life," she said.

When the two had left, Mabel took a deep breath and took something that looked like a thick button from her jeans pocket. She held it between finger and thumb, close to her lips, and said, "OK, Blendin Blandin, you owe me one."

And without fuss, explosions, or special-effects noise, he was there, beside her, in his old uniform. "M-Ma-Mabel," he said, smiling. "Hi. It's be-been a wh-while."

"Yeah," she said. "You're looking—exactly the same. How's Time Baby?"

"Te-te-teething," Blendin said with a grimace. "The ne-next thou-thousand years are go-gonna be hard. I gu-guess you want your fa-favor now?"

"I do," she said. "Waddles passed away last January. I don't want to bring him back to life or anything. I've learned better than that. But I didn't get to see him before he went, and I really want to visit him one last time. So—could I borrow a time tape?"

"I pro-promised," he said. "I always carry a sp-spare these da-days. Here."

"And I also need your advice," Mabel said, accepting the heavy time-travel device. "I want to visit Waddles on the happiest day of his whole life."

"You-you'll have to a-avoid meeting yourself," Blendin warned. "That would be cat-cata-catas—bad."

"Agreed," she said.

"Let me find out how to se-set the co-coordinates, then," he said. "Just a se-second."

He blinked out of existence for just three seconds, then reappeared, slapping at his hair, which was smoldering. "Th-that was two we-weeks of hard wo-work!" he said. "Lucky this-this is m-my va-vacation month. OK, I've reviewed Wa-Waddles' s li-life and this will ta-take you to the ex-exact day when he was happiest. You can ha-have the wh-whole day, or eight hours any-anyway, bu-but remember to a-avoid me-meeting yourself."

"Will do."

Blendin set the time tape, warned, "It will br-bring you ba-back to the present automatically. Ha-have a g-good time-tr-trip."

The strange noiseless explosion, a moment of spinning disorientation, and poof! there she was, at the edge of the woods behind the Shack. The sun was just rising.

"Out you go," she heard a girl's voice say from the back door.

She saw a rectangle of yellow light. Oh, my God, that's me, in my old sleep shirt! I'm twelve! I'm so young!

Her younger self held the door for Waddles—He's so cute and tiny!—and the pig stepped out, sniffed the air, and waddled over close to the woods to take care of his morning business.

Let's see. I always let him out, then had breakfast, then called him back in, so I have about half an hour before I have to duck out of sight.

"Waddles," she called softly.

He heard and galumphed over to her. He knew her. Her different size, her different voice, didn't matter. She scooped him up. "Oh, I love you!" she said as he curled into a ball and nuzzled her cheek. "Let's go for a walk."

She set him down, and they went down the Mystery Trail, past the Bottomless Pit—not yet fenced off—and as far as the bonfire clearing, where she sat on a log and played with him, laughing through tears. "I'm gonna have to say goodbye, later," she whispered. "But remember, no matter what, I'll always love you!"

Too soon she heard her own younger voice calling, probably for the second time and more loudly, "Waddles!"

"Go on," she told the pig, patting his bottom. He trotted back to the other Mabel, his Mabel.

What day is this? Mabel wondered. What day made him happiest?

She sat too long. Someone spoke, startling her. "Whoops, sorry, didn't know anybody was here!"

Wendy.

Mabel stood up. "I was just, uh—I used to come here when I was a girl—" she began.

"Mabel?" Wendy asked, blinking and staring. "Mabel? Is that you?"

"Haven't changed all that much, have I?" she asked. "Oh, my God, you're so young! Can—can I hug you?"

She was a little bit taller than the fifteen-year-old Wendy, who would add a few inches to her height in the next two years. Mabel couldn't help crying again. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to let anyone see me. Time travel. I came back to—to visit Waddles."

"Oh, man," Wendy said. "Dipper's told me about this kind of stuff! Come on back to the Shack and surprise him!"

"No, I can't," Mabel said. "Don't even tell him you met me. That would cause problems with time."

"Oh."

Something in Wendy's voice hit her then. "Uh—what's wrong, Wendy?"

"Just—just the end of summer," Wendy faltered. "I—I hate that you and Dip are goin' home today."

Oh, my God! Of course! Waddles thought I was gonna leave him, and I nearly had to, but Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford made the bus driver take him aboard—of course he was happiest on that day!

"Oh, yeah," Mabel said. "Our birthday was yesterday. We turned thirteen."

"Technical teens," Wendy said with a ghost of a grin. A tear ran down her cheek.

"But you don't have to cry," Mabel said.

"I—I guess I can tell you a secret," Wendy said. She sat on the log, and Mabel sat beside her. "See, Dipper admitted to me a while back that he has a crush on me. I already knew, but I had to let him down. You know, me fifteen, him twelve. But now he's going away, and I'll never see him again, and—I just can't tell him I'm kinda-sorta in love with him, too. It's hard, Mabel."

Mabel bit her lip. "Listen," she said. "I may get in big trouble because of this, but—OK, I'm gonna say it. You gotta give Dipper a note. Have all his friends here sign it. You sign it, too. Here's the most important part—write on it 'See you next summer.' And wait for him. He'll come back. And he'll grow up, Wendy. And if you wait for him—it's gonna happen. I promise. Just stay in touch, and—most important—when the time comes, the age difference won't mean a thing."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Trust me, I know. OK, I've got a few hours today. I'm gonna stay close to the Shack and get in as much time with Waddles as I can. Then I'm going back to the future, and thirteen-year-old Mabel and Dipper are going back to Piedmont. But he doesn't just have a crush, Wendy. He really and truly loves you. So write the note, give it to him before he gets on the bus, and things will all work out. Promise me?"

"Yeah. I promise."

"Oh—and tell Grunkle Stan that when the time comes for us to leave, to make sure Waddles gets on the bus, too! I—Oh, I love you like a sister, Wendy! You won't believe how happy you're gonna be with Dip."

"That—that means a lot to me, Mabes," Wendy whispered.

"OK, you'd better get back. Don't say anything to anyone about this. Be sure to do the note thing. Oh, and Wendy—do me one more favor?"

"Sure, what?"

"Tell Pacifica that Mabel's waiting—in the future. Don't explain."

"All right," Wendy said with a lopsided smile. "I'll do it." She mimed zipping her lip.

The day passed. Out of her eight hours, Mabel spent about three in Waddles's company as her brother and her younger self got ready to leave Gravity Falls. She spent more time standing out of sight, watching things unfold—finally the kids coming out, glum, with their suitcases, the bus pulling up, Dipper and Mabel and—finally—Waddles climbing aboard. And all their friends running as far as they could to see the twins and the pig off.

She stood alone near the Shack. The flash came. Benjamin stood there. "How d-did it go?"

"It went good," Mabel said, handing over the time tape. "I said goodbye." She sniffled and a tear ran down her cheek. "I'll still miss him but I—I can handle it now. Uh, how much time has gone by while I—?"

"A m-minute," Blendin said. "Well, I-I g-guess we're e-even."

"Thanks, Blendin. Goodbye."

"N-no, I d-don't think it's g-goodbye," he said, smiling. "I'll s-see you again. In time."

He flashed out of existence.

"Aunt Mabel!" It was red-headed Amanda, running down the hill to meet her. "Hi!"

Mabel swept her up in her arms. "Hi, Sweetie! Where's your bro-bro?"

Squirming, Amanda laughed. "He can't find his shoes!"

Carrying the six-year old up the hill to the Shack, Mabel laughed. "When your dad was six, he had the same problem! All the time! Every morning!" She paused and looked back at the green grave. "Hey, let me tell you a story about the most special pig in the whole world," she said, and they went back to join the family.

---

The End

#Wendip #Wendip Week #fereality #gravity falls

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who-am-i-no-one · 3 years

Text

Emma. (2020)

I watched this movie in late January. After multiple viewings and re-reading the book, I have a lot of thoughts about this adaptation.

It seems rather strange, given that Emma is part of my holy trinity of Austen novels, that I didn't watched the most recent adaptation earlier. I think it was mostly due to my initial impression that Anya Taylor-Joy's otherworldly looks didn't quite match what I had in mind for the titular character. I decided to give this version a try after watching Queen's Gambit. Not sure that Anya's looks will ever grow on me, but she did impress me as a young actress who seemed to have a maturity beyond her years.

Long story short: really wished I had seen this movie earlier! It is absurd and heartfelt at the same time, imo, the version that best imbues Austen's humor. It is now my favorite adaption, with the possible exception of Clueless, and I'm not quite sure how much of that is just nostalgia.

From the casting to the direction to the script to the costumes to the set to the soundtrack, I could tell the creative team really put a lot of love into this project. It's always a joy to watch something that's made with love and made well.

Direction

Autumn de Wilde's directing is quite good. I would never have thought this was her first feature. She certainly has a unique and colorful style, which is probably to be expected for such a famous photographer.

Funnily, while watching the movie I kept thinking it reminded me of early Hollywood romantic comedies like Bringing Up Baby (incidentally one of my favorites) or The Philadelphia Story, and then reading interviews and seeing that she had tried to bring in some of that style of humor made me feel rather validated. Also the servants' reactions were awesome!

Absolutely loved the fact that they decided to show that Knightley and Emma were in love with each other very early on in the story, with Knightley more aware of it. I've read some people complaining about the surprise of Emma's being in love being ruined. But come on, did anyone reading two chapters into the book think it wasn't going to be the two of them together in the end?

Loved how much of Knightley's point of view we got in this movie. This is one repressed pinning man. I can totally see this Knightley riding ventre a terre from London in the rain because he thought Emma was heartbroken.

The only gripe I had was the lack of Frank and Jane's subplot. As it seems they shot some scenes for that, I assume it was the director's discretion to take them out. I remember thinking while watching the movie that they must have expected the audience to be familiar with the story because some things just didn't really get explained or extrapolated on a lot. If you hadn't read the book it'd be 30 minutes or more into the movie before you put two and two together and figured out why Mr. Knightley is always at Hartfield.

Script

The script takes most of the dialogue directly from the book, which is awesome. I love Austen's writing because there is a certain musicality to it and retaining that in large part for the movie really made it better for me. The deftness with which Eleanor Catton moved dialogue from one scene in the book to a totally different one in the movie was quite brilliant. Everything flowed so well.

The scenes that differed from the book were also excellent - namely, I really loved the Jane/Knightley duet, the infamous nosebleed and first kiss scenes. 💖 I thought the screenwriter used those changes to quickly establish plot points and character arcs well.

Costume/Hair

Not a Recency expert so can't say much about the costumes and hair as far as period correctness but from reading other reviews it seemed like they were very true to the period. Obviously appreciated them taking the time to show the audience how men got dressed in that time (purely for research purposes obviously 😜).

Emma's dresses were all quite beautiful. I especially loved the black evening dress, the pink one with the roses and the proposal dress. Also loved the little pop of red shoes that went with the proposal dress. As someone who wore red shoes with her wedding gown I heartily approve.

Absolutely loved how Emma's curls unwound as her life unravels. Similarly think they must have done the same for Knightley to a lesser extent. His hair during the card playing scene at the Westons was quite terrible.

Set

I! Loved! Hartfield! It looked just like a doll house. Really most of the sets looked good enough to eat. So much pastel. Reminded me of French macarons.

I liked how everything in Donwell Abbey was shrouded in Holland covers. Makes a good point that Knightley barely lives there at all, that his home has been with the Woodhouses for quite a while now. Which, of course, makes his sacrifice at the end just a little bit less of a sacrifice?

Soundtrack

Isabella Waller-Bridge's music really meshed well with the tone of the entire film. The male and female opera singers, sometimes sounding as if they are bickering with each other and other times seeming to be in duet, was a brilliant touch. The folk music was a little jarring at first but really grew on me.

Johnny Flynn's end credits song "Queen Bee" is amazing. I love that we get Knightley's perspective at the end with a song written and sung by Knightley. It's a lovely coda to the movie. And now, if the next Austen hero doesn't write one for his SO I'm going to think him a very poor sort of lover.

Cast

Anya's Emma was really great. I'm glad they allowed Emma to be her bitchy self. Lol. I haven't watched the 1996 and 2009 versions in a while but I distinctly remember them making Emma too nice. I recall writing after watching the Garai version that Emma was actually mean and they should have let her be mean! If she's not a brat in the beginning, how will we see her change for the better later on? I love what a snob and how manipulative this Emma was and so assured of her place in her little society but still had the vulnerability of almost an imposter's syndrome which I feel most people can relate to.

Her chemistry with Johnny Flynn's Knightley was off the charts. Pretty much every scene they had together I half expected them to reenact the library scene from Atonement lol.

Mia Goth was a wonderful Harriet. She really captured Harriet's inexperience, naivete and diffidence. The orgasmic sounds she was making during the gypsies attack scene were awesome. Although, I could probably have forgone a few of Harriet's scenes for more Frank and Jane.

Not sure why they made Mia go brunette since the book specifically mentioned Harriet was fair? Perhaps having all three leads as blondes was just a bit too much. I'm also not sure if I liked Harriet's ending as I really don't think Emma, even in her most contrite mood, would invite further friendship from a tradesman's daughter and soon-to-be her husband's tenant farmer's wife. This seems a piece of modern day wishful thinking on the part of the creative team.

Bill Nighy was so good as Mr. Woodhouse. He made it so believable why everyone would do everything in their power to accommodate his whims. The gag with the screens was too funny. He was able to sketch out a lonely quirky old man who is afraid to lose those close to him in very limited screen time. Absolutely loved the scene where Emma was heaping blame on herself and he just sat with her in sympathetic silence.

Miranda Hart's Miss Bates was excellent as well. She has long been one of my favorite British comedic actresses but she can also do drama well. Her reaction to Emma's teasing on Box Hill and her forgiveness of Emma later brought me to tears.

Josh O'Connor's Mr. Elton was deliciously creepy. The carriage proposal scene was at once a little scary and hilarious. I actually liked the portrait scenes a little less because I found the acting there slightly affected and veering into 1995 Mr. Collins territory. But as Austen described Elton as having "a sort of parade in his speeches", this was much more forgivable. Really loved Mr. Elton's determination to eat cake during the Eltons' visit to Hartfield.

Tanya Reynolds was an excellent Mrs. Elton and in very little screen time was able to bring to life this meddlesome nouveau riche. Adored her little shimmy during the ball.

Amber Anderson's Jane really looked as if she were in a decline. Callum Turner did a good job as a slightly restless, mischievous and immature Frank Churchill. I did feel his looks were a bit too modern but that's just my personal view.

Given how many scenes they had I thought they used the time they had pretty well with furtive glances and sly smiles at each other to establish the relationship.

Connor Swindells was such a love sick puppy as Robert Martin. Did this role ever get cast in other adaptations? I don't seem to recall at all.

Special shoutout to Oliver Chris's John Knightley. Absolutely had me in stitches.

And last but never the least, Johnny Flynn's Mr. Knightley:

To preface, I will never not fall for Mr. Knightley in any version that I watch. And really, get yourself a good looking enough actor with good enough chemistry with Emma and good enough acting chops and you should have a fairly successful Knightley.

I judge all my Knightleys by the Box Hill scene. And up to that point in the movie, I really liked Johnny Flynn's Knightley. He was playful and sexy and jealous and slightly bitchy as well. The duet scene was lovely because I always appreciate a man who can play instruments and sing well. The sexiness and chemistry of the dance scene was off the charts. That's all well and good. And like I said before, given any well cast actor, I probably would have liked them in those scenes as well, just as I've liked Northam's and Miller's Knightleys.

But, the Box Hill scene absolutely blew me away. To make sure I was not just biased towards the last Knightley I saw on screen, I did go back and compare each version's Box Hill scene and I am, actually, even more blown away. Some of it is a credit to the directing and script, but a large part of it is Johnny Flynn's acting in that scene.

As far a script and directing, the set up to the fight scene was fantastic. Loved Anya's expression changes after she makes the joke. Loved Miranda Hart's Miss Bates as she realizes what Emma meant. The silence that followed. Knightley's shocked face and how sympathetic he was to Miss Bates. Can probably write a whole thing just about this scene alone.

I loved the fact that Knightley had an internal struggle as to whether or not to approach Emma and reproach her for her behavior. I know the book has him tell Emma about his struggle but that just doesn't work as well for me on screen.

During the scene you can just tell how frustrated and disappointed in her he is even though he tries to keep his voice low. But the way he reprimands her does not at all feel lecture-y and I feel like part of it is because it seems like he starts to lose control a little bit as well. His voice starts to crescendo as she stubbornly refuses to admit she was in the wrong and culminates in "badly done, indeed!" with actual fingerpointing. Yikes.

Then he losses steam and looked regretful, almost devastatingly so, at his own outburst and perhaps felt that he was losing her by giving this speech and looked as if he would have said something more - an apology or some words of comfort to soften the blow? - but didn't.

This remorse and the struggle at the beginning really bookended the scene for me.

Absolutely loved his Knightley, and, really, him as an actor after that.

The proposal scene as well was very good. His delivery was just really good. The way he said "If I loved you less then I might be able to talk about it more." with some regret and then closing his eyes as if he can't believe what he just said. Soooo good. Also, he cries very pretty, lol.

The delivery of the three "yes" during the kiss scene as Emma asked for confirmation that he really was ok with giving up his house to come live with them was also brilliant. It just kept getting softer and softer but he never breaks eye contact. Absolute chef's kiss. His closed eyed little smile of content after Emma kisses him just made me melt into a puddle.

Yup, overall I'd say I rather liked his interpretation of Mr. George Knightley. 😜

I did wish they hadn't giving him such sideburns but after watching some Emma interviews I can totally understand. If he didn't have the sideburns there'd be more complaints about how young this Knightley was. He's got such a baby face.

...I seemed to have written an entire essay on this movie...yeah, I just have a lot of feelings and thoughts about this version...

#Emma #emma 2020 #jane austen #movie review #austen adaptations

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twstarchives · 4 years

Text

Mirror of Darkness Show

This show has been screened at several events: ■ Twisted Wonderland pop-up shop in Animate (Aug 1 - Sept 6, 2020) ■ First Anniversary livestream on Abema TV (Mar 17, 2021) ■ Halloween 2021 virtual event on Cluster (Oct 18 - Nov 18, 2021)

I’ve translated the script below ↓

・━━━━✥◈✥━━━━・

Crowley: Allow me to welcome all of you who have gathered here to hear about this academy. I am the headmaster, Dire Crowley. I’m overjoyed to know that so many of you are interested in our Night Raven College. Heheh.

Now then, I will leave it to the first-years to attend to you all. Freshmen, please be very welcoming and professional with them. Alright, I will take my leave. Ah, I’m so busy, so busy!

Grim: Oi oi, the headmaster just left everything up to us and ran off somewhere.

Ace: Bleugh, I don’t wanna be here.

Deuce: C’mon, Ace. Some of these people might be new students next year. Pull yourself together!

If we get to have juniors... then we’ll finally be considered upperclassmen!

Ace: Now that you mention it... if you had a junior, then you could force them to take care of flamingo feeding duty for you! That’d be a win!

...That’s what you were imagining, right?

Deuce: Ah! Don’t act like I’m you.

Grim: But... they wouldn’t be in Heartslabyul with you guys unless the Mirror of Darkness picked it for them, right?

We’d always welcome anyone to Ramshackle! Hehe! If I get more henchmen, I could push them around everyday and make them bring me all the tuna cans I want!

Jack: Hey, Grim. You’re telling everyone too much of your internal thoughts. This is a job the Headmaster entrusted us with, so let’s do it right.

Ace: There it is—Jack’s always-on-task voice.

But anyway, you guys. The looks on your faces all scream “I don’t know anything!” but... don’t tell me—not just about Night Raven College obviously, but you don’t know about the Great Seven either?! Oi oi, I’m getting déjà vu here!

Grim: These guys are just like my henchman—they need you to walk them through everything.

Ace: Whaaat, but I’m too lazy to give the same explanation again. So anyway, Epel! You can take it from here!

Epel: Huh?! M... Er, me? I’d like to help, but... I don’t know if I’d be able to explain it right.... um... ¹

Jack: He’s stumbling right from the start... Alright, guess I’ll do it.

Night Raven College is a mage-training boarding school. There are seven dorms here based off the Great Seven, a group of powerful figures who once existed in the past. Whichever dorm you’re put in is determined by the Mirror of Darkness at the time you enroll. They say it’s chosen based on the essence of your soul.

Epel: Thank you, Jack. I’m sure all of you here must look up to the Great Seven too, and are hoping you’ll be able to get into Night Raven College as well.

Ace: Hello—? Wait, did they all fall asleep?

Sebek: What?? Oi, all of you! WAKE UP!!

Jack: Agh! Sebek! Don’t start yelling without warning us first!

Deuce: Both of you are being too loud! Everyone, I’m sorry if that startled you. Is it alright if I continue?

I’ll explain about the dorms and the Great Seven.

Heartslabyul is the dorm Ace and I are in, which is said to be founded on the severity of the Queen of Hearts. Everyone here lives by the law of the Queen of Hearts. Dorm Leader Rosehearts is very strict about the rules, but he and others like Clover and Diamond are all respectable people.

Ace: “Respectable,” huh? Deuce, that’s such a basic way to put it.

Everyone! If you end up in the same dorm as us, you better be careful. Our scaaary dorm leader will give you hell if you break even just one rule!

God, don’t you think things would’ve been better if they hadn’t kept in that aspect of the Queen of Hearts?

Epel: Um... The Queen of Hearts was also an amazing woman who reigned over a kingdom that was chaotic by law.

Grim: And so, anyone who broke those laws was said to have been put on trial and exiled from the country.

Jack: I’m part of Savanaclaw, which models the indomitable spirit of the King of Beasts. There are many students here, including Leona and Ruggie, who excel in athletics.

Which is why... I wanted so badly to have a serious fight at the Magift Tournament.

Deuce: I know exactly what that feels like!

The King of Beasts used his wit and magic power to climb his way to the top. A MAN AMONG MEN! Doesn’t he just amaze you?!

Epel: Yeah, he’s so manly and cool... isn’t he?

Grim: But ya know, the dorm leader Leona is just a do-nothing who sleeps all day.

Ace: You say that, but you never know—someday he might just knock you dead with a POW!

Next up is the dorm founded on the mercy of the Sea Witch, Octavinelle.

Jack: Octavinelle is a group of intellectuals who are always getting the highest scores on written exams. Along with the dorm leader Azul Ashengrotto, it’s full of really clever students. They also run a café called the Mostro Lounge.

Deuce: The Sea Witch lived in a grotto deep under the sea, and granting the wishes of pitiful merfolk was something she lived for.

Ace: The price was a little bit expensive, but just for that you could get anything you could ever wish for!

Epel: After that... we have Scarabia, the dorm founded in the tactical spirit of the Sorcerer of the Desert Kingdom. I hear there’s a lot of students here who are good at Astrology and Ancient Curses. The current dorm leader is Kalim Al-Asim!

Jack: The Sorcerer of the Desert Kingdom was someone who excelled at anticipating the future, often gave advice to the king, and acted as a support for the entire kingdom. That “tactical spirit” of his has definitely been passed down through this dorm, hasn’t it?

Grim: So what you mean is, they’re really smart?

Deuce: Yeah. And the people here also use their own power to strengthen themselves! You could say they climbed their way to the top too!

Ace: I could never put in so much effort and motivation just to get good at something.

M’kay, next! This is the one Epel’s part of—Pomefiore! It kinda has a sparkly, really aesthetic vibe to it.

Epel: Pomefiore models the heavy efforts of the Fairest Queen. They say the Queen was the fairest in all the land, and that she spared no effort to preserve her beauty.

I wonder if that’s why... the dorm leader Vil is so strict with both himself and all the students here.

Jack: The Queen was also supposed to have been a master at making poisons. And it’s true that a lot of the students at Pomefiore excel at potion-making too.

Grim: Next, we’ve got that guy Idia’s... Hngyi... Hngyahyde Dorm.

Ace: I-G-N-I-H-Y-D-E! Try to remember it right!!

Grim: Yeah, that! The dorm leader Idia is so rude; he’s always trying to pet my fur like I’m a cat! Me, the almighty Grim who’s going to become a powerful mage someday!

Epel: Huh...? You’re not a cat...?

Ace: Ignihyde was founded on the diligence of the Lord of the Underworld! Cater told me that a lot of the guys here are strong in magic energy engineering and digital gaming, but their lifestyles tend to be real quiet.

Jack: The Lord of the Underworld ruled over a kingdom of writhing spirits by himself. He never once neglected his job, even though anyone else would fear it. He was very dedicated and earnest, and worked without taking breaks.

Deuce: One, two, three, four, five, six... We’re at six now, so there’s only one left, right?

Ace: Last is Diasom—

Sebek: With Lord Malleus working as its dorm leader, this is Diasomnia!

Ace: BLEHJG!

Epel: Ah...

Ace: You know cutting in yelling like that scares everyone, right?!!

Anyway, you’ve been gone this whole time... Where’d you run off to?

Sebek: Yes, I was receiving a lecture about gargoyles from the Young Master.

Grim: Gar.... ghnghyle? Do those taste good?

Ace: I don’t really know what that means, but I’ll let you introduce Diasomnia ‘cause it’s too much of a hassle for me.

Sebek: Of course. This is far out of your depth anyway.

Ahem. Are you ready? HUMANS! Diasomnia, the dorm I’m part of, is founded on the nobility of the Fairy of Thorns. The current dorm leader is Lord Malleus Draconia! He is a descendant of the faeries, and ranks as one of the top five... No, the strongest magic-wielder in the world! He was born in the Valley of Thorns, his birthday is January 18th, he’s 202 cm tall, he’s part of the Gargoyle Research Society, both of his eyes are—

Ace: This isn’t a introduction on the dorm anymore; you’re just talking about the leader!!

Sebek: Hm? This is the dorm that Lord Malleus runs, so what’s so strange about talking about him?

Ace: This is obnoxious...

Deuce: He won’t listen no matter what you say, huh?

Grim: Right?

Epel: I feel like the students of Diasomnia can wield magic much better than the other dorms can.

Sebek: That is correct. The Fairy of Thorns, who lived on the Mystical Mountain², could cast magic that was extremely powerful even among the Great Seven. It’s clear that Lord Malleus is the most suited for running this dorm, isn’t it?

Epel: ...And that concludes our explanation. Everyone, thank you for listening all the way through.

Jack: Every dorm has its own set of quirks, but in the end, the one you join depends on the Mirror of Darkness. You shouldn’t worry too much about it.

Deuce: Jack’s right. No matter what dorm you get assigned to, let’s all do our best together to become powerful mages!

Ace: What’s with this beautiful ending you’re leaving off with? Well, I’m not complaining, getting some cute little freshmen around doesn’t sound too bad.

Let’s go to the next Unbirthday Party together!

Sebek: This orientation is not over until you return home safely. If anything happens, we’re the ones that will be held responsible. Do you hear that, humans? Be on your guard as you make your way back.

Grim: Next time you stop by, make sure ya don’t forget my tuna cans!

1. Epel: M... Er, me?

I wasn’t able to convey this correctly, but Epel starts off by using the pronoun “Ore” (a rougher version of “me”) and then pauses to correct himself to “Boku” (which is a bit softer).

2. Mystical Mountain

It’s called the “Forbidden Mountain” in the EN dub, but the term engraved on Maleficent’s statue on Main Street is “Mystical Mountain.”

#twisted wonderland #events

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basilhearsanoise · 3 years

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Guardian Angels - Chapter 1

A Memory Formed, Then All but Wiped Away

Dean Winchester was born on a cold January morning in 1979, when the sun had not yet risen. He wouldn’t hear his name for a few years after that, though. You see, when Mary, Dean’s mother, found out she was pregnant, her husband John said, “We should name the kid after your folks. Always talk about how you miss ‘em. Be a good way to keep ‘em alive,” and Mary liked that idea very much.

So when the doctors told them they were going to have a baby girl - because doctors like to play god in these situations almost as much as God does - Mary knew that she would name the child after her mother. Deanna was a beautiful name, after all. It was only a few hours after they got home from that visit, however, that their two sons burst in from over 30 years in the future, and brought the preamble to the apocalypse with them. One of whom, they’ve seen before - as a hunter on a case, as a car enthusiast. As a man. Who says to her, “It’s kind of hard to believe. I’m your son.”

Mary doesn’t get to remember her son’s face for very long, because angels are meddlesome creatures and time travel doesn’t usually rest easy on the human psyche. But she finds herself thinking of the strange hunter who was there that night with the yellow-eyed demon. He’d really been trouble, but he’d tried so hard to help. Her memory of him became more sentimental, somehow, without her even really noticing the change. She wonders if that hunter was some kind of spirit, a ghost sent to warn her about that night. The night she tries to not ever think about, but yet, always comes crawling back to the front of her mind. It all seems to have so much - so much meaning, something more that she can’t quite put her finger on. Suddenly, she feels a cosmic presence in her life, and she knows, deep down, it’s because of her baby.

“I’m tellin’ you, this kid is gonna be somebody,” she says to John as she dotes over their newborn. “Isn’t that right?” She coos. “That’s right! You’ve got angels watching over you!”

—

“No. Dean,” Dean corrects his mother, chocolate melting in his tiny three-year-old hands. It’s all over his face. Some of it’s in his hair, too, like tar stuck to a bail of hay. His voice is garbled, a toddler unable to properly enunciate to save his life, but still, alarmingly clear and concise.

Mary, exhausted, at her wit’s end, holds the dress out to him for the millionth time. “Deanna, pl—“

“No!” Dean is more hurt, now, and the tantrum is well on its way. “I won’t! I don’ like it!” The rest is mostly unintelligible screaming. Smearing his chocolate all over the dress, he turns and runs, crying.

John tries to pick him up and cradle him but he kicks and yells and punches. They have to have a talk about violence after that, that it’s not nice to hit and scream. It’s the first and last conversation on the topic Dean will ever get from his parents.

Not long after that, the preschool calls, says Dean has “caused a scene in class.” They tried to separate the boys and girls for a game, and he went with the boys. When they tried to stop him, he threw a fit and had to be excused for the rest of the day. And then the next day, and the next, and the next.

Mary and John are at a loss. Their son is insisting he is their son, but like any parent, they are having trouble believing it. Mary thinks about the hunter from that night more and more now. What did he say his name was again? There was something so familiar about all of this, almost like Mary was back on an old hunting case. But no, she gave that up…she couldn’t call any of her contacts and see if they know anything about her kid…could she?

…Ring, ring.

“Hello Mary,” Missouri answers, the grin already apparent in her voice.

No matter how many times she did that, it always freaked Mary out, just a little. But at least you knew she was the real deal as soon as she picked up the phone.

“Hi Missouri, it’s good to speak to you.”

“Mm. I don’t think it is. At least, the subject matter doesn’t seem like it will be good.” Missouri twiddles the phone cable around her finger. “John’s not going to like it. You’ll warm up to it though. I’ll be over soon.”

Click.

Laughing, but mostly out of shock, Mary puts down the receiver. After all this time, you’d think she’d stop being surprised by how good Missouri is. But that level of psychic ability is uncanny enough to throw anyone through a loop. Better make sure John would be gone that afternoon. She was not ready to explain this to him.

When Missouri walks in, she throws her arms around Mary warmly. “Now,” she asks, looking around. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you Mary, I haven’t even met your boy. Go and fetch him, I want to meet him before we get down to whatever nasty business you called about.”

Mary pulls the sides of her mouth back in a gesture that could only be interpreted as: yikes.

“Missouri, I…I don’t quite know how to say this, but our…” The words feel strange in her mouth, but what’s really strange is that…she thought they’d feel stranger. “….my son…is what I called about.”

Missouri raises an eyebrow.

“Is there something wrong with him? I haven’t sensed any evil presences in the house.”

Mary still doesn’t quite know what to say, stutters a little.

Perplexed, but intrigued, Missouri says, “Well go and get him. I’ll see for myself.”

With a shrug, Mary goes to the kitchen. “Honey…put down your toys, Mommy wants you to meet a friend.”

Dean waddles into the living room, still clutching his favorite toy car. He clings to his mother’s skirt, but waves at Missouri, who looks him up and down from his dirty shoes to the top of his baggy overalls.

“What have you got there?” She asks.

“Vroom!” Dean answers, showing her how the car shoots forward when you wind the wheels back on the floor.

Missouri laughs heartily in agreement. “Yes, sweetheart. What a lovely toy. It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

His little eyes shimmer up at her, his face slowly peeling into a wide, wide grin. He giggles and keeps playing with his car.

Mary stares at Missouri in disbelief, opens her mouth to speak, but can’t find words. She slowly sits down on the couch. Dean follows his car back into the kitchen and can be heard vrooming about the house. For a moment that’s all the noise there is, until Mary can finally gather herself enough to say, “Missouri, I…I don’t understand.”

Missouri walks over and sits next to her, gently takes her hand. “Mary, you know that there are things in this world that are not easy to understand at first, but that doesn’t make them any less real.”

“Well, yes,” Mary replies, flustered, afraid. “Ghosts, ghouls…but you’re not saying he’s a monster, are you?”

Missouri’s expression darkens a little. “The world will surely tell you he is one. But nothing could be further from the truth. People like Dean have always existed, just like people like me have always existed. It’s perfectly natural. Most people just don’t believe we’re real.”

Mary is still completely at a loss. Missouri squeezes her hand. “Your son is transgender, Mary,” she continues gently. “I can see into his soul and see that he’s a little boy, just like any other, except he’s in a world that can’t see him the way I can.”

It’s as if someone took a needle and jabbed it into Mary’s brain. Flashes of Dean’s adult face begin to swim through her mind.

“I’m your son.”

Could these memories be real or was she going mad? It was all so overwhelming. She throws her arms around Missouri and begins to sob. Missouri can sense that something in her mind has opened up, that had been locked tight, and it unnerves her to think what could have turned the key. She holds her dear friend close until she can recover enough to catch her breath.

“What do I do?” Mary whimpers, looking towards the kitchen, towards Dean.

“You love him,” Missouri replies. “You respect him.”

“H-…how?”

“Well…” Missouri tries her best to be matter-of-fact. “First you have to talk to John and get him on board.” Mary’s eyes roll a little. Getting John to change his mind about anything was going to be a hassle. “Then…you call the school. Tell them to call him by the right name. Tell your friends to call him by the right name…not much else to it, darling.”

“But…what happens when…he grows up? How will…”

“I have some friends who might be able to help you,” Missouri says warmly. “But you can cross that bridge when you come to it. It’s all about doing what’s necessary now, and simply listening is the most important thing when children are young. Follow his lead, honey. He knows what he needs.”

Dean runs into the living room again. “Mommy, sammich?” He beams.

Mary can’t help but laugh as she wipes away her tears. Dean notices and instantly hugs her knees. “Don’t cry, mommy,” he pleads. “I love you.”

“I love you too…Dean,” Mary shakily replies, rustling his hair the way she always does.

Dean looks up, his face somehow happier than before. He reaches up to her in the way all toddlers do when they want to be held, and she scoops him up into her arms. Missouri smiles at the sight.

“You want a sandwich?” Mary asks her, still processing, but trying to inject some humor into the situation now.

“That sounds lovely,” Missouri answers. “I think I’ll have mine with the crusts cut off, too. That’s your favorite, isn’t it, Dean?”

“Yes!” Dean gurgles happily as Mary places him at the kitchen table.

“Alright, three sandwiches, hold the crust, comin’ right up,” Mary laughs. Later, she knew things were going to get messy. But for now, they could all sit down and enjoy a nice snack.

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gophergal · 3 years

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So, I started this oneshot in January, as I mentioned to @bucketofcowboys, but only just finished it a couple days ago. Is this something y'all follow me for? Not in the slightest, but oh well, you're in my circle of hell now. Enjoy? I guess? I don't know, dudes, I'm not your boss.

What Ever Happens

Word Count: 3,000+ | Rating: T+ | Fem!Vault Dweller x Ian (Fallout 1) | M/F

The sun beamed down on the scorched earth surrounding Ash, making the air oppressively hot as she trekked through the sands. It was the total opposite of the cool, clean vault she'd grown up in, with it's artificial lights, cramped spaces, and tight knit community. Though, the more she learned of the wasteland, the more she came to know that the communities were just as close knit, but not by force. There was a liveliness to this world that was so unlike her own. Still, she found herself yearning to be back home, before she took her first steps out here. She squinted as another bead of sweat threatened to fall into her eye, releasing her grip on her pack of supplies to wipe it away.

Yes, the desert was a wasteland, a far cry from her home, but it had one thing the vault could never claim. Ian, her traveling companion, the strong and loyal man that had saved her ass on more than one occasion. Even when he had gruffly criticized her for the way she handled a gun, his large hands were gentle as he corrected her grip on the weapon. He was wasteland bred and born, and it showed in the scars that littered his tanned skin. Had he refused to travel with her, she'd surely have perished, along with all of the residents of her vault. As if on cue, Ian turned slightly to look at her, frowning. She stopped staring, averting her eyes slightly.

“So, what's the plan, vaultie?” He asked. Ash struggled for a moment, looking for something to say. She hadn't thought about it after the Overseer had given her a new task, not the entire time she and Ian had begun walking in the direction of Shady Sands, the small village east of the vault She had other matters on her mind, but finally she spoke.

“I guess the best thing would be to resupply and ask around. We don't exactly know where they're all coming from,” she replied, shrugging as she looked in the direction of the town.

“Yeah,” he said, resuming his march onward, “we don't want a repeat of what happened in Necropolis.”

Ash could agree with that. Their time in Necropolis had been fine, up until it went to hell in a hand-basket, that is. Sure, they both got out of it alive, but it had been by pure luck that neither of them caught the business end of a flamer and been killed. Next time, up against even more super mutants, they may not be so lucky.

“Besides,” he began, “we have to pick up Dogmeat. The poor mutt's probably been missing you a hell of a lot while we've been in the vault.”

They'd left the dog in the care of Tandi, the daughter of Shady Sands' leader, while they took the water chip to the overseer due to the vault's “no animals” policy. Dogmeat had whined pitifully when Ash had commanded him to stay put, but obeyed as he was loyal to his master. In truth, she was quite happy to be back out in the wasteland. If she hadn't, she would have never have the chance to wish her beloved canine goodbye.

She nodded in agreement, tightening her grip on her pack, “You lead the way.” Ian rolled his eyes at her and set the pace of their trip.

***

The walk back to Shady Sands had been uneventful. Even rad scorpions seemed to avoid their path, though that may have been due in part to the destruction they caused to their nest. As they walked, Ash stole glances at her companion, watching the way that his muscles shifted as he moved. The way that his hair was mussed by the slight dry breeze. His face was set in it's usual blank half-frown that made his emotions hard to read. She supposed that it came with growing up out here, remembering how her own expressive nature had caused trouble for them more than once. Suppressing a sigh, she stared ahead, watching as their destination grew larger in the distance.

Upon entering the settlement, Dogmeat bound up to his owner, leaping on to her and knocking her down. He licked her face, tail wagging wildly. Ash laughed, petting the dog as she got to her feet and dusted herself off. The two guards cracked a smile slightly, then stood at attention once again. Tandi greeted the two back happily, surprised to see the vault dweller back at all.

“What are you doing back, Ash?”

“I- well, the Overseer had something else he needed me to do before I return for good. It'll take some time to complete though, so the wasteland isn't rid of me yet,” she joked.

“Pity. You sure have raised hell out here. I'm glad to see you again though.:

The two young women chatted for a while in the shade, hiding from the sun that hung high in the sky, beating down on the desert. That same harsh sun slowly made it's journey through the sky as the day drew on. Ash startled when a hand grabbed her bicep, her free hand reflexively reaching for the pistol that hung off her hip. She let out a breath, relaxing instantly when she realized that it was just Ian, trying to get her attention.

“We should probably stay here for tonight. We'll head to Junktown in the morning. We'll see if Killian knows anything that could help us,” he said.

She nodded her agreement, following him to the dwelling that he used to stay in while he lived in Shady Sands. It was actually the home of Seth, the man who guarded the settlement's gate during the day. He'd been so generous as to share his space with the two for the night. However, it really showed that it was not built for three people to sleep in the small room. A standard sized bed and low cot were in the room, generally enough space for two people to rest, but tricky when a third was added in. Ash suddenly felt as though she was intruding greatly on the man's space. It was Seth who insisted that she or Ian take the bed while he took the cot, it was just for one night, after all.

“I'll go ahead and sleep on the floor, you take the bed,” Ash told her companion, gesturing toward the bed. The look on his face foretold the argument that was about to go down. They stared each other down, waiting for the other to make the first move. A battle between two stubborn survivors. Their focus broken by a harsh sigh from the cot.

“Just share the bed or something. I have to wake up early tomorrow and I'm not staying up all night while you two act like children,” Seth complained.

Embarrassed, Ash flashed him an apologetic smile and looked back to Ian, who shrugged. They stripped off their bulky armor, keeping their weapons nearby, they slipped into the bed, hanging slightly off the sides in a shared effort to give one other space out of respect.

After an hour or so of trying to sleep, Ash opened her eyes to look at her traveling companion. With the little light that came through the window, she could see him quite clearly. It was rare to see him look so relaxed, even at rest like this. The way his dark locks fell into his face tempted her to push them back, but decided not, sighing softly. She'd only known him for a couple months now,and yet she trusted him with her life. He was one of the first people she met when she stepped foot outside of Vault 13, a somewhat friendly face in such a hostile environment.

At this proximity, she could easily make out the creases on his tanned face. The world outside the vault really would age people fast, she noticed. It was something she'd heard in the vault, but she now could see first hand that it was true. Studying his features, the blemishes that peppered the surface of his skin, his dark lashes, Ash's heart ached. The feeling became more intense with every moment they spent together, every fight they won, each time they grew closer.

Her eyes flicked shut as she recalled the shootout in Necropolis. The sulfurous smell of expended bullets hung heavy in the air, as did the smothering heat of the flamer. Standing face to face with the super mutant who threatened to reduce her to her namesake, Ash desperately tried to dodge out of the way. As the flames began to lick toward her body, scorching the surface of her vault suit, she was pushed out of the way, Ian's strong body shielding her against the flames that that jut forth. It gave her just enough time to land a killing shot on the big green bastard. Ian's jacket was ruined, but it protected him against the worst of the burn.

Does it still hurt, she wondered, recalling how he stopped allowing her to care for his wound after it closed. It surely would scar, she told him as much, only for him to shrug in response. It really was different out here. In the vault, scars were strange, tragic, worthy of ridicule, or all three at once. In the wastes, they were part of life. A mark to show that you'd survived. Still, she wondered. Did he regret it? Taking an everlasting mark on his flesh, and all the agonizing pain associated, all for her? What did she even mean to him? Ash fell asleep, knowing she wouldn't have her questions answered. Not now, maybe never.

The walk to Junktown was longer and more quiet than usual. When they camped for the night, watch duty was traded wordlessly. Usually, they'd have some sort of banter, but the thoughts swirling in Ash's mind refused to let up. She had questions, goddammit All these questions and no way to ask. She watched the glowing embers of their small fire as though they could help her understand. Deciding she wouldn't find contentment in the hot, orange glow of fire, she settled on the stars instead. They were something else she'd need to savor while she could, whether she died or returned to the vault, she would never get another chance.

***

Killian Darkwater didn't know anything about the super mutants or where they were coming from. That's what he told the duo at least, and they were inclined to believe him. Outside, Ash swore and stomped her foot on the ground in frustration, scaring Dogmeat, who cowered behind Ian. She sighed.

“This hasn't led us anywhere,” she complained.

“We haven't asked around the Hub yet, so chill the fuck out. Killian doesn't have a lead, so what?”

“Easy for you to say, you're just following me for the money,” she huffed, the heat and disappointment making her irritable. Ian furrowed his brow.

“That's bullshit and you know it, Ash. Do you seriously think I'd risk my ass for you just for the money? I'm not a fucking bodyguard,” he spat.

“I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying that you could leave at any time you want. I have to do this.”

“Do you want me to leave?” He asked in earnest, anger quieting down a bit.

“No- I just- Oh, fuck it. Let's just drop this. I don't have it in me to argue right now,” she said, cradling her forehead with a hand. With that, the two walked to the Crash House, deciding to rent a room for the night. Ash wiped the sweat from herself with a damp cloth, then returned to the room, sitting on the other side of the bed from Ian, who was cleaning his gun, making sure all the pieces fit back nicely. 'Take care of your gun and it'll take care of you', he told her when they first started traveling together. She did the same, slower and more clumsily. With the final piece of her weapon clicking into place, she rested it on the nightstand. From behind her, she heard a cough.

“What's going on with you, vaultie? What the hell did I do to piss you off so badly?” Ian asked. His tone was impatient, almost hurt sounding. It startled Ash.

“Mad at you? What gave you that idea?” She turned to him.

“The cold shoulder, blowing up on me like that. Don't tell me that being a dick is a foreign concept in the vaults.”

“Look, I'm just... damn, I'm just.... confused and scared, Ian,” she said, voice low. Ian faced her, eyebrows knitted in a puzzled look.

“What about? Are you keeping me in the dark for any particular reason?”

Ash flushed, unsure of what to say. The truth was stranger than any lie she could come up with, yet she felt wrong about keeping it from him. She cleared her throat, training her hazel eyes on him.

“Where do we stand? I mean, how you think of me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“I,” she paused, letting her mind catch up to her mouth, “I just don't know how you feel about me. Am I a bother? It feels too soon for you to think of me as a friend, but I know that I'm fond of you. You're different from everyone I've ever known in the vault. I can't tell how you think of me. Even if you hated me, I'd at least want to know,” she finished. She gripped her knees, feeling very stupid. It was all irrational, she knew it, but she trusted him to understand her. Her heart sank as he chuckled, which he caught soon after.

“No, no, I'm not laughing at you, I swear. Just- damn, the vault really does something to people, huh?”

She tilted her head, urging him to explain.

“Ash, if I hated you, I wouldn't stick around. You may be bull-headed and chatty, but that's charming when it's not getting us shot at.”

“You think I'm charming?”

He shook his head in exasperation. “If you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly a committed man at this moment. You're beautiful, generally capable, and seem to get along with my stubborn ass. I find you more than just charming.”

She was taken aback, expecting anything other than this. She looked away shyly, “Oh- Wow. Well, I'll admit, I just don't know what to say.”

He rolled his eyes, “You don't have to say anything. We're not children, Ash. We can drop it, finish what we have to do, and go our separate ways at the end of it all, if that's what you want. But at least now you know where you stand.” As he said his piece, disappointment crept into his voice.

“No! I don't want that, not in the least. I feel the same, it's just... I'm being silly.”

“Yeah, you are, but I'm used to it now. I'm not a mind reader though, so you'll need to tell me what you're thinking.”

She scooted closer, resting her hand on his cheek, leaned in. She stopped halfway, waiting for him to move away or to meet her, the settled for pressing her lips to the corner of his carefully, pulling away slowly.

“Does that tell you anything?” She asked.

“Only that you need to speak up,” he responded, grinning devilishly. At that she captured his mouth with her own, tangling a hand in his long dark hair, and kissed him for real. She used more force, encouraged by the hands that came to grip her waist, she moved her lips against his sloppily. She pulled away for air, feeling drunk on the touch.

“Did you hear me now?” she asked, pupils dilated with desire.

“Loud and clear.”

This time, he leaned in, his touch rougher than hers, and he pushed her to lay back on the bed so that his hands rested on either side of her, legs hanging off the other side of the decrepit mattress. Ash's heartbeat quickened as his lips crept lower, down to her jawline, and neck, all the way to the collar of her suit. A sudden moment of nerves gripped her, pushing the want from her mind. She grabbed his wrist, making him look at her.

“I've never done this, Ian,” she said, gripping his arm as if her were a life preserver.

“You're a virgin, then.”

“That too, but I've never been in a relationship. I'm sorry for that, I just don't know if I'm quite comfortable going any further.” His brows raised in surprise at her words.

“We can stop here then, for now. We'll take this slow.”

“Are you sure? It's not weird?”

“Nah, besides, I'm fucking tired,” he smirked, rolling off to his side of the bed. His hand found hers, and they wove their fingers together. “Those vault boys don't know what they're missing out on.”

Mention of her home made Ash's guts twist with a pang of anxiety, and she let out a shaky breath. There was the obvious thought that they both might not survive their newest mission, but pushing that aside there were still issues that they'd need to overcome.

“What happens now? How do we... make this work?” She asked hesitantly.

“One day at a time, I guess.”

“You wouldn't live in the vault, even if Jacoren let you, you wouldn't be happy there.”

“Heh, that's true. I was hoping you'd stay here, with me, if I'm being entirely honest,” he said, squeezing Ash's hand tightly.

“I don't think I can. My family are in the vault. Everyone I've ever known. I just don't believe I could do that to them.” A moment of silence hung heavy in the air, allowing them to hear snippets of conversation and movement in other rooms.

“Then, what ever happens, we'll face it together,” Ian said.

The future would be uncertain, but, as long as possible, they would face it together. Somehow. That night, there was no respectful distance in the shared bed, only comfort and contentment in one another's arms. The air was cool as moonlight streamed through the dusty window.

#fallout #fallout 1 #ian fallout #vault dweller #fallout oc #gopher writes #this originally had smut in it #but it didn't feel right #something was off about it but I put the cut scene on a different doc #i might reuse it at some point #anyway this is a thing now

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yourperfectflaws · 4 years

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HYDRA’s Pet ; 01

Pairing: James Bunchan Barnes x HYDRA!Reader, Avengers x Reader (Platonic/ Familial)

Series Summary: As HYDRA’s favorite experiment, you were trained to follow orders perfectly. But, when you’re taken from the only home you’d ever known by the Avengers, you find yourself more lost than ever. However, out of all the things that could have happened to you, you’d never expected him to be one of them.

Chapter Summary: Your sexy ass is training a new unit when the Avengers find the base.

Warnings: Includes violence, adult language

Word Count: 1.7k

Author’s Note: It’s good to read the Prologue but I’m gonna try and make the series work without it. (Also this chapter was so goddamn hard to write for some reason) Also bUckY wiLL bE hErE sOoN I ProMiSe!!!

Anything italicized is in Russian (cuz my dumbass don’t speak Russian and I’m not about to use google translate and then put the translations at the end when half of them aren’t even correct it’s just a waste of time and effort)

Prologue // Next Chapter

January 16th, 2017 ; HYDRA Base

Crack!

The loud smack of Juno’s ruler echoes around the rusty training room. You squinted as you sparred with your opponent, a young redheaded girl two doors down from you. She shrieked at the noise, unfamiliar with Juno’s teaching strategies, which gave you an opening.

You closed the gap between the two of you and gave her a swift punch to the cheek. She flew to the side of the ring but got up quickly and you both went back to circling each other. She attempted to throw a punch at you but you blocked it by grabbing her wrist and sending a swift kick to her abdomen.

She cried out and fell to the floor, attempting to scramble back up but you kicked her square in the face to knock her down again. She was conscious but didn’t try to get back up.

Crack!

Juno’s ruler again. She stepped into the ring and gave a small glance to the girl before sizing you up. “Since she isn’t learning from me, maybe she will learn from you.” She pushed your chest as you stood there blankly. She turned away from you and roughly pulled the girl up. “She will be vital to HYDRA’s regime, as you are. Don’t try to make this any more difficult than it is, soldier.”

Juno turned back to you and folded her toned arms over her chest. “If you can’t even teach her the basics then you’ll be put in the chamber.”

You couldn’t help the grimace of fear that streaked onto your face when she mentioned the chamber. It pained you to remember spending time in there. You knew you were forbidden from reading the thoughts of a superior like Juno but you couldn’t help but sense her anger and frustration as she spat in your face.

“I will be back in two hours.” Juno turned to the redheaded girl and sneered. “You will spar again to show me what you have learned, runt.”

You stood still as she left the room, the door groaning as it closed behind her. As soon as she was gone, you relaxed and walked over to the girl, who was shivering in the corner of the ring, and extended your hand to her. She took it hesitantly. Big mistake. You pulled her arm up and around, pushing her to the ground and holding her in place. She shrieked in pain. Her mind was a panic, a jumble of thoughts that were all too easily read.

“I am going to give you rules and you are going to listen.” She nodded her head frantically. Desperation. “Rule one, do not let your guard down. Always be attentive of your opponent. You already failed.”

You let her go and she scrambled away from you, standing up quickly. She held her fists awkwardly in front of her. Feeling her insecurity, you sighed as you sized her up. “You have no balance. You’re skinny, no muscle, and you’re slow. Your posture is horrible and whatever you’re doing right now is completely wrong.”

You marched up to her and pushed her fists in the correct position. “Spread your legs shoulder width, eyes up— you always want to be looking straight at your opponent— and straighten your back and shoulders.” You moved in front of her to examine her stance. It wasn’t perfect but it was better than what she was originally doing. “Now punch me.”

She stared at you for a second, feeling surprised, before throwing the weakest punch you had ever seen at your face. You blocked it and sighed, pushing her fist away. “No, that was weak. Don’t be afraid to hurt your opponent and use all of your strength. Exhale sharply with each punch and drive your elbow rather than your fist into each punch. Try again.”

She made another attempt to punch you, with you blocking it again, and this time it was decent enough to do some damage. You nodded your head. “That was better.” She felt an emotion you couldn’t describe. “This time try moving around and actually hitting me. If you can do that I will give you a water break.”

It takes her a while before she figures out how to fake a punch and she lands one on your shoulder. She smiles at you, filled with pride, and you notice she has a tooth missing. She couldn’t have been more than 13 years old and seemed almost too naive to be working for HYDRA. You roll out your joints before joining her for a much needed water break.

The both of you fall into an awkward silence, neither of you knowing what to say, while hunched over on the ground of the ring. After a while you decide you’d had enough of the silence and ask her for her number.

“Oh, I’m Unit 9813.” She takes another long drink. “You?”

“Project 103.” You scratched your eyebrow. “Taken or raised?”

Images of her family flashed through her mind and a bitter, melancholic feeling crept into yours. She waited a few seconds before responding. “Wait wha—”

BANG!!!

You turned to see the door shaking on its hinges. Out of nowhere, the Commander barged into the room and shouted for attention. Without missing a beat, you stood tall and stiff, waiting for orders, while 9813 rose slowly and shrank into herself. You sensed that she had never met the Commander and felt intimidated.

A look of surprise dawned on his wrinkly face and his icy eyes darted between the two of you. He was not informed of this training session. He cleared his throat and addressed 9813.

“Unit, you may leave. Head to the deck, they’re heading into the tunnels,” he ordered. She saluted in a panic and scurried off.

He turned back to you and you sensed a feeling you couldn’t describe. He then recited the words and everything around you faded into black. You were returned to the familiar darkness of your mind. Though you knew it well, you didn’t like it one bit.

You could see the Commander regarding you with a strange expression as your body waited for instructions. You were in soldier mode now.

“Initiate order 423E7X.”

Your body saluted. “Yes sir.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and walked back towards the door. “Soldier... goodbye for now,” he whispered before leaving.

You were left with nothing but silence and an order. Even though you had no idea what was happening, your body seemed to have everything under control as it marched out of the training room, down the long, dimly lit hallway, and into the general work area. The lights flickered as you stepped among the tools and materials strewn about. It definitely appeared as though they had left in a hurry. You were not looking forward to whatever you were supposed to do.

You watched as you climbed the pipes along the walls and pushed yourself onto the maintenance rafters and waited. Eventually you heard the sound of careful footsteps and hushed voices entering the building.

It wasn’t long before you saw the beams of flashlights as they neared your hiding place. Being in your mind was beginning to feel terrifying and watching the strangers enter the work area sent shivers down your spine.

They were wearing strange outfits and sported weapons you’d never seen before, though somehow something about them seemed oddly familiar. One of them stood by the entryway while the other two quietly searched the room. Then, the one with the red hair looked up to see you sitting there staring at them.

“Umm, guys...”

They shined their flashlights up to you as you sat there looking dejected. One of them gasped and placed his metal hand over his glowing chest.

“Oh shit! She scared the crap out of me.” He bent over and placed his hands on his knees, which made a clink sound, and looked up at his teammates. “Guys, I think I’m gonna need a new suit.” He looked between them, both of whom stared at him unimpressed.

“Hey are you alright, creepy girl?” The other man with the bow asked.

You said nothing and continued to stare down at them.

“Okayyy well we’re going to have to take her with us.” The ginger woman pressed her earpiece. “Hey we found someone.” She continued to notify other members of their team about finding you while one continued sweeping the building and the other climbed up to you.

“Do you speak English?” He asked you as he offered his hand for you to take. You didn’t want to take it but it seemed your body had other ideas.

“No one is here.” Unsurprisingly, your voice sounded robotic and completely different from what it normally was. The blonde man stared at you with pinched brows but lightly chuckled to himself.

“I’ll take that as a no.” You noticed he didn’t have the earpiece that the other two had. He had two and they looked different.

He pulled you against his chest and climbed back down the pipe, gently letting you go once on the ground. In your soldier state, you couldn’t feel his emotions or hear his thoughts, but your “soldier self” could, which was more than frustrating.

You blacked out for a brief period of time and came back to consciousness, still inside your mind, to see yourself fighting the man who had brought you down from your perch.

He shot arrow after arrow at you and the few you managed to dodge were out-healed and slowly came out of your body. You threw tools at him and he was dodging them with the agility of someone who’d been doing it for years.

The other two came back after hearing the commotion and didn’t hesitate to join the fight. “Clint, what happened?” The redhead asked as she caught a wrench you had thrown.

“One second—” he shot another arrow at you, hitting you in your thigh. “—we were all fine and dandy and the next—” he ducked to dodge a screw driver. “—she was throwing shit.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” the metal guy said as he shot a beam of energy at you with his hand. You managed to dodge it before getting hit in the head with a hard object and slumping onto the floor with a dull thump.

----

Please don’t ask how the Commander guy isn’t dead by now, I don’t know either.

Let me know if you liked it and if there is anything I should fix! Have a great day and stay safe!

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viktuuriangstbang · 4 years

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Viktuuri Angst Bang 2019 - Masterlist

Here is the extensive list of the incredible and angsty works created for the Viktuuri Angst Bang. Thank you to all our beloved participants for seeing to the success of this event.

If you participated and you do NOT see your work here or have found an error, please email corrections to [email protected].

Open the ‘Read More’ to check ratings, warnings, tags, and summaries.

The Affair by Clarinda. Art by DyeingDoll.

Danse Macabre by AurumAuri. Art by Bectara

By Chance One Turns by Louciferish. Art by Izzyisosaki.

Bound by you by KuraiOfAnagura. Art by R-Tengu.

Our Time, Gone Forever by AJ Wolf. Art (1,2) by Elianthos.

Body of Evidence by Revampired. Art by Eli Grey.

And all pieces fall right into place by cottonee. Art by mferret9.

Faceless by allollipoppins. Art by Heavy Henry.

embedded in my chest (and it hurts to hold) by Ace of Japan. Art by Baph.

Can You Hear My Heartbeat? by SchalaDresdan. Art by Bectara.

you're with me (not someone else) by Adrianna99. Art by Kathe.

Conventionally Yours by Songbirdsara.

I See the Light by black_tea_blue_pens. Art by Bectara.

The Cost of Winning by Daffy. Art by Diem.

Find me in me (Act 1) by LenaLawlipop. Art by Clarinda.

When We Collide by topcatnikki. Art by Clarinda.

Under the Midnight by Mazarin221b. Art (1, 2, 3) by Elianthos.

Genie In The Bottle by PaintingWithWords. Art by smolkristen.

All That We Hold of Heaven by Kazul9. Art by Purin.

Appalachian Harmony by Heavy Henry. Art by cupromantic.

over the oaks by owlishann. Art by Hecate Mist.

The Truth About Agape by Kastuuki. Art by Purin.

Red Cuffs of Fate by Gabzjones. Art by Cerisebio.

strange as angels by astudyinrose. Art by Bullsfish.

The Brightness of Gold and Silver by Katineto. Art by Ace of Japan.

Drag Your Soul to Shore by LinneaKou. Art by Baph.

Trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday by Briapia @briapia95. Art by DyeingDoll.

To Love And To Honour (Esp version) by Midnight_Luna. Art by Caramel.

When You Really, Really Miss Me by cleverlittleradiator. Art by Caramel.

Sing to me like steel by Ravensmores. Art by Impatvish.

Pleurosis by SnarkyBreeze. Art by rettlecake.

Whiskey Lullaby by Rae. Art by Andi.

*Summaries are trimmed to fit better; please visit fics on AO3 to view full details. **Chapter counts are as of January 16th.

The Affair by @clarinda0110 . Art by @dyeingdoll

E, 20k, Complete, Series. Canon AU - real world. Yuuri sits down to be interviewed for a retrospect of the career of Viktor Nikiforov. He has quite a story to tell.

Danse Macabre by @aurum-auri. Art by @bectara.

E, 110k, Complete. AU - serial killer. Warnings: Violence, Non-con. When Yuuri finds himself in the clutches of an infamous serial killer, everything he thought he knew suddenly is called into question.

By Chance One Turns by @louciferish. Art by izzyisozaki.

M, 90k, Complete, Series. Canon divergence - Kid fic. In 2011, Victor Nikiforov disappeared from the world of figure skating. Desperate to send money home, Yuuri looks for a job in the US. (...)The last thing he expects is for Victor to be the one who opens the door.

Bound by you by @kuraiofanagura. Art by @rtengu.

M, 4/5, WIP. AU - historical arranged marriage, omegaverse. Warnings: Violence. Victor was so much weaker than this omega. Because he was escorting his brother Yuri to marry the love of his life, Yuuri, the alpha prince of the land of the Red Sun.

Our Time, Gone Forever by @ajwolf84. Art (1,2) by @bowldeepfannish.

T, 5/6, WIP. AU - Archeology, time travel. It's the archeological find of the century and Viktor still can't quite believe he's a part of it.

Body of Evidence by @revampired. Art by @unicornsovermyrainbow.

E, 44k, Complete. AU - Jack the Ripper, omegaverse. Warnings: Violence. Lost and alone upon arrival in London, omega medical student Yuuri is rescued by and befriends a famous local prostitute, Victor Nikiforov.

And all pieces fall right into place by @v-katsuki. Art by @mferret9.

M, 4k, Complete. Canon divergence - after Barcelona. After the Grand Prix Final, Viktor and Yuuri go separate ways for the rest of the season. They try to make their long-distance relationship work while both prepare to win a gold medal.

Faceless by @allollipoppins. Art by @snarkonice.

T, 1/10, Hiatus. AU - Werewolf, soulmates, dystopia. Warnings: Violence. A beast roamed the streets of Hasetsu come nightfall and preyed on all whose face it looked upon. (...) A new disappearance gives Yuuri an opportunity to get to the heart of the problem, and face his own - not without consequences.

embedded in my chest (and it hurts to hold) by @theliteraryluggage. Art by @anonbaph.

M, 105k, Complete. AU - Artists are millennials, hanahaki disease. In which Yuuri falls in love, then falls apart, one petal at a time.

Can You Hear My Heartbeat? by @schaladresdan. Art by @bectara.

M, 7k, Complete, Series. AU - Androids, temporary character death. In this world, androids are commonplace. At 18, people of this world can choose whether they want to be ‘transferred’ to an ‘transfer androids’ or not when their human bodies die.

you're with me (not someone else) by @iwritebetterthanispeak. Art by @mandolinearts.

G, 2k, Complete. Canon divergence - Injury. Yuuri falls on the quad flip. He and Viktor end up kissing anyway

Conventionally Yours by @songbirdsarawrites.

T, 10/11, WIP. AU - Artists. Yuuri Katsuki is fascinated by charming young artist Victor Nikiforov when he encounters him behind an artist booth at a convention. Nearly two years later, with a table of his own, Yuuri gets the chance to meet his hero.

I See the Light by black_tea_blue_pens. Art by @bectara.

T, 15k, Complete. AU - The Little Mermaid AU. Warnings: MCD. Victor is the Crown Prince of the abyss merfolk. In order to escape from his work and obligations, he makes trips searching for something. He discovers the surface and a young boy who likes to dance at the beach.

The Cost of Winning by @narcissuspseudonarcissus. Art by Diem.

M, 1/10, WIP. AU - Fairy tale curses. Warnings: Violence. Everyone on the continent of Bayuria could see the storm clouds on the horizon as they watched the King of Leroy stripping his lands of resources, and his people of their dignity.

Find me in me (Act 1) by LenaLawlipop. Art by @clarinda0110.

M, 5/6, WIP. Canon divergence - suddendly supernatural elements, character study, isolation. I was at the banquet, wasn't I? At Sochi? My head hurts a little bit. I think I need to get up and figure out what's going on. It's... probably for the best.

When We Collide by @topcatnikki. Art by @clarinda0110 .

M, 24k, Complete. Canon compliant - post series, relationship problems. Days laid in bed with their fingers twined and their lips connecting had turned into hurried kisses to the cheek as Yuuri rushed out of the door. Hours of conversation late into the night had become muttered 'goodnights' and waking up to empty beds.

Under the Midnight by @mazarin221b . Art (1, 2, 3) by @bowldeepfannish.

E, 2/5, WIP. AU - Fortune teller, magical realism. Yuuri Katsuki is a ballet teacher by day and fortune teller by night. Thing is, he is actually a real fortune teller. Into his strange little life he's built for himself walks one drunk figure skater, getting his fortune told on a dare.

Genie In The Bottle by @paintingwithwords. Art by @smolkristen.

E, 5/14, WIP, series (3). AU - Epidemiology. [Zebras among the horses followup] Things are going well for Yuuri Katsuki. But danger looms on the horizon, as it always does for someone in his line of work. When people start getting sick, Yuuri must race to find out what has been set loose... and if there's any way of stopping it.

All That We Hold of Heaven by @kazul9. Art by Purin.

T, 20k, Complete. AU - Fallen angel. Falling—the act of it, the emotion of it—means a lot of different things to different people.For Yuuri, it means everything.

Appalachian Harmony by @snarkonice. Art by @cupromantic.

Not rated, 15k, Complete. AU - Apalachian trial. Warnings: MCD. Newly sober and almost forty, Viktor Nikiforov realizes that he has to make a change. Never a fan of half-measures, he quits his job in corporate law, rents his swanky Manhattan condo to his younger cousin and takes off to hike the Appalachian Trail.

over the oaks by @owlishann. Art by @hecate-mist.

T, 27k, Complete. AU - Spacetrip, time travel. Books have always called Yuuri, ever since he was a child. So when he gets the chance to answer the call, he does, even if it implies crossing the milky way in a tiny spaceship with Victor Nikiforov —the man Yuuri has been pining after since they met— by his side.

The Truth About Agape by @kastuuki. Art by Purin.

M, 2/7, WIP. AU - Superhero, temporary charactter dead. Looking at the picture in the newspaper, the superhero is carrying Victor in the most cliché way they could ever find themselves in: a bridal carry. It has become an iconic photo and the city just ran with it. Everyone loves a good love story, even if it’s not entirely true.

Red Cuffs of Fate by @gabzjones. Art by Cerisebio.

E, 38k, Complete. AU - Crime and police, soulmates. It was his first job as detective; hunting down the ever elusive Mercury, a thief who got his kicks from simply getting away with the crime. Yuuri had gotten close. Really close. And then he noticed the mark of the soulmate bond on his hand.

strange as angels by astudyinrose. Art by @bullsfish.

M, 1/?, WIP. AU - Just like Heaven AU, apparent MCD. Yuuri has a traumatic fall, and he's absent from the rest of the series. After Victor's fifth straight title at Worlds he feels strangely despondent, so he decides to leave St. Petersburg. The first night in his new apartment, he's haunted by the ghost of a beautiful Japanese man he's never met before.

The Brightness of Gold and Silver by @katineto. Art by @theliteraryluggage.

M, 7/16, WIP. AU - Royal, medieval monastery, omegaverse. After the death of his husband the king, Viktor—childless and powerless—finds himself relegated to a small convent far removed from the royal court and its political games. As he struggles to adapt to convent life, he begins to notice how desperately he desires one brother's compabullsny—even to the point of sin.

Drag Your Soul to Shore by LinneaKou. Art by @anonbaph.

M, 36k, Complete. Canon divergence - supernatural, curses. Just before Katsuki Yuuri advances to his first-ever Grand Prix Final, the skating world is sent reeling when a stranger destroys Viktor Nikiforov’s life in more ways than one, resulting in him being banned from competing and gaining the hatred of everyone he knows.

Trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday by @briapia95. Art by @dyeingdoll.

T, 1/?, WIP. AU - Kyoukai no Kanata AU. The youmu stops and Viktor, vision blurred and confused, notices something he never thought he would see again. A sword, slightly curved to the back, red, and clearly made of blood is emerging from the youmu’s front. He knows who that kind of power belongs to, but he can’t bring himself to believe.

To Love And To Honour (Esp version) by Midnight_Luna. Art by @caramel-draws.

T, 1/?, WIP. Canon compliant - Disney's Coco AU. Warnings: MCD. On the day of the Obon, Hikari Katsuki'll have to embark on a journey without precedent to the Land of the Dead, uncover the secrets that shattered her little family and find the real reason why her father never let her go near a skating rink.

When You Really, Really Miss Me by @cleverlittleradiator. Art by @caramel-draws.

M, 2/4, WIP. Canon compliant. Warnings: MCD. In which Yuuri dies, Viktor lives, and he's not the only one left to deal with the aftermath.

Sing to me like steel by @ravensmores. Art by @impatvish.

E, 2/2, Complete. AU - Hospital.

“I just know I’d hate myself even more if I didn’t tell you.” Victor’s voice is surprisingly hesitant as he wipes his face, hand still resting softly in Yuuri’s. “If- if I didn’t ask if there was still a chance.”

“You killed people Victor.”

Pleurosis by @kingfisherunion. Art by @rettlecake.

T, 1/?, WIP. AU - Hanahaki.

Viktor doesn't take Yuuri up on his offer at the Sochi banquet, but someone else does. Depersonalized, depressed, and doubting that he'll make it through another season of marketing himself to an uncaring public, Viktor finds himself ill at Worlds, and nothing he does seems to help. When Yakov takes on a new skater, Viktor's health takes a turn for the worse and he's suddenly faced with a dire choice.

Whiskey Lullaby by @justrae2010. Art by Andi.

E, 8k, Complete. Warnings: MCD.

The divorce papers had come through a month later. Yuuri didn’t come back.

Victor needed a drink.

#viktuuri angst bang #viktuuri angst bang 2019 #Yuri on Ice #YoI #YoI events

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Blue Eyes Part 2

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 2: A chance encounter between a Shelby and a Solomons. But neither knows who the other really is.

Ella Thorne spent her twenty-third birthday with close friends. They went out dancing at a popular club that January night. It was well liked by the young adults of London who liked frivolous fun mixed with intrigue. There, the ordinary rubbed elbows with the wealthy and the criminal. It was great fun and perfect for a birthday celebration.

Amelia, Ella’s best friend who she met at work, was a carefree spirit who loved the era. She wore her hair short and her dresses even shorter. She mastered the smoky eye and used her alluring appearance to lure men like a siren’s song. Often times she had multiple men trying to win over her affection at the same time. There were rumors that she’d had affairs with American mafia and European royalty. But behind all the showmanship, the young woman was a kind soul and a loyal friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Don’t you want to dance with that boy again?” Amelia pointed out a dapper man who had asked Ella for a dance earlier in the night. He stood by a group of well-dressed colleagues. His green eyes kept returning to Ella and he gave her a smile whenever she returned the glance.

“Oh, I think my shoes have given me a blister.” She replied and nursed her gin. “He’s sweet but not very interesting.”

“His mate said he’s a banker. Might be well off?” Amelia shrugged.

Ella smiled but shook her head. She knew money wasn’t everything. “What about you? I’ve seen you dancing with four different men tonight.”

“Five.” Amelia corrected with a smug smile. “They’re nice and all, but none of them could keep up with me on the dancefloor.” She sighed dramatically and leaned against the bar. "So I assume they couldn't keep up with me in life."

“I don’t think anyone could keep up with you, Amelia.”

“I know but…oh shit, look!” She gasped and pointed towards the entrance of the lavish club.

“What?” Ella tried to see over the crowd of dancers and drinkers but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“That’s Alfie Solomons. Bloody hell, what’d you think he’s doing here?” She asked.

Her friend saw the crowd start to part slowly like the Red Sea. She saw a small group of men making their way through. “I don’t know who that is. But he’s at a bar, I’m assuming he came here to drink.”

“No, El.” Amelia shook her head firmly. “He’s a gangster but don't let him hear you call him that. Controls Camden Town, s’fucking terrifying. He doesn’t come to clubs unless he has a reason.”

Ella furrowed her eyebrows. The men drew closer and she finally got a good look at the man leading the pack. Barflies quickly moved aside to let him through. They seemed afraid to be caught in his line of vision. He appeared very intimidating. A black hat cast a shadow over his face; he wore a big coat and multiple rings on his fingers.

“Just keep your head down,” Amelia whispered to her friend over the loud jazz music. "Ignore him and he'll ignore you."

Ella had never seen her friend shy away from anything. But she apparently had a good reason just like the rest of the club. She turned and faced the bartender who had gone a little pale.

The gangster arrived at the bar; he was given a wide berth despite the packed nature of the club. “Evening, Louis.” He greeted the man behind the bar.

“Mr. Solomons, can I help you with anything?” The bartender swallowed hard and approached him slowly. "A drink maybe?"

“Nah mate, just out having some fucking fun, ain’t I?”

“O-okay…”

Alfie chuckled and gestured for the man to come closer. Warily, the bartender leaned in. With frightening speed, the gangster grabbed the man by the collar and slammed his face against the bar top.

Ella jolted and watched the bartender pick himself up and stagger back a few steps. His nose was clearly broken and blood streaming down his face. She’d never seen anyone react so violently when they were unprovoked. But no one else seemed surprised. In fact, even the bartender looked like he had been expecting it the moment Alfie walked in. He simply grabbed a towel from under the bar and pressed it to his bloodied nose, wincing from the pain.

“Your boss is fucking late again, mate. You know I don't give people a third chance. Fuck, you're lucky I gave you lot a second chance.” Alfie continued talking like he hadn’t just bashed the man’s face in.

“I-I’ll get him on the telephone…” Louis stammered behind the towel.

“’Course he ain’t here again.” Alfie sighed heavily and adjusted a gold ring on his index finger. “Fucking hiding out and making you face the consequences, s’a disgrace, innit? He's a coward, yeah, and people like that in my fucking neck of the woods don't survive very long.”

“Yes, sir…”

Alfie pointed at him with two fingers. “You get him on the phone, yeah, you tell him if he innit down here in two minutes with the proper money he owes me, I’ll fucking kill you both. Right? Good lad.”

The bartender nodded shakily and hurried off.

Ella was frozen in place. Her blood had run cold as she listened to the threats the man was dealing out. She wasn’t sure if he would really kill the poor boy but she wouldn’t put it past him.

“Did’ya hear me?”

Ella was in such a state of shock that she didn’t even notice the gangster had turned his attention to her. She met his eyes and was partially surprised to see how handsome he was, albeit rough around the edges. He certainly wasn’t the clean-cut gentleman that Amelia fawned after. But had had lovely teal green eyes and a spine-chilling scar that marked his right cheek, not completely hidden by his beard. He was interesting even on face value and Ella couldn't look away even if it meant her safety.

“Sorry?” She wasn’t sure how she found her voice again. It was nearly impossible to think straight in his presence. It was such a strange contradiction that she felt. She’d watched him harm an innocent young man, continue to threaten his life, and now she was caught up in his appearance.

“Said your drink’s empty, love.” He repeated himself. A small smile graced his face.

“Oh uh…” Ella glanced down and saw that she had finished her gin. “Yes, well I…”

But he didn't let her finish. “Fucking hell, you’ve got blue eyes, don’t ya?” He bent down slightly to come eye to eye with her. “What’s your last name, love?” There was only one other person on this planet that had eyes like her.

“Thorne,” Ella answered. She’d successfully gotten the name Shelby out of her mouth during those four years away from Birmingham. “Ella Thorne.”

Alfie nodded slowly. Tommy never mentioned having a relative named Ella. “Alfie Solomons.” He introduced himself in turn. “Sorry, ‘bout the little show.” He gestured to the blood on the counter. "But it's all business, innit?"

“N-no it’s okay,” Ella replied. She felt someone tugging her arm and saw Amelia give her a look of alarm.

Alfie raised an eyebrow. “Am I interrupting something?” He asked.

Amelia shook her head firmly. She looked immensely uncomfortable when his attention turned to her. “No, Mr. Solomons. I uh…”

“Go and dance, I’ll be right here,” Ella assured her friend. It took some convincing but Amelia did eventually retreat to the dance floor, looking over her shoulder every so often.

“Ah, your friend’s told you who I am.” Alfie surmised by Amelia's reaction to him.

“She knew your name,” Ella admitted. But she remembered not to say anything about his profession to his face.

“And you didn’t.”

“I can’t say I know everyone in London.” She smiled shakily. "It's such a large city."

He nodded with an amused look and ran a hand over his beard. “Just an innocent bit then, aren’t you? Small life in a big city, aye?”

Her lips parted and she thought about her family. She certainly didn't have a small life when she was in Birmingham. The Shelby name gave her a larger appearance. London did make her feel smaller but that was good. Fewer people paid attention to you when they didn't care what your last name was. “Do you judge people based on how they look?”

Alfie leaned back to take in her appearance. “You a Soviet spy or something?” He cocked an eyebrow.

Ella couldn’t help but giggle at the outrageous idea. She'd never been accused of being a spy before, let alone one from Russia. “No.”

He actually let a small smile make his beard twitch. She had a charming smile. “Well, they usually send beautiful women that’ll catch you off guard, don’t they? And when they've got you naked and tied up, they stick a gun to your fucking head.”

Her cheeks flushed red when he called her beautiful. She was strangely used to crass language. She grew up swearing like a sailor because of her brothers. She tried to be a little more refined now that she was a professional woman, working in an office. But habit was hard to break and Amelia always laughed whenever the girl got too drunk to speak English and reverted to Shelta. The young woman ducked her head and shrugged. “You spoke to me first, Mr. Solomons.” She replied.

He chuckled and tapped his fingers against the bar top. “Cheeky.”

“Do you always think you have spies on your tail?” She wondered and tilted her head to the side. “Most people aren’t worried about spies."

“I’m just a baker, love.” He smirked. “What would spies want with me?”

The bartender returned with a nervous looking man following him. His eyes were shifty and he looked like he was going to be sick when he saw Alfie standing there. “Mr. Solomons.” The man cleared his throat and tried to look him in the eye.

Alfie looked displeased that he would have to conclude the business he’d come there to carry out. He was a little more interested in the woman to his right. The one with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. There was something about her that was drawing him.

But business was business.

“Is that money I see in your hand?” Alfie looked surprised. “Really? To think I was going to have to fucking beat it out of you.”

“I-it’s…” The man’s sentence stopped abruptly and he shook his head. “Erm…here.” The owner of the bar handed Alfie the envelope of cash.

Ella had seen massive wads of money before and hats full of coins. She often wandered around the betting shop, helping Finn read the betting slips, following Polly around, and seeing if Tommy would let her drive the family car. Sometimes she glanced over her aunt’s shoulder as she opened the safe. It was unreal to see that much money in one place. But her brothers made it happen.

But Alfie seemed displeased when he took a peek into the envelope. “Seems short. Ollie, count it.” He handed the envelope to the curly-haired man standing to his left. As his assistant swiftly counted the bills, Alfie kept a hard look at the owner of the bar.

“It’s only half,” Ollie informed his boss and returned the envelope to him.

Ella saw the owner of the bar go even paler than before. She clutched her purse close to her side and looked for Amelia in the crowd.

“Half. Fucking half? Louis, mate, did I ask for half or did I ask for the full amount?” Alfie narrowed his eyes at the bartender.

“F-full, sir.” He answered.

“So why do I only have fucking half of the payment in me fucking hand?” He demanded.

Ella wondered briefly if this was how her brothers handled business. She could for sure see John and Arthur carrying out in such a way. She’d seen Arthur threaten men for far less, like accidentally bumping into her on the sidewalk. But she wasn’t sure about Tommy. She often wondered if Tommy was capable of hurting anyone. He was intimidating, sure but that didn’t mean he would be as brutal as her brothers or the man beside her at the bar. She usually considered him the brains of the operation and not the force.

Alfie pocketed the money in his coat. “I’ve got to take care of some business, love.” He turned to Ella.

She nodded and realized she wasn’t afraid of him like she probably should’ve been. Like Amelia and the rest of the club was. She knew how gangsters were. They were only scary to the people who had reason to be scared of them. She wasn’t afraid of her brothers because she was under their protection. Alfie didn’t seem like the kind of man who would harm her unless he had good reason to.

“Have a good night then, yeah?”

“Yeah…you too,” Ella replied even though she had a good feeling he was going to seriously injure the men behind the bar. But what was that compared to all the men her brothers had harmed? Maybe she'd grown too accustomed to the idea of violence even while she was away. There was always a reminder in the back of her mind that her brothers were dangerous and she didn't even know the half of their deeds.

He smiled and tipped his hat to her before turning and walking towards the back door of the bar. His entourage followed him as well as the owner of the bar who would be found in the Thames the next morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ella woke up with a bit of a hangover. Amelia had kept her out into the early morning hours. She’d only managed to get a bit of sleep before the sounds of London woke her up. After getting dressed, she went downstairs and picked up the mail. She sorted through the pile and stopped at a cream-colored envelope.

Miss Ella Shelby

She rolled her eyes and knew who it was from. Only Tommy insisted on calling her by her given name. She often missed her family but she felt she had a good reason to stay in London. She had Ada who seemed happy to keep her distance from the family business too. Although these days she found herself more involved.

Tommy called Ada frequently to make sure Ella was safe and doing okay. He snuck small amounts of money into her bank account, just enough that she wouldn’t get suspicious. He just wanted to feel a little less guilty. Tommy missed his youngest sister but he had to carry on. He just thought she’d be back in Birmingham by then but four years later and she didn’t show any signs of giving in.

Ella opened the envelope and furrowed her eyebrows when she read the invitation.

Cordially invited…Wedding…Thomas Shelby…Grace Burgess.

“What?” Ella whispered under her breath. She shook her head in disbelief and left her apartment to walk to Ada’s.

~~~~~~~~~

“Married? I thought Grace was just the barmaid at the Garrison, what on Earth?” Ella shook the invitation at her sister. “What is he trying to pull?”

“El, it’s not some master plan,” Ada assured her. “Sit, I’ll make you tea.”

Instead, Ella threw the invitation on the table and followed her older sister into the kitchen. “Ada, he wrote Shelby on the envelope!” She exclaimed. “I told him…”

“He misses you. They all miss you.” Ada interrupted her. “You know how much they care about you.” She started the kettle and pulled out two teacups.

Ella huffed. “Why is he marrying her?” She asked suspiciously.

“They have a child together now. He only thought it was right and I think he really does still love her.”

Her mouth fell open. “A…what? A child?”

Ada sighed softly. “You’ve been away from Birmingham for longer than you think.”

“I…” She scoffed in disbelief. But the shock of the news hit her in the heart. She hadn’t known her brother was a father now. She didn’t know her new nephew even existed. “When’s the wedding?” She asked quietly.

“Next month,” Ada answered and poured her sister a cup of tea, adding in the milk and two sugars she always requested. “I think it would mean the world to him if you were there.”

Ella looked at her feet and sighed. “I know.”

“He’s got a lot on his plate right now. The Oddfellows, the Soviets, the London outfit.” Ada listed off and went to sit down in the parlor.

She sat on a sofa and slowly stirred the milk into her tea. She wrestled with the idea of attending her brother’s wedding. Could she really be heartless and refuse to go? Or would she be protecting herself? She had hardly any clue what Ada was talking about anymore. Used to be her brother only dealt with the other gypsy families, the police, and the people in Birmingham. “The London outfit?”

Ada waved her hand with a shrug. “Other gangsters who work from London. The Italians, the Jews.”

Ella had a sinking feeling in her gut. If Tommy was getting involved with firms in London, then she was more open to being victimized by his enemies. “Are we safe?” She asked.

Her sister nodded. “Of course. Tommy knows what he’s doing.” Both of the Shelby girls weren’t completely sure about that but he always seemed like he had a plan for any possible scenario. “I would just stick to the areas you know. Stay out of Camden and don’t trust anyone who says they’re a fucking baker.”

Ella stared at her. “A what?”

“A baker. Usually means they work for a distillery in Camden Town.”

“Oh…” Ella felt her chest tighten. Had she come into contact with one of her brothers' enemies? Was that why he asked her last name? He thought she was a Shelby because of her blue eyes. She had just lied to a very dangerous man and now she could only pray she never came into contact with him again. Even though she had thought about his playful eyes all night and how her heart had skipped a beat when he called her beautiful. A fucking baker. Tommy would have a fit if he found out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye @octaviareina

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#alfie solomons #alfie solomonsxoc #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #ofc #oc #shelby #tommy shelby #ada thorne #ada shelby #tom hardy #tom hardy character

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zwiezraczek · 4 years

Text

6 + 1 Underground [Four x OC/reader] Chapter 1

SUMMARY: Sasha is a Polish girl, with a strange past. She has various skills, driving amongst others. So she becomes Eight. And you know that Four plus Four is Eight...

CHAPTER 1: Eight is Born - CHAPTER 2

WORDS: 2.3k

Sasha instantly opened her eyes, taking the gun from under her pillow and pointing it at the black figure that stood in front of the window of her apartment. Her blond messy hair was all over her face as she tried to focus on the intruder, waiting for them to move, to put their arms up, to surrender. But they didn't. They stood immobile, there, in between the airy curtains moved by the breeze.

“Got me,” the man said with a warm tone, just as if he was smiling, “you're quick as hell.”

“Shut the fuck up and turn on the lights motherfucker,” she barked still pointing at him. Her eyes were focused on the man moving slowly towards the little lamp in the right corner, as she moved herself on her bed. But he took his time, and she didn't like it. “Don't you fucking play with me or I'll fucking kill you.”

“So many swear words coming from the mouth of a young and delicate lady,” the stranger teased just before switching on the light.

The scene could have been embarrassing if Sasha was the shy type of girl, but she wasn't. Her large white t-shirt barely covered her panties as she was on her knees over her sheets, eyes focused on her target. Her blue pearly eyes looked at him, she had the face of an angel. This was why they chose her.

When her mother died, she lost everything, even her father, who spiraled down into immorality more than he did before. So she decided to go all illegal, no strings attached in this Polish city, Sasha and her pretty face coming right into the Polish mafia. They told her that the best she could be was a whore for them, maybe even the boss if she was lucky enough, but Sasha was so much more than she looked. She was Kubica. That was how her mother used to call her when she was behind the steering wheel. She was reckless, she was bold, she could be a danger for the people driving around her and to tone this down, her mother made her take some ballet classes. Discipline and recklessness, everything Sasha was made of. From pseudo whore to mafia's chef, Piotr's, driver.

“Fuck you, don't you dare telling me what I should be or not, you fucker,” she dangerously whispered as the man casually stood next to the lamp, arms crossed. “What do you want from me?”

“Why don't you run from me?” the stranger continued still looking at her. She felt disoriented, making a small head tilt as he said these words. “Fucking millennials, when you try to be like them they go “No, I don't get you old man, tbh sorry”,” he continued, a little bit deceived by what he just witnessed. “Billie Eilish, or whatever? Doesn't ring a bell?”

“I won't repeat myself,” she warned, her index ready to pull the trigger. “You don't talk, you won't live.”

“Okay, okay, let's chill a bit. I'm not here to kill you or whatever, but more to... Allow you to be free?” She rose an eyebrow, not putting down her gun. This man was stranger than she had expected, it would have been easier if he just wanted to kill her. She would have pulled the trigger. Boom, no problem. “Well, you know, I know you very well Sasha.”

“Ho the fuck do you know my name?” her words were sharper than a blade. Nobody in the mafia world knew her by her real name, she was Kubica. No Sasha, just Kubica, the driver.

“I know many things about you Sasha... Damn, that's so uncomfortable to stand, I'll sit if you don't mind,” he concluded before sitting on a small stool near the lamp. “So, I was saying. I know many things about you, that you're a ballerina...”

“Was,” she corrected angrily.

“Yeah, dancing stays dancing,” he brushed the subject off as soon as he spoke about it, “you work for that mafia for a long time because your father is an asshole that let you down when your mother died...”

“Don't you dare talking about my mother, understood?”

“Wow, relax. Promise. Wow, taboo. Okay, I'll remember that. So,” he pursued after a small pause, “your dad does some bad shit, you didn't like that shit so you started to do your own shit and your ways are parted now, Kubica.”

“My mom used to call me like that,” she whispered, body slowly becoming less and less tense. “Who are you?”

“Guardian angel, wanker, asshole billionaire... Names are countless, depends of the people you're asking. But mostly, I'm a ghost.”

“You fucking kidding me,” she erected while looking at him from head to toe.

“Well, technically, in the records, I'm dead. But, really, I'm not. Can you believe how simple it is to fake your own death?”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Exactly,” he said as if she cared. “And then comes the fun part of being dead: you can do whatever you want. Heard about the big Coup, Murat Alimov, Rovach Alimov?” She only nodded. “Our job. We did it.”

“We? I thought you were alone.”

“We'll make the introductions later if you don't mind Sasha. But, well, we have another touchy touchy mission and we'd need a good driver so...”

“I'm working for Piotr,” she interrupted him harshly. “I'm loyal.”

“I know, discipline and shit but like... We really need you? Pretty please?”

“You have plenty of drivers in the sea, go and fish for them.”

“No many drivers are Kubica and look like an angel.”

“I said I'm loyal. Now leave or I'll blow your head.”

“Wouldn't you like to piss your father off even a tiny bit little more? Imagine him learning that you're dead, and you know, he's a motherfucker basically, he fucks around now... You'll be able to do some nasty things to that immoral motherfucker without being punished for it. Total freedom. Piotr can't guarantee that, but I can.”

He got her.

“I'll listen to you.”

She became Eight. She died in a car accident, suicide as the media said. She drove directly into the Odra, from the golden bridge right into it. Big scandal for the media, as they found the big Polish billionaire's daughter dead – in fact they never found her body, only the car – after years of searching for her. Daddy was very concerned, he cried his eyes out during the funeral. From afar, she saw Piotr attending the funeral, along with some of her mafia's friends. Magda stood next to Piotr, holding his hand, while she sobbed with puffy eyes. Sasha's heart was ready to stop as she saw this girl crying for her, she would cry for her too if it was her funeral. But now, Sasha was dead. Eight was born.

“No shit, your dad's a fucking actor,” One commented, standing next to her in the snow.

Already January. Snow fell during Christmas Eve, the day she spent with Maga watching stupid Polish movies and drinking cheap wine from the shop around the corner. Her last Christmas. The bare trees carried now a large amount of snow on their branches, sometimes falling off. Anna liked snow, she would miss it in California. She would miss her country, she would miss the food, she would miss everything. She would miss her language. But she should be able to make it, for her mom right?

“My father's a fucking asshole who knows how to cover up his fucking deeds,” she replied. “I don't wanna see this masquerade or whatever, we should go.”

“Wow, the last time somebody told me that they wanted to go and not watch their own funeral was... Right now,” he admitted. “Even Two wanted to watch it until the end. But fine, we'll have plenty of time to discuss our next move with the Ghosts.”

“Let's go then. I hope you have nice cars in the US.”

He smiled, not answering. That was a yes.

She slept during half of the flight, they arrived around noon, time to sleep in Poland, still early in the morning. She rubbed her eyes, siting next to One in the pilot's cabin. The engine was still roaring as they landed safely on the yellowish sand. This was too early for any shit like this, she thought as she grabbed her sport bag in which all her belongings were stuffed. Some comfy clothes, the keys of the cars that died with her and a picture of her mom and her, hidden between all these matters. One forbid taking too personal stuff, he agreed for the keys though, but she needed her mother with her. Just to feel like home.

She instantly regretted putting on a sweater when she stepped outside the engine. She felt drops of sweat run on her back, she knew she was absolutely sweaty right now; the only thing that reassured her was that she put a tank top under all of this. Life saver. She followed One's steps in the sand, sleepy as hell, wishing for a bed and a shower just to function properly. They landed in the middle of abandoned planes, in the middle of nowhere, in a Californian desert. Great, she was dead and lost. Was it all worth it, she asked herself as she followed one into one of the planes with a large ghost imprinted on it.

There were the others, the five others. They didn't even flinch when she entered the room with One, doing what they had to do. She looked all around her, the atmosphere was oppressive because of the lack of lighting, some neon green lights escaped from the monitors some of them worked on, stale smell spread all around the “room”. One clapped and all their heads rose, all eyes on Sasha, Eight, now. They scrutinized her, and she scrutinized them as they all gathered around them. It was like a cult welcoming a new member. She got shivers down her spine, tightening her grip around her bag. A short brunette holding folders against her chest was now standing in front of them, next to her a black man with a gun in his hand; a cold blonde looked at them and slowly made her way up to them, next to a man sitting on a chair in front of a computer. And the last one,a blond man with a hoodie jumped over the table to find himself near, standing now next to the brunette. Great picture, the Power Rangers, she thought.

“Please welcome Eight, our new driver,” One said the group as they all looked at her. “No hugs, no kisses, she's a Kubica, no paparazzi or whatever.”

“Kubica,” the blond man whispered, catching Sasha's attention before the man sitting stood up and interrupted him.

“Welcome Eight, I'm Three. Was a hitman, now I'm a good hitman,” he precised with a finger up as the blonde who was standing next to him rolled her eyes.

“Shut up”, she cut him off as he looked offended.

“Ay, mami why are you so nasty with me?”

“I'm Two, former French FBI agent,” she pursued ignoring the man's whining.

“Clear and precise,” Sasha commented under her breath, already amazed by the woman. “Nice to meet you.”

“Five, former doctor in a Mexican hospital,” the brunette said with a welcoming smile. “It will always be a pleasure to heal your wound. Hope you won't move as much as Two when I try to do my magic.”

“Shut up,” Two groaned.

“Seven, sniper,” the black man introduced himself after putting the gun on the table and coming to shake her hand. “Hope you drive smoothly so I can give head shots from the car window.”

“I'll try my best,” she shyly answered while knowing she could do it. She actually did it sometimes as Piotr's men were having a hard time.

“Four, skywalker,” the hooded man said looking at her with his green eyes. “If you wanna watch a movie or something like that, just hit me up,” he continued as he ran his hand through his hair after putting down his hoodie. His curly blond hair was all messy, was he trying to comb it with his fingers?

“Thanks,” Sasha replied with a little smile. “So, I'm Eight, mafia's driver.”

“Liar,” Three commented, “not with this pretty face of yours.”

“You'd be surprised,” One interrupted as he patted Three's shoulder. “That girl has exceptional skills.”

“Six had exceptional skills too,” Two remarked, arms crossed now. “Didn't prevent his death.”

“Will we wallow for a long time, mourn and stuff like this,” One asked while looking at her. “He died a hero, that's it. We all knew what the mission was about and accepted possible death. Period as millennials say.”

“Period,” Two asked. “That's not the women's thing?”

“Dot if you prefer,” Sasha could hear One's sigh as he answered, but Two wasn't convinced. “Whatever, Eight's our new driver and that's it.”

“He promised some nice cars,” Sasha tried to say, but only Five seemed to listen to her.

“He's a liar, we had a horrible car in Hong Kong, not practical at all,” the brunette told her, as she seemed to bite her lip.

“Not practical,” Three added almost yelling.

“Whose fault? Whose,” One reproached him. “Okay, now we're finished with our complaints, Five, take Eight to her trailer please, it's the one next to yours. And Eight, make yourself at home.”

#6 underground #four #four ben hardy #6 underground ben hardy #four x oc #four x reader #four!ben #billy #ben hardy imagine #6 underground spoilers #fanfiction #fanfic

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dillydedalus · 3 years

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january reading

why does january always feel like it’s 3 months long. anyway here’s what i read in january, feat. poison experts with ocd, ants in your brain, old bolsheviks getting purged, and mountweazels.

city of lies, sam hawke (poison wars #1) this is a perfectly nice fantasy novel about jovan, who serves as essentially a secret guard against poisoning for his city state’s heir and is forced to step up when his uncle (also a secret poison guard) and the ruler are both killed by an unknown poison AND also the city is suddenly under a very creepy siege (are these events related? who knows!) this is all very fine & entertaining & there are some fun ideas, but also... the main character has ocd and SAME HAT SAME HAT. also like the idea of having a very important, secret and potentially fatal job that requires you to painstakingly test everything the ruler/heir is consuming WHILE HAVING OCD is like... such a deliciously sadistic concept. amazing. 3/5

my heart hemmed in, marie ndiaye (translated from french by jordan stump) a strange horror-ish tale in which two married teachers, bastions of upper-middle-class respectability and taste, suddenly find themselves utterly despised by everyone around them, escalating until the husband is seriously injured. through several very unexpected twists, it becomes clear that the couple’s own contempt for anyone not fitting into their world and especially nadia’s hostility and shame about her (implied to be northern african) ancestry is the reason for their pariah status. disturbing, surprising, FUCKED UP IF TRUE (looking back, i no longer really know what i mean by that). 4/5

xenogenesis trilogy (dawn/adulthood rites/imago), octavia e. butler octavia butler is incapable of writing anything uninteresting and while i don’t always completely vibe with her stuff, it’s always fascinating & thought-provoking. this series combines some of her favourite topics (genetic manipulation, alien/human reproduction, what is humanity) into a tale of an alien species, the oankali, saving some human survivors from the apocalypse and beginning a gene-trading project with them, integrating them into their reproductive system and creating mixed/’construct’ generations with traits from both species. and like, to me, this was uncomfortably into the biology = destiny thing & didn’t really question the oankali assertion that humans were genetically doomed to hierarchical behaviour & aggression (& also weirdly straight for a book about an alien species with 3 genders that engages in 5-partner-reproduction with humans), so that angle fell flat for me for the most part, altho i suppose i do agree that embracing change, even change that comes at a cost, is better than clinging to an unsustainable (& potentially destructive) purity. where i think the series is most interesting is in its exploration of consent and in how far consent is possible in extremely one-sided power dynamics (curiously, while the oankali condemn and seem to lack the human drive for hierarchy, they find it very easy to abuse their position of power & violate boundaries & never question the morality of this. in this, the first book, focusing on a human survivor first encountering the oankali and learning of their project, is the most interesting, as lilith as a human most explicitly struggles with her position - would her consent be meaningful? can she even consent when there is a kind of biochemical dependence between humans and their alien mates? the other two books, told from the perspectives of lilith’s constructed/mixed children, continue discussing themes of consent, autonomy and power dynamics, but i found them less interesting the further they moved from human perspectives. on the whole: 2.5/5

love & other thought experiments, sophie ward man, we love a pierre menard reference. anyway. this is a novel in stories, each based (loosely) on a thought experiment, about (loosely) a lesbian couple and their son arthur, illness and grief, parenthood, love, consciousness and perception, alternative universes, and having an ant in your brain. it is thoroughly delightful & clever, but goes for warmth and humanity (or ant-ity) over intellectual games (surprising given that it is all about thought experiments - but while they are a nice structuring device i don’t think they add all that much). i haven’t entirely worked out my feelings about the ending and it’s hard to discuss anyway given the twists and turns this takes, but it's a whole lot of fun. 4/5

a general theory of oblivion, josé eduardo agualusa (tr. from portuguese by daniel hahn) interesting little novel(la) set in angola during and after the struggle for independence, in which a portuguese woman, ludo, with extreme agoraphobia walls herself into her apartment to avoid the violence and chaos (but also just... bc she has agoraphobia) with a involving a bunch of much more active characters and how they are connected to her to various degrees. i didn’t like the sideplot quite as much as ludo’s isolation in her walled-in flat with her dog, catching pigeons on the balcony and writing on the walls. 3/5

cassandra at the wedding, dorothy baker phd student cassandra returns home attend (sabotage) her twin sister judith’s wedding to a young doctor whose name she refuses to remember, believing that her sister secretly wants out. cass is a mess, and as a shift to judith’s perspective reveals, definitely wrong about what judith wants and maybe a little delusional, but also a ridiculously compelling narrator, the brilliant but troubled contrast to judith’s safer conventionality. on the whole, cassandra’s narrative voice is the strongest feature of a book i otherwise found a bit slow & a bit heavy on the quirky family. fav line is when cass, post-character-development, plans to “take a quick look at [her] dumb thesis and see if it might lead to something less smooth and more revolting, or at least satisfying more than the requirements of the University”. 3/5

the office of historical corrections, danielle evans a very solid collection of realist short stories (+ the titular novella), mainly dealing with racism, (black) womanhood, relationships between women, and anticolonial/antiracist historiography. while i thought all the stories were well-done and none stood out as weak or an unnecessary inclusion, there also weren’t any that really stood out to me. 3/5

sonnenfinsternis, arthur koestler (english title: darkness at noon) (audio) you know what’s cool about this book? when i added it to my goodreads tbr in 2012, i would have had to read it in translation as the german original was lost during koestler’s escape from the nazis, but since then, the original has been rediscovered and republished. yet another proof that leaving books on your tbr for ages is a good thing actually. anyway. this is a story about the stalinist purges, told thru old bolshevik rubashov, who, after serving the Party loyally for years & doing his fair share of selling people out for the Party, is arrested for ~oppositional activities. in jail and during his interrogations, rubashov reflects on the course the Party has taken and his own part (and guilt) in that, and the way totalitarianism has eaten up and poisoned even the most commendable ideals the Party once held (and still holds?), the course of history and at what point the end no longer justifies the means. it’s brilliant, rubashov is brilliant and despicable, i’m very happy it was rediscovered. 5/5

heads of the colored people, nafissa thompson-spires another really solid short story collection, also focused on the experiences of black people in america (particularly the black upper-middle class), black womanhood and black relationships, altho with a somewhat more satirical tone than danielle evans’s collection. standouts for me were the story in letters between the mothers of the only black girls at a private school, a story about a family of fruitarians, and a story about a girl who fetishises her disabled boyfriend(s). 3.5/5

pedro páramo, juan rulfo (gernan transl. by dagmar ploetz) mexican classic about a rich and abusive landowner (the titular pedro paramo) and the ghost town he leaves behind - quite literally, as, when his son tries to find his father, the town is full of people, quite ready to talk shit about pedro, but they are all dead. it’s an interesting setting with occasionally vivid writing, but the skips in time and character were kind of confusing and i lost my place a lot. i’d be interested in reading rulfo’s other major work, el llano en llamas. 2.5/5

verse für zeitgenossen, mascha kaléko short collection of the poems kaléko, a jewish german poet, wrote while in exile in the united states in the 30-40s, as well as some poems written after the end of ww2. kaléko’s voice is witty, but at turns also melancholy or satirical. as expected i preferred the pieces that directly addressed the experience of exile (”sozusagen ein mailied” is one of my favourite exillyrik pieces). 3/5

the harpy, megan hunter yeah this was boooooooring. the cover is really cool & the premise sounded intriguing (women gets cheated on, makes deal with husband that she is allowed to hurt him three times in revenge, women is also obsessed with harpies: female revenge & female monsters is my jam) but it’s literally so dull & trying so hard to be deep. 1.5/5

the liar’s dictionary, eley williams this is such a delightful book, from the design (those marbled endpapers? yes) to the preface (all about what a dictionary is/could be), to the chapter headings (A-Z words, mostly relating to lies, dishonesty, etc in some way or another, containing at least one fictitious entry), to the dual plots (intern at new edition of a dictionary in contemporary england checking the incomplete old dictionary for mountweazels vs 1899 london with the guy putting the mountweazels in), to williams’s clear joy about words and playing with them. there were so many lines that made me think about how to translate them, which is always a fun exercise. 3.5/5

catherine the great & the small, olja knežević (tr. from montenegrin by ellen elias-bursać, paula gordon) coming-of-age-ish novel about katarina from montenegro, who grows up in titograd/podgorica and belgrad in the 70s/80s, eventually moving to london as an adult. to be honest while there are some interesting aspects in how this portrays yugoslavia and conflicts between the different parts of yugoslavia, i mostly found this a pretty sloggy slog of misery without much to emotionally connect to, which is sad bc i was p excited for it :(. 2/5

the decameron project: 29 new stories from the pandemic, anthology a collection of short stories written during covid lockdown (and mostly about covid/lockdown in some way). they got a bunch of cool authors, including margaret atwood, edwidge danticat, rachel kushner ... it’s an interesting project and the stories are mostly pretty good, but there wasn’t one that really stood out to me as amazing. i also kinda wish more of the stories had diverged more from covid/lockdown thematically bc it got a lil repetitive tbh. 2/5

#the books i read #long post #sonnenfinsternis is so good the audiobook nearly made me cry in the supermarket

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The Milwaukee Cannibal

Timeline of events

1960′s

May 21, 1960: Jeffery Lionel Dahmer was born in Milwaukee’s Evangelical Deaconess Hospital to his parents Lionel and Joyce after a very difficult pregnancy. According to Lionel, Joyce experienced random bouts of paralysis during the pregnancy, and doctors were unable to find any reason for this. To try and treat this and mostly to calm her during, she was given “injections of barbiturates and morphine, which would finally relax her.” She would apparently also be given phenobarbital.

We know now that the “Use of barbiturates during pregnancy has been associated with a higher incidence of fetal abnormalities. Neonatal barbiturate withdrawal symptoms have been reported in infants whose mothers took barbiturates during pregnancy,” but we don't know for sure if this applied to Jeffrey.

1962: The family made the decision to move to Ames, Iowa in 1962 so that Lionel could work on his Chemistry Ph.D.

1964: After their young son complained of extreme pain, Lionel and Joyce took Jeffrey to the hospital, were he was diagnosed with a brutal double hernia in his scrotum. Even after the surgery corrected the issue, Lionel would claim that this experience was what initially triggered the change in Jeffrey’s personality, apparently making him become much more shy and withdrawn. Psychologists believe that there is a possibility that this could actually have influenced his feelings of sexual inadequacy and insecurity in later life.

November 1966: When Joyce fell pregnant with her second child David, the family decided to move home in an attempt to find the perfect spot to raise their two children. This led to several moved throughout Ohio during the following year. This was not an easy time for the family, Joyce was struggling with another very difficult pregnancy, and young Jeffrey, who was now in the 1st grade, was starting to feel neglected, especially after David was born on December 18th.

Of course feeling neglected when a new baby comes along is a fairly common thing, but unlike most children, Jeffrey would not get over this feeling, instead it would get worse. Lionel describes his son at this time as extremely shy and withdrawn, even going as far as t say that he was terrified of new people and situations.

1968: After the family moved to Bath Ohio, Jeffrey experienced a new and particularly heinous kind of trauma. According to Lionel, Jeffrey was molested by a boy in the neighbourhood, however Jeffrey never once admitted to even remembering this.

It seems likely that Jeffrey repressed this memory, especially since his personality ticks pretty much every box when it comes to the traits that come with childhood memory repression:

Strong reactions to certain places people and situations.

Difficulty controlling emotions.

Difficulty keeping a job.

Struggling with a sense of abandonment.

Immaturity.

Tendency to self sabotage.

Impulsive.

Emotionally exhausted.

Anxiety.

Trouble with anger management.

1970′s

Late 1970: Over the last few years, Joyce had, according to Lionel, been taking drugs in order to try and deal with the extreme anxiety that she was facing on a near daily basis, but they didn't really work, and in the late 1970′s she was actually institutionalised twice for ‘psychiatric problems’. Since the family were so busy trying to take care of Joyce and raise their very young son, Jeffrey reportedly did not have a stabilising influence, or much emotional support.

This combined with the fact that he had grown tired of not fitting in led Jeffrey to build himself a reputation as somewhat of a clown, and a misfit. His behaviour at that time is very similar to that of fellow serial killer and cannibal Arthur Shawcross, he would drink heavily at just 10 years old and was always pulling ‘pranks’. Jeffreys pranks including randomly shouting, bleating like a sheep, and most memorably, faking epileptic fits.

June 4, 1978: By the time that Jeffrey had graduated from high school, his parents were going through a very difficult divorce and due to the fact that he was now legally an adult, he was actually living by himself in the home while his parents and brother lived elsewhere. Jeffrey had less emotional support than ever before and all the freedom in the world.

June 18, 1978: 19 year old Steven Mark Hicks was hitchhiking when Jeffrey drove by him and stopped, suggesting that he come back to his home for a few beers. Hicks agreed and the two went back to the house and began to drink, everything was going fine, until Hicks tried to leave. It is believed that Jeffreys crippling fears of abandonment kicked in and he flipped. He grabbed a barbell and began to club and then strangle Hicks with the weapon. According to Dahmer, over the next few weeks (!) Jeffrey stripped the flesh from the bones using acid (like he apparently had to a whole host of animals previously) smashed the bones and disposed of the remains in his back yard.

Dahmer would later claim that he had killed Hicks because he didn't wat him to leave. This reasoning would later be corroborated by at least one survivor of Jeffreys attack, claiming that Jeffreys entire personality changed when he mentioned wanting to leave. This reasoning isn't difficult to believe when you consider the lack of parental support, tendency to move, and I believe most noticeably his memory repression

After his high school graduation Dahmer enrolled in Ohio State University but he stayed only one term before dropping out.

December 24, 1978: Lionel remarried.

December 29, 1978: Jeffrey was trained as an army medic and shipped of to Baumholder Germany. This happened not long after the Vietnam war, and morale and discipline was at an all time low within the armed forces at the time, and drug and alcohol abuse amongst the soldiers was rife.

Dahmer’s reputation changed once he joined the army, he was no longer known as a clown an a prankster, but as an aggressive drunk.

(Interesting side note, after his arrest police actually looked into murders in the area were he was stationed to see if he was active while he was there, and there did appear to be a serial killer in Baumholder at the time, but it is not believed to be Jeffrey since it was young women being killed, and as far as is known, Jeffrey only killed men.)

1980′s

March 26, 1981: When Jeffreys drinking reached the level were he was no longer able to do his job, he was discharged from the army and sent back to the US. When he got back, he slept on the beach in Florida for a few months before returning to Ohio.

October 7, 1981: Dahmer was arrested for a drunk and disorderly and resisting arrest and paid a small fine.

August 7, 1982: Dahmer was arrested again for another drunk and disorderly. He dropped his pants in public. By this point in his life Jeffrey had moved in with his grandma, who was apparently the only person in his family who actually showed Jeffrey any affection.

September 8, 1986: By this time, Jeffrey had gone off the rails, and was getting himself into trouble pretty often. He was arrested once again for exposing himself to a group of children in Milwaukee. There are two different accounts of what happened at that time, (he was either urinating or masturbating).

Dahmer was also now frequenting gay bars and bath houses often, and actually got himself banned from one bath house, for drugging at least 4 men. No official charges were filed against him, but one of his victims was hospitalised for about a week.

September 15, 1987: According to Jeffrey, he woke up in a hotel room to find the dead body of 24 year old Steven W. Tuomi. He transported the corpse to his grandmothers home in a large suitcase, disposing of the body pretty much as he had Steven Hicks.

Nine years passed between the murders of Hicks and Tuomi, which is pretty unusual for a serial killer to do. He spent years before this second murder working his way up to it, learning how to pick up men, how to drug them, and how much. We still don't know for sure whether or not Jeffrey actually remembers the murder or not. It is possible that he was just too drunk to remember, or that, like he had for earlier trauma, he repressed the memory. I personally find it like likely that the latter is true to be honest, as it seems strange to me that he would admit to all his other crimes and not this one. Also, Jeffrey would later say that he didn't actually enjoy the killings, and that there were a necessary evil in order for him to get the bodies.

January 1988: Jeffrey offered 14 year old James Doxtator some money if he agreed to pose nude for some photos. After James agreed Jeffrey took the teenager back to his grandmothers house. After raping James (Dahmer described it as sex but James was still a child so it was actually rape) Dahmer drugged and then strangled the boy. By now his method of disposal, acid and crushing bones was well practiced.

March 24, 1988: 25 year old Richard Guerrero also came back to Jeffreys grandmothers house, once again for nude photos, and once again after sex, he drugged and strangled the young man.

September 25, 1988: Jeffrey finally moved into his own place, which is where the pace of his crimes really picked up, since he no longer felt he needed to be careful, he once again had all the freedom that he wanted.

Once he moved in, he met a 13 year old boy, who was once again offered money to pose nude for him. Jeffrey drugged the boy sing coffee and fondled him, but luckily the young boy escaped.

January 1989: Jeffrey was arrested and this time charged with 2nd degree sexual assault and enticing a child for immoral purposes.

March 25: Dahmer met Anthony Sears, 24, at a club, and like he had previously he drugged and murdered him after sex. After Dahmers arrest, Sear’s skull was recovered from Dahmer’s apartment. He had painted the skull.

May 23rd: Jeffrey was sentenced to 5 years and three years, for his attack on that 13 year old boy, but he only served 10 months before he was out on a probationary period of 5 years.

1990

May 29: Dahmer met 33 year old Ricky Beeks at a club, and used his usual MO of bribing, drugging and strangling. However this time Jeffrey had sex after he was dead, instead of before. Once again, Jeffrey had painted the mans skull, which was recovered after his arrest.

June 1990: 28 year old Edward W Smith was killed in the same way as Dahmer's previous victims, but this time Dahmer did one thing different. Jeffrey took photos of the dismemberment process.

September 2: Something changed before the murder of 24 year old Ernest Miller, causing Jeffrey to be even more gruesome than he had been previously. Instead of drugging and strangling Ernest like he had his previous victims, he drugged him and cut his throat. Once again taking pictures of the body, Jeffrey dismembered the body, putting the biceps in the freezer, and once again painting his skull.

September 24: David C Thomas was the first time that Jeffrey killed somebody without sex being involved. It is believed that David wanted to leave before having sex with Dahmer, since Dahmer was known to kill his victims in order to make sure that they couldn't leave.

1991

March 7: Curtis Straughter was 18 years old when he was murdered, with Jeffrey this time using a different sequence of events. Previously he had had sex with his victims then drugged and killed them, and at least once he had drugged and killed them and then had sex, but this time he drugged Curtis before raping and murdering him. It is likely that this change was due to the fact that Jeffreys last victim had wanted to leave prior to sex.

April 7: Errol Lindsey, 19, last seen alive. Dahmer met him on the street and offered him money to come home with him. He drugged Lindsey, strangled him and had sex with the body. The unpainted skull was recovered from Dahmer's apartment.

May 17: 14 year old Konerak Sinthasomphone was pickes up by Dahmer outside of the mall, he went with Jeffrey under the promise of money for nude pictures. After drugging the boy Jeffrey apparently felt pretty comfortable, ince he left the home to go out for a beer. The boy managed to escape, naked, and the neighbours called the police. Somehow however Jeffrey managed to convince the police that responded that he and the teenager were simply lovers who had had a fight (I don't know how they could be so stupid, this is a drugged child and a 30 year old with a pretty lengthy criminal record, including the sexual assault of a minor?! Like how do you just let that be?!) and the police actually RETURNED the poor boy to the sick serial killer. Dahmer strangled the 14 year old as soon as the police were gone, had sex with the body and then took pictures like he had previously. Konerak’s skull was also recovered from the apartment.

Once people actually discovered what had happened the officers involved received mild disciplinary action (which is nowhere near enough) and the department was sued.

May 24: Deaf and mute 31 year old Tony Hughes had reportedly known Dahmer for about 2 years when Dahmer, by writing on paper, offered the man $50 to come and pose nude for him. Hughes was drugged and murdered without sex. Once again Hughes skull was found in Jeffreys apartment.

June 30: Matt turner was killed by Jeffrey after a gay pride parade. After cutting the body up the head was put in the freezer and the rest was put into a barrel of acid.

July 6: 23 year old Jeremiah Weinberger travelled with Dahmer from Chicago to Milwaukee where he then stayed overnight. Like the previous cases, everything was fine until Jeremiah decided that he wanted to leave, at which point Dahmer drugged, killed and disposed of the young mans body.

July 15: Jeffrey was fired from the Ambrosia Chocolate Co. for bad attendance.

On this same day Oliver Lacy, 23, was killed by Dahmer. Jeffrey had sex with the body before dismembering it, at which point he put his head In the fridge and heart in the freezer “to eat later”.

July 16: Joseph Bradehoft, 25, met Jeffrey at a bus stop, where Dahmer offered him money to pose for nude pictures. After sex, Dahmer drugged him and strangled him with a strap. He dismembered the body and, as before, put the head in the freezer and the body in the acid barrel.

July 22, 1991: Shortly after midnight, Tracy Edwards, 32, escaped from Dahmer with one hand in a handcuff and flagged down a police car. He lead the cops back to Dahmer's apartment. They found photos of dismembered victims and body parts in the refrigerator and freezer. Shortly, the sight of crews in biohazard protection suits taking evidence out of Dahmer's apartment was televised all over the world. The suits were necessary because of the smell of decay in the apartment and because of the acid in the barrel.

Caught red-handed, with overwhelming physical evidence against him, it's not surprising that Jeffrey confessed. His dry, unemotional descriptions of murdering a dozen and a half young men belied the reality of brutality and sadism that was revealed in Tracy Edwards' testimony.

It's possible that the sameness of the descriptions (Offers of money to pose, drugs to knock them out) was not entirely accurate. Tracy Edwards claimed he was not offered money, that he only went to Dahmer's apartment for some beers before going out again. He may have been covering up his own indiscretion, or Dahmer may have lied about the ways he lured people back to his apartment in order to make them seem less like innocent victims.

Edwards was drugged, but did not lose consciousness. This raises the possibility that the sedatives Dahmer gave victims were intended only to weaken them, while leaving them aware of what was being done to them. Dahmer had certainly had enough practice by then to have a good idea what dose was needed to knock a man out. Dahmer may have enjoyed taunting the victims about their fate and killing them, slowly, much more than he let on later.

Dahmer also claimed that he needed to drink heavily in order to be able to face killing people, but we know that he was a hard-core alcoholic for much of his life. For him, making excuses for drinking was normal and can not be regarded as likely to be honest.

1992

January 14: Dahmer entered a plea of guilty but insane in 15 of the 17 murders he claimed to have committed.

February 15: By 10-2 majority vote, a jury found Dahmer to be sane in each murder. Testimony from defense and prosecution experts took weeks and was extremely gruesome. One expert testified that Dahmer periodically removed body parts of his victims from the freezer and ate them. Another testified that this was a lie Dahmer told to make himself seem insane. The jury deliberated slightly more than ten hours.

February 17: Dahmer was sentenced to 15 consecutive life terms. At the sentencing, Dahmer read a prepared statement in which he expressed sorrow for the pain he had caused.

"I knew I was sick or evil or both. Now I believe I was sick. The doctors have told me about my sickness and now I have some peace. I know now how much harm I have caused. I tried to do the best I could after the arrest to make amends."

"I now know I will be in prison the rest of my life. I know that I will have to turn to God to help me get through each day. I should have stayed with God. I tried and failed and created a holocaust. Thank God there will be no more harm that I can do. I believe that only the Lord Jesus Christ can save me from my sins."

He later pled guilty to aggravated murder in Ohio, in the death of his first victim, Steven Hicks. He was sentenced to life in prison without parole.

November 28, 1994: Dahmer murdered in prison. Dahmer and two other inmates were assigned to clean the staff bathroom of the Columbia Correctional Institute gymnasium in Portage, Wisconsin. Guards left them alone to do their work for about twenty minutes, starting at around 7:50 a.m. When Dahmer was discovered, he was unconscious and his head and face were bloody. He died on the way to the hospital from multiple skull fractures and brain trauma.

A bloody broom handle was found near Dahmer, but a broom is probably not sturdy enough to inflict the damage that killed him. Reports in December indicated that he was struck with a steel bar stolen from the prison weight room.

One of the other two inmates in the area with Dahmer was also attacked. Jesse Anderson, 37, was pronounced dead in the hospital at 10:04 a.m. on November 30. Anderson was convicted of stabbing and beating his wife to death in 1992. He was serving a life term.

The third inmate in the work party is twenty-five-year-old Christopher Scarver, a convicted murderer reportedly taking anti-psychotic medication. Scarver murdered a coworker when he was angry at his boss. The boss got away. Scarver claimed his boss was a racist and there has been speculation that Scarver, who is black, wanted revenge for the wrongs Dahmer and Anderson (both white) had done to black people. The majority of Dahmer's victims were black. Anderson tried to blame two fictitious black men for murdering his wife during a mugging. It's been pointed out that a desire for publicity or status may have also been a motive.

Dahmer was attacked the previous July, also. A convicted drug dealer tried to cut his throat with a razor blade attached to a toothbrush handle, making a crude straight razor, but the weapon fell apart. Dahmer, received minimal injuries.

Scarver is said to have delusions that he is Christ. He has been in psychiatrict observation and treatment several times, with diagnoses of bi-polar disorder and schizophrenia. He was found guilty of the murder, though, and sent to prison. A jury apparently did not believe he was insane.

#true facts #true crime #true #crime / law / justice #major crimes #murder #murderer #Murderpedia #serial killer #killer #the milwaukee cannibal #milwaukee #cannibalism #jeffrey dahmer #dahmer #timeline #criminal justice

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