#what can I say. the Sherlock thing seemed appropriate

[denimbex1986]

We are lucky to be alive in the age of Andrew Scott, an actor of extraordinary breadth, skill and sensitivity, who can terrify as Jim Moriarty in Sherlock, make us fall in love (inappropriately) as the hot priest in Fleabag and cry in All of Us Strangers. He can also astonish, last year playing eight parts in a stage adaptation of Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya. He recently became the first actor to win the UK Critics’ Circle awards for best actor on stage and screen in the same year. And his latest project, Ripley, is a beautiful and chilling adaptation of the Patricia Highsmith novel The Talented Mr Ripley, with Scott playing the lead, dominating all eight one-hour episodes. It’s been a wild, crowning year for the 47-year-old Irish actor. But in March his mother, Nora, died of a sudden illness; she is who Scott has credited as being his foremost creative inspiration. His grief is fresh and intense and for the first half of the interview it seems to swim just beneath the surface of our conversation.

“We go through so many different types of emotional weather all the time,” he says. “And even on the saddest day of your life you might be hungry or have a laugh. Life just continues.” We are in a meeting room in his management company’s offices, talking about his ability, in his work, to modulate between emotions, to go from happy to sad, confused to scared, all within a matter of seconds. How does he do it? Scott laughs. “I would say that I have quite a scrutable face — is scrutable a word? — which is good or bad depending on what you are trying to achieve. But my job is to be as truthful as possible in the way that we are, and I don’t think that human beings are just one thing at any particular time. It is rare that we have one pure emotion.”

It’s an approach that is particularly appropriate for the playing of Tom Ripley, an acquisitive chameleon who inveigles his way into the lives of others (in this case Johnny Flynn, as the careless and wealthy Dickie Greenleaf, and his on-off girlfriend Marge, played by Dakota Fanning). “Ripley is witty, he is very talented. That’s gripping, to watch talent. I can’t call him evil — it is very easy to call people who do terrible things evil monsters, but they are not monsters, they are humans who do terrible things. Part of what she [Highsmith] is talking about is that if you dismiss a certain faction of society it has repercussions, and Ripley is someone who is completely unseen, he lives literally among the rats, and then there are these people who are gorgeous and not particularly talented and have the world at their feet but are not able to see the beauty that he can see.”

The show was written and directed by Steven Zaillian, the screenwriter of Schindler’s List. It’s set in Sixties New York and Italy, and filmed entirely in black-and-white, its chiaroscuro aesthetic evoking films of the Sixties — particularly those of Federico Fellini — while also offering an alternative to Anthony Minghella’s saturated late-Nineties iteration that starred Matt Damon and Jude Law. This has a darker flavour. “I found it challenging,” Scott says, “in the sense that he’s a solitary figure and ideologically we are very different. So you have to remove your judgment and try to find something that is vulnerable.”

It was a tough shoot, taking a year and filmed during lockdown. Scott was exhausted at the end of it and had intended to take a three-month break, but delays meant that he went straight from Ripley into All of Us Strangers. “Even though I was genuinely exhausted, it was energising because I was back in London, I was getting the Tube to work, there was sunshine,” he says. “I found it incredibly heartful, that film, there were so many different versions of love … I feel that all stories are love stories.”

All of Us Strangers, directed by Andrew Haigh, is about a screenwriter examining memories of his parents who died when he was 12. In it Scott’s character, Adam, returns to his family home, where his parents are still alive and as they were back in the Eighties. Adam is able to walk into the memory and to come out to his parents, finding the words that were unavailable to him as a boy. Some of it was filmed in Haigh’s childhood home, and there was a strong biographical element for him and his lead. Homosexuality was illegal in the Republic of Ireland until 1993, when Scott was 16. He did not come out to his parents until he was in his early twenties. I ask if he was working with his own childhood experiences in the film. “Of course, so in a sense it was painful, to a degree, but it was cathartic because you are doing it with people that you absolutely love and trust. I felt that it was going to be of use to people and I was right, it has been. The reaction to the movie has been genuinely extraordinary — it makes people feel and see things, and that isn’t an easy thing to achieve.”

The film is also a tender and erotic love story between Scott’s character and Harry, played by the Irish actor Paul Mescal. The two found a real-life kinship that made them a delight to watch on screen and off it, as a double act on the awards circuit. “I adore Paul, he’s so, so … continues to be …” Scott pauses. “Obviously it’s been a tough time recently and he just continues to be a wonderful friend. It’s everything. The more I work in the industry, I realise, you make some stuff that people love and you make some stuff that people don’t like, and all really that you are left with is the relationships that you make. I love him dearly.”

Scott and Mescal were also both notable on the red carpet for being extraordinarily well dressed. Scott loves fashion and has a big, well-organised wardrobe that he admits is in need of a cull. “I don’t like having too much stuff. I really believe that everything we have is borrowed — our stuff, our houses, we are borrowing it for a time. So I am trying to think of people who are the same size as me so I can give some of it away, and that’s a great thing to be able to do.” One of his favourite labels is Simone Rocha. “I love a bit of Simone Rocha. What a kind, glorious person she is. I just went to her show.” Fashion, he says, is in his DNA. “My mother was an art teacher, she was obsessed with all sorts of design. She loved jewellery and jewellery design. Anything that is visual, tactile, painting, drawing, is a big passion of mine, so I have tremendous respect for the creativity of designers.”

Today Scott is wearing Louis Vuitton trousers and a cropped Prada jacket, dressed up because he is collecting his Critics’ Circle award for best stage actor for Vanya. I ask how it feels to have won the double, a historic achievement. “Ah …” he says, looking at the table, going silent, having just been so voluble. “I’m sorry …” His voice cracks a little. “It’s bittersweet.”

At the ceremony Scott dedicated the award to his mother, saying of her “she was the source of practically every joyful thing in my life”. Is it difficult for him to carry on working in the circumstances, I wonder. “Well, you know, you have to — life goes on, you manage it day by day. It’s very recent, but I certainly can say that so much of it is surprising and unique, and there is so much that I will be able to speak about at some point.”

He is looking forward, he says, once promotion for Ripley is over, to taking some time off, going on holiday, going back to Ireland for a bit. He has homes in London and Dublin. To relax he walks his dog, a Boston terrier, dressed down in jeans and a hoodie “like a 12-year-old, skulking around the city” or goes to art galleries on the South Bank — he was considering a career as an artist until he was 17 and got a part in the Irish film Korea. He goes to the gym every day, “not, you know, to get …” he says, flexing his biceps. “More that it’s good for the head.” He is social, likes friends, likes a party. When I ask if he gave up drinking while doing Vanya, which required him to be on stage, alone, every night for almost two hours, he looks horrified. “Oh God, no! Easy tiger! Jesus … Although I didn’t drink much, I did have to look after myself. But we had a room downstairs in the theatre, a little buzzy bar, because otherwise I wouldn’t see anybody, so I was delighted to have people come down.”

Scott was formerly in a relationship with the screenwriter and playwright Stephen Beresford and is currently single, although this is not the sort of thing he likes to talk about. He is protective of his privacy, not wanting to reveal where he lives in London, or indeed the name of his dog — but he swerves such questions with a gentle good humour.

He is famous on set for being friendly and welcoming, for looking after other people. “The product is very important, but most of my time is spent in the process, so I want that to be as pleasant and kind as possible. I feel like it is possible to do that, that it is an honourable goal.” He is comfortable around people, with an easy charm — no one I have interviewed before has said my name so many times. And although when we talk he sometimes seems reflective or so very sad, there are also moments when he is exuberant, silly, putting on accents. “I feel like, as a person, I am quite near my emotions. I cry easily and I laugh easily, and there is nothing more pleasurable to me than laughing.”

Scott was raised a Catholic and is no longer practising, but says his view about religion is “ever changing — I definitely have a faith in things that cannot be proved”. When he was younger and felt overwhelmed, just before or after an audition, he would go to the Quaker Meeting House in central London and sit in silence, something that made its way into the second series of Fleabag, in which Scott’s priest takes Waller-Bridge’s character to that same meeting house. “It’s just around here,” he says, standing up, looking out of the window at Charing Cross Road. “When Phoebe and I first talked, we met at the Soho Theatre. We talked about love and religion, we walked all around here. And I said, ‘This is a place I go,’ so we called in and there was no one there, so we sat in there and we talked. It was a really magical day.”

Scott says he sees all the different characters that he has played as versions of himself. “It’s like, ‘What would this version of me look like?’ rather than, ‘Oh, I’m going to be somebody else.’ You filter it through you, and you discover more about yourself. I think that is a very lucky thing to be able to do, to find out more about yourself in the short time that we are here.”

#Andrew Scott #Ripley #Nora Scott #Critics Circle #Vanya #Chekhov #West End #All of Us Strangers #Paul Mescal #Hot Priest #Fleabag #Phoebe Waller-Bridge #Jim Moriarty #Sherlock #Patricia Highsmith #The Talented Mr Ripley #Dickie Greenleaf #Marge Sherwood #Dakota Fanning #Johnny Flynn #Steven Zaillian #Matt Damon #Jude Law #Anthony Minghella #Simone Rocha #Louis Vuitton #Andrew Haigh #Korea #Stephen Beresford

[lololollywrites]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you for the tag, @discordantwords!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? I have 10 as of now (7 for Sherlock and 3 for Harry Potter, though the HP fics were either begun or completed in 2012 (first posted on ff.net)... in other words, before I knew about JK's raging transphobia. I finally finished a HP WIP in 2020 that I had abandoned years ago, after my resulting disillusionment, because I decided that my work didn't deserve to be in vain. I'm so glad I did!

2. What's your total A03 word count? 168,333

3. What fandoms do you write for? On AO3, just BBC Sherlock and HP, though I have Smallville, Supernatural, and even a Gilmore Girls fic on my ff.net account (the earliest of them written in 2006) that I will NOT be linking here. 😂

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? (Since I've only been posting Sherlock fics on AO3 since September 2021, there's not a ton of variation between these):

The Waning of Withdrawal

Of Sweat, Sociopathy, Scars, and Secrets

Never Been Better

Pressure Points

Genius is a Star Whose Light (is Soon to Sink in Endless Night); I think I may change the title soon since it's so unwieldy)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes! Mainly because I love when authors reply to mine - it acknowledges my gratitude and can open a line of communication. Plus, I just get so excited by every single comment notification that I need to squee and send hearts to the sender.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? None of my Sherlock fics have angsty endings, though that was my original goal for Never Been Better. It originally ended with Chapter 1, but I added two more chapters upon popular demand to fix things. :) It's a classic Sherlock-leaves-John's-wedding-early fic, so I'd intended to explore what may have happened within canon as sort of a missing scene/character exploration. Ultimately, however, I decided to throw a bone to poor Sherlock and disregard canon events.

However, my Harry Potter fic The Burn of the Phoenix, which I migrated to AO3 in 2020 after it's huge reception on ff.net back in 2012 (it's a 13k-word oneshot with 273 reviews and 951 favorites, though I'd definitely not write it the same way today), is definitely angsty. The end is hopeful, but ultimately... I killed Harry Potter. So. 😂 The ending, as it doesn't miraculously entail Harry coming back to life, can certainly be considered angsty as well. The entire fic is from Dudley's perspective as he learns of Harry's death (an alternate version of canon) and attends his funeral.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? As described above, all of my fics have happy endings! Though I'd say the one that's most unabashedly happy with minimal lingering pain and turmoil is Cold Inside. Genius comes close, but Sherlock is horrifically injured even despite happy news that comes in the last chapter so there's still an uphill battle ahead.

8. Do you get hate on fics? No, though I did get a very direct comment on The Waning of Withdrawal - the first time I ever wrote smut - that said the following (the "At all" was particularly harsh):

"I loved the fic and the way you formed everything with the comforting,and the understanding,the guilt and stuff and angst in the main part of the fic but I'm not a huge fan of how much detail went into their love part and stuff.. Not saying it's bad! I'm sure some people absolutely love it but I'm personally not a huge fan of the sex scene. At all."

(Luckily, two other commenters jumped in to my defense!) It seems innocuous enough, but I'd included an A/N that said it was my first time writing a love scene, despite it being brief, so "please go easy on me". The rating and tags were appropriate, too, so it seemed a bit out of the blue. That one little comment knocked my confidence for a while and made it impossible for me to re-read the fic without cringing.

9. Do you write smut? Just two of my Sherlock fics so far are rated E for smut. The Waning of Withdrawal, as described above, and Cold Inside, which has a lengthy sex scene in Chapter 4. It was so much harder than I thought to write - there's nothing quite like meticulously editing writing comprised of graphic depictions of anal sex, haha.

10. Do you write crossovers? No, nor do I usually enjoy them. I really admire the creativity, but tend to prefer fics that are plausible and in-canon; it's just a preference (with exceptions, of course!) That being said, crossovers that could happen between comparable universes - such as Sherlock and Hannibal - really appeal to me in theory.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but I'd be so thrilled!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, nor do I have a beta. I'm sure it could improve my work, but I feel horrifically self conscious during any editing process that involves another person. It's something I need to work on!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Sherlock & John and Arthur & Merlin are pretty neck-in-neck. I don't have many Merlin bookmarks, as it was my prior obsession before Sherlock, but I've been delving more into the Merlin fandom lately. Writing for it just seems harder for me - accounting for historical accuracy (though the show isn't historically accurate at all, it's just an entirely different universe) and the bounds of Merlin's magic would be tricky. Maybe one day.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? HAHAHAHAHA so... I did use to write more than one fic at once, waaaay back in the day, but have long since learned my lesson. I refuse to have true WIPs anymore - I only develop one idea at a time - and don't even publish a story until it's complete or almost complete (and fully outlined). Why? Well, there's one WIP I will NEVER finish. It's a Supernatural fic on ff.net with 6 chapters (out of a planned minimum of 10), first published in March of 2007 and last updated in February of 2008. Ooops.

It most recently received a review in 2015, which reads as follows: "WOW! ...update any time soon?...PLEASE...k"

Yeah. So. Never again for me.

16. What are your writing strengths? Based on the comments I receive, I think my strengths are characterization and dialogue. Oddly enough, these are two of my insecurities, but I think that my hyperfixation on both (knowing that I need to consciously work on them) has led to vast improvement.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I often have a difficult time coming up with the initial premise, and am not nearly as creative as many of the writers out there I admire. Ideas usually come without me trying - such as late at night or in the shower - so I jot them down whenever that happens. That's all that seems to work for me. FTH was great in that it took a bit of the burden off and allowed me to elicit prompts from bidders instead.

I also struggle to weave incredibly complex stories. I don't think I'll ever be one of those writers who can write 100k-plus fics full of twists and turns. My plots tend to be more narrow, focused, and immediate.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? As cool as this is - and I may be able to do this with Spanish, as it was my university minor - I wouldn't want dialogue to read as clunky or unnatural to a native speaker or to impede the flow of the prose (I'd want to add translations when possible in parentheses so as not to discourage readers who are not bilingual, unless the dialogue is short and can be translated in an end note).

In Genius, I have excerpts here and there in Serbian, but I ultimately use English to express longer Serbian dialogue (between <brackets> rather than "quotation marks" to indicate the difference in language being spoken and with the acknowledgement that translations are never 1-1. For me, this also helped preserve Sherlock's personality and ensure it could shine through.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Smallville! Way back in 2006. It was terrible; I killed Clark in an alternate version of S5's Hidden. I'm not sure what used to be the appeal of character death to me. You'd never catch me writing it now.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? It's hard to choose, but I have two answers for different reasons. The fic I'm most proud of writing is Genius. I worked SO, SO hard on the story outline, plot, and the symbolism and clues thrown in throughout. It's my longest and most complex story so far at 51K words, too.

The story I believe to be my best is Never Been Better; specifically, its first chapter. I don't think I've since written a more in-character version of Sherlock or a starker portrayal of his emotions.

I also have a huge soft spot for my Harry Potter fic The Truth at Last, which is the first fic I ever posted to AO3. It marks a huge improvement in my writing from when I first started it in 2012, as I was able to return to it in 2019/20 with a more mature perspective.

I'll tag anyone who hasn't yet been tagged and would like to join! (Sorry for the lack of creativity there - I'm always afraid I'll forget someone).

#20 questions for fic writers #my fics #AO3

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 28 - Happy Birthday

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 27 -- Part 29

Pairing: Sherlock x ofc (Elena)

Summary: Elena has a special birthday surprise for Sherlock.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, Sherlock being adorable, Elena being a little mean, sexting, rough-ish oral (m receiving), p-in-v (doggy), shenaningans with a raincoat, roommate-awkwardness... the works!

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: @geralts-yenn bullied me into posting this today. (The conversation went like: Me saying I wanted to post it, her saying I should and me doing that. There was no actual bullying involved.)

We're giving our sweet Sherlock a lovely birthday surprise. Elena's really testing the poor guy, but at least he's going to know what he does and doesn't like, dammit... Enjoy!

@deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @livisss @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos

“Are you alright, Holmes,” August said, one eyebrow raised, as he looked at his friend. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Indeed, Sherlock was staring at the phone in his hand as if something of grave importance had happened, yet he shook his head in response to the question. “Just Elena wishing me a happy birthday,” he said softly, realizing his mistake all too late, as the rest of his housemates stared back at him with rather telling grins on their faces. The remarkable thing about their expressions; they were all but identical.

“And how naked was she in that… text?” Sy asked, his grin widening even further.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t fight the grin – the same one they were all wearing, he noticed – off his face. Before he could say anything, his phone buzzed again, and the screen lit up to reveal another message from Elena, containing another picture.

Unfortunately, this time he was as bad at keeping his face in check as he had been the previous time, and everyone laughed.

“Significantly more naked, huh?” Geralt chuckled as Sherlock’s phone buzzed a third time.

“Progressively, even, it would seem,” he blurted out as he looked at the next photo, making the guys laugh even harder.

“I thought she wasn’t coming over?” Leon asked, still with that devilish smirk on his face.

“She isn’t,” Sherlock said, utterly confused. “Not as far as I know, at least.”

“Oh, she’s coming over,” Charles laughed. “She’s not that mean.”

“I don’t know,” Mike added, “she seems… bossy. In a way.” Sherlock involuntarily shrugged when he heard that, telling the guys more than they strictly needed to know.

Before the – very much dreaded – conversation could fully unfold, the doorbell rang, and all eyes turned to Sherlock once more.

“I’d jump this table to get to that door if I were you, mate,” Charles laughed. Instead, Sherlock opted to walk calmly to the door and open it. To his surprise – yes, really – he found Elena on the other side of it.

“Can I come in? It’s quite cold,” she said, shivering in the dark blue raincoat she had on. It was hardly appropriate attire for the current weather… “Hello boys,” she shouted as soon as she stepped into the house. Sherlock noticed she was taller than usual, prompting him to look at her feet. He’d never seen Elena in high heels, but he certainly enjoyed the sight.

“Come with me?” she asked mischievously, batting her eyelashes at him seductively.

“Sure, I was just finishing my drink, I… Can I get you anything?” he stammered. Elena rolled her eyes and glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen, where she saw Mike repeatedly slamming his forehead onto the kitchen table.

“Forget about the drink, Sherlock!” he grumbled.

Elena chuckled softly and refused politely when Sherlock offered to take her coat. She had expected this, of course, and the involvement from the audience only made her enjoy this all the more.

“She’s not wearing anything underneath that, genius,” August said, also clearly experiencing some secondhand frustration at his friend’s ignorance. As he made his comment, Elena stepped around Sherlock and paced to the kitchen, poking her head around the doorframe and counting the faces in the room. Seven. Should be good.

“Anyone else in the house?” she asked Geralt, who slowly shook his head.

She promptly turned around and leaned in the doorway, her back facing the kitchen, and opened the buttons of the coat, letting it fall open. As it did, so did Sherlock’s mouth. August hadn’t been quite correct, but he hadn’t been far off, either: the little stunt revealed some gorgeous lace, but nothing more than that.

“I’ll return him in the morning,” Elena joked, leaving the boys in the kitchen laughing.

“In one piece?” Leon asked.

“Not making any promises,” she laughed before walking towards Sherlock, who hadn’t moved from his most recent location by the door. “I’m giving you two minutes to join me, or I’m starting without you.” And then she made her way up the stairs.

“What are you waiting for?” August asked incredulously, staring at Sherlock, who stood in the hallway as though he had been nailed to the floor. “Go!”

“If you don’t go after her, I will,” Charles laughed.

“In your dreams, Brandon,” Sherlock growled, glaring at the crowd that had gathered in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Are you running out the clock or what?” Mike added to the conversation – utterly unhelpfully, of course. “Seriously, get upstairs or I’m siding with Charles.”

Due to his overwhelming desire to keep some shred of decorum, Sherlock didn’t quite sprint up the stairs, but he undoubtedly moved with a hastiness that was rather uncharacteristic for him. His slightly trembling hands made him fumble with the lock on his bedroom door a while longer than he had hoped, and he made his way up the last set of stairs two steps at a time. He found Elena sitting on the edge of his bed, still in the trench coat. She got up as soon as she saw him, and walked over, her hips swaying enticingly with every step.

“Happy birthday, love,” she said as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” he replied. “You know, you did an abysmal job of wrapping my present,” he continued as he slipped his hands under her coat, “I can see what it is quite clearly.”

“You seemed pretty clueless a moment ago, darling,” she taunted.

She spoke slowly, her hands roaming his back and sides. Involuntarily, she licked her lips as she felt his muscles flex beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

“I have to admit it’s a lovely surprise,” Sherlock said. A light blush had appeared on his cheeks, which deepened as Elena put her lips on his neck. If his quickening breathing, and the quiet gasps and moans that escaped him, hadn’t given away that he liked her ministrations, the fact that he let his head drop to the side to give her easier access would have. Elena used this time to unbutton his shirt, which he gratefully helped her take off once she had completed her mission. Sherlock, in turn, pushed the coat off her shoulders quite impatiently, and let his hands roam her body freely.

“So, what do you think?” she whispered in his ear before stepping back a little, showing him what she had on, for the first time without any distractions.

“I thought I would want you to take it all off as soon as possible,” Sherlock admitted as he grabbed her waist and pulled her back, “but I actually quite like it. Especially the shoes.”

Her eyes lit up as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “The shoes, huh?” She smiled and leaned in to kiss him, luring a soft moan from his throat while her hands occupied themselves with undoing is belt and trousers.

For a moment, Sherlock wondered whether he should be ashamed of the fact that he was already hard – a thought all but forgotten when Elena’s hand found it’s way into his trousers and wrapped around his cock. Just as he was about to kiss her again, her face disappeared, and she sank to her knees in front of him. The sight of her was enough to make him twitch in her grasp, which in turn made her chuckle. Then, when he rushed to push his trousers and pants down to give her access, she struggled to fight back her laughter. His apologetic smile told her that he had noticed, and she grinned back at him, while torturing him with teasingly slow strokes of her hand. Her teasing continued with the soft touch of her tongue, licking a line from the base of his cock to the tip. She relished his moans and almost pitiful whimpers as her tongue passed the places she knew to be the most sensitive, barely touching his skin, but even more than that she thrived on the idea that she was rolling him up.

It was the hand that suddenly found its way to the back of her head, where it gripped her auburn curls as Sherlock thrust into her mouth. The movement was gentle yet decisive, and took her by surprise so much that she dug her fingernails into his thighs on a reflex.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said several times while she chuckled and pressed soft kisses to his thighs where she had clawed at his skin a tad too roughly.

“It’s okay,” she said, “I just wasn’t expecting it!” And without further ado, she took his cock into her mouth again. This time, she allowed Sherlock to move in a gentle rhythm that she followed, until his fingers once again tangled in her hair and pulled her back. He couldn’t speak, but his eyes screamed impatience and need at her. In the way he offered her his hand to steady herself as she got up, his regular gentlemanliness shone through, but it disappeared as soon as she stood in front of him, and he pulled her in, fingers digging possessively into the flesh of her arse.

The only reason they made it to the bed was the need to grab a condom from the nightstand, but Elena could see in Sherlock’s eyes – and in the way his hands frustratedly fumbled with the packaging – that it was extraordinarily difficult for him to keep his composure. In the end, she had to take over for him, but it was fun to watch him struggle for a while. At least, she thought so. He seemed to be of a different opinion entirely.

He was almost rude in his ministrations when he turned her around, so she sat on hands and knees in front of him, and impatient in chasing his desire. With a swift, decisive movement, he pulled her underwear to the side, not bothering to take it off her. In fact, he quite liked the view this position provided him with, and he was going to take full advantage of the situation. A sound that was half-chuckle, half-growl escaped him when his fingers encountered the wetness that had gathered between her legs, and without hesitation and with a single thrust, he sank into her dripping core.

“Fuck,” she muttered quietly under her breath, only to leave ‘quietly’ for what it was when he began to move. He was rough – almost cruelly so – and passionate, soon making her arms give out. Elena relished the grunt that escaped him when she arched her back, meeting his movements with every thrust. She was surprised by a swift and light smack on her behind when she attempted to move.

“No, stay.” She’d indulge him, for now. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed Sherlock was completely caught up in chasing his own release, and she succumbed to his treatment, a grin spreading on her face as she allowed her mind to wander and move through all the different possibilities with the man she was seeing right now – a man who seemed far more willing, possibly even eager, to experiment than she had originally thought.

Soon, his movements became erratic, letting her know he was close. His last few thrusts were so uncontrolled that she buried her face in his pillow, unable to keep herself from screaming, and when he pulled out, she collapsed onto the bed. After some time, she looked over her shoulder, only to find a terrified-looking Sherlock on the far end of the bed, sitting just about as far away from her as the space allowed. She looked at him, her eyes begging him to join her, but he did not move. Instead, he just sat there; completely still, and staring into the distance.

“Sherlock, come here and give me a hug,” she said with a smile as she stretched out her leg to caress his thigh with her foot. It worked; he finally looked at her, and after another brief moment, he moved to lie down next to her, wrapping her safely in his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice drenched with an apology she couldn’t quite place. What on earth was he apologizing for?

“Why?” she asked, confused.

“I didn’t mean to be so… harsh,” he said softly, avoiding her eyes.

Elena couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Harsh? Oh, darling, you weren’t!” She gently stroked his cheek, smiling up at him before burying her face in his neck. “That was quite lovely, actually. Although I really do prefer being the one in charge.”

Her words left Sherlock looking down at her in surprise, and – or so he noticed – did nothing to alleviate the overwhelming need he felt to explain himself. “I couldn’t help myself,” he groaned, “I needed you so badly, I…”

“Stop apologizing right now,” Elena laughed, “or I’ll have to find a way to shut you up.” And though Sherlock did as she asked, she still kissed him fiercely – to prove a point, perhaps?

“How will you get home,” Sherlock wondered out loud, causing Elena to groan and bury her face in his neck. She had been enjoying the quiet cuddling that had been going on until Sherlock decided to ruin the perfectly blissful moment with his reasonable concerns and logic.

“I’m not thinking about leaving just yet,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome to stay, but that will only postpone having to deal with the problem,” he chuckled.

“Hm, yes, let’s postpone dealing with the problem, please,” she laughed before gently nipping at his neck. Her hand moved down over his chest, hooking around his waist and pulling him close. “I can think of something far more fun to do.”

“Again?” he chuckled in disbelief. “I’m not complaining,” he clarified as she moved away to look at her with raised eyebrows, “I’m just wondering… Will this end?”

“Will what end?” she asked.

“This constantly wanting you?” He moaned the words rather than speaking them, and Elena let out a gentle laugh – the one that warmed his heart without fail every single time he heard it.

“At some point… frequency will drop, yes,” she said softly, “but I hope it won’t be for a long while. I love this part.”

Before he could say anything in protest, her lips sealed over his and she impatiently ran her tongue over the seam of his lips. Moments later, they were completely lost in each other again, this time finding a gentler rhythm. His thrusts were slow and steady, luring moans and gasps from both of them with every move. Her legs wrapped securely around his waist, and her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her.

“God, you’re amazing,” she moaned softly, making him chuckle. Surely, she couldn’t mean that? He honestly didn’t see how he could have any sort of skill in an area in which he had so direly little experience. An unintentionally apologetic smile served as an answer, to which she responded in turn by pulling his face to hers and kissing him once again.

“Do you think you can manage a fourth time, or can I go take a shower?” Elena laughed when she – finally – laid down next to Sherlock, who was struggling to catch his breath.

“No, that would be quite impossible, I fear,” Sherlock sighed. He briefly opened his mouth to speak again, only to decide against it. First of all because breathing was difficult enough as it was, and secondly because he was sure that the question he had in mind was a rather foolish one, as became obvious through her response.

“Good, because I don’t think I could take another round.” The words were accompanied by a deep sigh and several gentle kisses to his chest. “You could come with me?”

Sherlock struggled to ignore Elena’s fingers as they trailed over his chest. “To the bathroom?” Elena couldn’t fight back a chuckle when she heard his words. Granted, his brain wasn’t working optimally, but his confusion was rather endearing, nonetheless.

“Into the shower,” she clarified, her lips brushing lightly over the skin of his neck as she spoke.

“That hardly seems…”

“It’s romantic, Sherlock,” Elena sighed with a soft chuckle to her voice and a sweet smile on her face that slowly morphed into a pout she knew would convince him.

“It’s mostly rather cold,” Sherlock grumbled a while later, when Elena was hogging all the water, only to regret his words when she pulled him under the stream. “Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed before all but jumping backwards. “This isn’t romantic, Elena, this is attempted murder. I’m not quite sure what kind of witchcraft allows you to immerse yourself in boiling water, but I quite enjoy having skin, thank you very much.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Elena pouted, grabbing Sherlock’s hand as he reached for the faucet, “it’s nice.”

In response to her plea, Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and threatened to leave, to which Elena replied by begrudgingly agreeing to set the water to a more universally enjoyable temperature.

“I agree it’s quite nice like this,” Sherlock said as he pulled her closer, “but half of me is still freezing.”

“I know,” Elena chuckled, “but I like being close to you.”

“You can do that in my bed, where it’s warm,” he replied, moving away to step out of the shower. “I’ll see you there?”

Elena whined, but reluctantly let go of him, turning the temperature on the water up again as soon as Sherlock was gone.

When she finished rinsing her – or rather; Dani’s – conditioner out of her hair and drying off, she put Sherlock’s bathrobe back on. It was a little large on her, which made it all the more comfortable. She had just finished towel-drying her hair when there was a soft knock on the door.

“Elena?” Mike? What was he after? He clearly knew she was in the bathroom, and he was also clearly looking for her, but why? She checked her bathrobe – one could never be careful enough when it came to preventing accidental flashing of partners’ housemates, or so she had once found out. The whole affair had been rather humiliating. After making sure the risks had been reduced to a minimum, she opened the door.

“Yeah?” Mike was standing outside the bathroom with a massive grin on his face.

“Sherlock isn’t exactly the sweatpants and hoodie type,” he said, his signature dorky smile widening. At times, that grin was so maddening that Elena found herself wanting to slap it off his face, and other times it was endearing and somehow oddly appropriate. This instance belonged in the latter category. “Figured you could use these. Y’know, so you don’t have to go home quite as naked as you got here…” “Thank you,” she laughed, gratefully taking the clothes he held out to her.

#179cs #179 crescent street #henry cavill characters #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock x ofc #sherlock holmes x ofc #179cs28

[majorbaby]

very very long rant

when i first left tumblr after the porn ban, the sjw stuff was starting to plateau, but you still had big bloggers ironically calling themselves misandrists in bio. I say ironically because unlike an open misogynist, an open misandrist cannot amass vast structural power, they instead will remain on the fringes of society. before they can even be shunned in the mainstream or the elite, they're being shunned by their own peers.

at that time, there was a lot of popular blogs run by (sometimes allegedly) racialized people or "poc-run spaces" like thisisnot[country] and blogs specifically dedicated to pointing out cultural appropriation. i personally contributed to the reclaimthebindi which in retrospect seemed inspired by blackout selfie day (not to be confused with thr subsequent 'blackout' posts associated with BLM - that was later), altho idk to what extent the south asian diasporic community (of which i am a part of) actually paid homage to the black blogger/s responsible for blackout day.

now many of those blogs are defunct or have been scrubbed from level-one searches of tumblr, and their history has not been well documented. it's hard to understand what the climate was unless you were there because not many secondary sources, like the one you're reading right now i suppose, exist. or they weren't well-circulated. this one won't be, i'm turning off reblogs i think.

this is, in my opinion, in contrast to other major trends in internet culture that inform offline social justice movements. that's your gxmxrgxte (so well-ingrained in my memory that it still upsets me enough to censor today), metoo and the annual around ao3's right to host any and all content with very limited few exceptions.

reclaimthebindi is still up, so are a few of the thisisnot blogs, but you can't really tell that they were all interconnected, a part of the same zeitgeist. i have a few theories as to why, and which one you pick depends on how generous you are when imagining the people who ran these blogs. some of them for sure were run by bored college students seeking an outlet. some of them were denied recognition by their offline peers because of racism, so it felt good to find a space where they could actually amass social capital on the basis of the very thing that disadvantaged them in every other space. some were concerned with punitive justice, others with restorative justice. some just posted black and brown bodies so that those images would exist on the internet somewhere. some were run by racefacing white people who also felt like outcasts offline, and saw a quick and easy way to be embraced elsewhere. it's possible that some people did it for a combination of these reasons.

whatever benefits there may have been, it wasn't enough to keep the momentum going. very few put out 'retirement' statements, most just stopped posting and were eventually purged. tbh, i see the draw in airing your grievances all in one place, but it's exhausting, and eventually your supporters grow tired of the negativity, and you grow tired of the negativity too. that's why i think it's usually better to stick to posting and sharing the stuff you love, not the stuff you hate, or at least, find a balance. though their presence is much, much smaller, creator networks for women, lgtbq, and racialized people have sprung up, and so have spaces where people post and repost art that engages with class, race, gender etc.

but it still feels like racialized people have a much quieter voice on tumblr. i have to rely on stumbling upon them naturally, which is next to impossible, especially if you're on tumblr for a small to medium sized fandom, which i think most fandoms are these days. your supermassive fandoms - doctor who, sherlock, kpop, harry potter, the mcu, also no longer dominate the site. i would still say tumblr is the big fandom site, but a lower user count means that the internet's fandom site is smaller than before.

so, less users in general, and any existing minority shrinks. and if we're talking racialized people who are lgtbq, that's an even smaller minority.

this in my opinion has contributed in a major way to the backlash against feminism, the idea that "terfs ruined feminism" with the subtle suggestion that feminism has perhaps failed, or was never really good to begin with, and a laser focus on terfs as the ones responsible as though the mainstream, patriarchal, cis-heteronormative bloc had absolutely nothing to do with it. or the ludicrous idea that terfs are the mainstream, patriarchal cis-heteronormative bloc. two things can be bad, that doesn't mean they're the same thing.

anyway! a big part of the original tumblr feminist movement was not just the "poc run blog" but in the "woc run blog". "poc" was absorbed into BIPOC, and "woc" is a legacy term. your woc were regularly venting about how being a woman of colour means choosing between your race and your gender, putting up with the misogyny of the racialized men in your life who you show up for constantly but who throw you under the bus when the white man asks them how high to jump. now there's white lgbtq bloggers all over the place asking whether you "include black and brown men when you said you say men are trash?" (yes, i absolutely am) and if you ask that question to a room full of white people, they're all going to keep their mouths shut because they don't want to appear racist.

well, white men do not have a monopoly on misogyny. misogyny levied at racialized women by racialized men is a huge intra-community barrier to trying to organize against racism and white supremacy. it is extremely upsetting to see white people suggest that racialized women, lgbtq people and children are not oppressed by the racialized men in their own communities. that we are not survivors of domestic abuse, sexual abuse or that we do not endure oppression under patriarchy in the home, workplace and in society inflicted upon us by our own kin, which compounds upon what we already absorb from white people.

and they can go on doing so on here because many racialized women have shut up and gone away. even running blogs aimed around celebrating themselves has become a service to white consumers that they've done thanklessly for years. just to hear that actually, they have no right to say "men are trash" because what if the brown man that abused them or their mom or their aunties overhears and gets his feelings hurt. didn't we discern the difference between hurt feelings and systemic oppression almost fifteen years ago on tumblr dot com?

like, sure, maybe we should adjust "women only spaces" to be "spaces for women and trans people" but we can do that and not pretend that we have absolutely no idea why women live in fear of men, or that a reasonable amount of fear is completely unwarranted.

man it is one thing to come back here to find all the, admittedly, sometimes kind of annoying sjw blogs around race gone, and another to see a resurgence of popular MRA talking points. but i see how that's happened. racialized women are done talking about this, and who can blame them. white women, and i wish i only meant cis women, get slapped with 'terf' the second they open their mouths, so they are also done talking about this.

if you managed to read all of this please be a little careful when reblogging posts that are critical of feminism. yes, there are a few bad-faith actors within feminism, but feminists in general are a minority group, even if it doesn't feel that way on tumblr. think about it, how long has it been since you saw someone with 'feminist' in bio? is it a good thing to keep facilitating this growing resentment against feminism? has feminism done nothing for us? should we toss it out with the bathwater?

[jrow]

Fic Writing 20 Questions

Thanks for the tags @khorazir and @raina-at

How many works do you have on AO3?

13

2. What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

268,623

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Sherlock (BBC). I may try my hand at a Merlin fic in the next year, but we’ll see ...

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Beautiful Pictures

A Week in November

Lines in the Sand

The Man with the Cartier Frames

That Time of Year

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

Yes! I love getting comments, so it’s the least I can do (even if it takes a few days). I love when authors respond to my comments, so it’s only fair.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Like many of the people answering these questions, I don’t write angsty endings. I considered it for Jam (I almost didn’t include the epilogue) but I love a happy ending.

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

All my fics have happy endings. If I had to pick one as “happiest”, I’d say The Man With the Cartier Frames.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have not, luckily. I’ve had a weird comment or two where I’ve thought “why did you tell me that”, but nothing super negative.

9. Do you write smut?

Not really? I’ve written some mature scenes that allude to things, but don’t go into detail.  

10. Do you write crossovers?

No. I have particular objections, but I doubt I ever will.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, Lines in the Sand has been translated into French and That Time of Year into Russian.

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

I haven’t. I don’t object to the concept, but I’m not sure I’d be a great collaborator given my current writing style. I think I’m better at betaing which gives me a way to work with other fic writers.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

This is really tough. I feel like it’s okay if your “all time” favourite ship changes every five or ten years. I mean, I am a very different person at 40 than I was at 25. My favourite to write is definitely Johnlock—they have a great dynamic and are both really interesting characters in their own rights. So, they are definitely up there. The other ship that comes to mind in terms of those that have really stood the test of time for me is Goren/Eames from Law & Order:CI (a very small fandom). Goren has a lot of Sherlockian traits and Eames is just incredibly cool (and both actors are gorgeous, which doesn’t hurt!).  I discovered Merlin in the last year or two and really like Merthur (honestly, I also really like Mergwenthur which I never thought would be my thing, but Gwen is so lovely), but it’s too early to tell if that will last long enough to be on my all time list!

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

Corsi, my NHL Johnlock AU. I have a couple chapters written, but I started it a long time ago and my writing style has changed a fair bit since then. I think I’d want to go back and rewrite the first chapter, but that seems like a waste … so, instead, I will just leave it to languish.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I write Parentlock really well. I have young kids, so it’s relatively easy for me to make kids read age appropriate (which they often don’t in stories, be they fic or published). I hope I am also able to convey that delicate balance that parents feel—namely adoring their kids with every once of your being while wanting to throttle them.  Basically, I think I can write believable kids and believable parents.

I also think I am okay at creating cases, mainly because I become a bit obsessed with making the pieces fit.  I like internal consistency!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I can’t plot out a fic well enough that I can post anything before it’s done. Which means, that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to write a truly long fic (say longer than 50K words).  To have the motivation to write something that long, I think I would need the dopamine hit from posting and getting feedback. But, I just can’t see me ever posting a fic before it’s completely written, because of how often I go back and revise as I write. Particularly for fics with any sort of case—I’ll have the loose parameters of the case set out, but the details won’t emerge until I write. Which may mean I have to go back and edit earlier content to make those details work (internal consistency!). Even things like John’s work schedule or the timing of a phone call or what time Rosie gets out of school may change a half dozen times as I write to make the other pieces work.

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

I think it’s fine, but it’s best if you have a half-decent knowledge of that language. The only language I would use is French, should that ever come up.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

X-Files (this also seems to be a common theme)

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Ugh. This is an impossible question. I really like Beneath the Surface—I love epistolary fics and I think I did pretty well with text exchanges in that one. I am also pretty proud of Jam. So, I suppose those would be my faves.

Hmmmm, I think I am late to the game here so anyone interested in doing this, consider yourself tagged!

#johnlock #fanfic #fic writing 20 questions #fic writing asks #20 questions

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Sitter

Mycroft Holmes x Bethany Wheeler (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 17 - The East Wind Blows

Mycroft had an early night. Bethany was babysitting Rosie, but he couldn’t resist calling her, just to hear her voice.

‘Mycroft, how can I help you?’ She didn’t sound particularly pleased.

‘I just wondered if you were still available for dinner?’ Mycroft asked, already setting up his projector, he wished she was there, but he couldn’t force her. ‘Tomorrow is Sunday and I thought it might be nice for us to catch up.’

Bethany sighed. ‘Why have you really called?’

Mycroft frowned, she was far too good at knowing when he was keeping secrets. He was about to answer but she cut across him.

‘Don’t tell me it was to ask me to dinner, I know when you’re covering something up. Tell me the real reason and I’ll say yes to dinner tomorrow.’ It seemed a fair trade.

‘I wanted to talk to you… to listen to you talk.’ Mycroft didn’t know how else to say it. Bethany was quiet for a moment, he could hear the sounds of Rosie close by. ‘Are you feeling any better?’

She sniffed a little, was she crying? ‘Yes, Mycroft.’ She said, her voice cracking a little. ‘I’m fine. Everything’s been a little difficult, but I’m fine. Most important thing is Rosie and she’s a little ball of heaven.’ Bethany chuckled, making him smile. ‘My parents have asked me to go to Kenya for Christmas. Mum’s going back there soon to help out at the hospitals and dad’s been working on a new type of well that should pump clean water up from the earth. They said there’s a great lab in Nairobi that I would like, they’re dealing with a new type of aerosol spray that can withstand heat, not just fire, but actively work against rising temperatures. I think I might go.’

Mycroft smiled, it sounded just up her street. ‘I think you should. No reason not to.’

‘No, exactly, I should, and I didn’t get to spend last Christmas with them, so, yeah.’

‘What about Rosie?’ He felt that was the right question, but his judgment was wavering.

‘John says he’s thinking about inviting Harry down, says she staying off the booze for a while and he thinks it would be good for her to finally meet her niece.’ Bethany’s voice was no longer quaking, but he was curious as to why it was in the first place.

‘Are you crying?’ He asked, hoping the answer was no.

She started laughing a little. ‘Yes.’ She said and it broke him a little.

‘Why?’ Mycroft was about to run down the stairs and grab his coat.

‘Because you finally answered a question.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘All these times I’ve asked you a question, things I knew you wouldn’t answer, things that meant admitting to something personal, you never gave me an answer. All the texts left unanswered.’ She was moving away from Rosie, standing up. ‘And now, for some reason, I ask why you call and you tell me it’s because you just want to hear my voice.’

Mycroft still didn’t understand why that would lead to her crying, but if that was the answer then he believed it.

‘Mycroft?’

‘Are you enjoying your placement?’ He didn’t know how to respond, so another question seemed appropriate.

Bethany just laughed. ‘Yes, I am.’ She said, smiling widely. ‘Are you enjoying your film?’

‘It hasn’t started yet.’ He said, assuming she could hear the projector getting up and running. ‘It’s one of my favourites.’ He swallowed nervously. ‘We could watch another one tomorrow? After dinner, we could…’

‘I’d love to.’ Bethany knew the end of the sentence and agreed. ‘Dinner sounds lovely. I’m off all day tomorrow, going to see Sherlock in the morning, I have an eight a.m. meeting with Dr Mathieson, but it shouldn’t take long, I’ll be heading over straight afterwards. It’s my turn to check on him, make sure he’s not up to anything he shouldn’t be.’

‘That’s very good of you.’

‘We’re all taking it in turns.’ Bethany returned closer to where Rosie was, Mycroft could hear the little giggle she was letting out. ‘He seems fine, getting back to normal at least, but you never really know with Sherlock.’

‘Indeed.’

There was a strange pause and Mycroft was unsure what to do.

‘Lady Smallwood gave me her private number.’ He said, unsure of what else to say.

‘Okay?’ Bethany chuckled.

‘When I asked her why she said that maybe I’d like to get a drink with her.’

‘Well, she’s certainly direct.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Well, if I asked if you’d want to get a drink with me, what would you say?’

‘Yes.’ Mycroft answered instantly, making her smile.

‘And what would you expect to happen?’

He frowned. ‘For us to get a drink.’ He said, uncertain of what she was asking.

‘Right… so, you know when we first went to dinner that time, and you asked if I’d like to see your projector…’

‘Yes?’

‘You really did just mean for me to admire your projector, didn’t you?’ Why was this coming as a shock to her?

‘Yes, of course. You seemed interested in it.’

‘And I absolutely was, I still am, I think it’s beautiful.’ She assured him. ‘But we kissed that night.’ Just the mention of it had Mycroft getting warm and glancing over at his two-seater. ‘Are you telling me that wasn’t planned?’

‘Of course, I didn’t plan it.’ Mycroft could feel his frustration rising.

Bethany chuckled. ‘Lady Smallwood gave you her private number so you could get a drink with her and then, more than likely, go back to either yours or hers and have sex. That’s what getting a drink means, Mycroft.’

Mycroft sighed. He suspected as much, but Lady Smallwood’s display was confusing at the best of times.

‘So, are you going to call her?’

‘No, why would I?’ Mycroft said, horrified.

‘Well, I don’t know, probably because you’re not having sex with anyone else.’ Bethany was still chuckling. Mycroft was beginning to grow uncomfortable, the more times she mentioned it, the more he thought about having sex with her and he felt a little undignified talking over the phone about it. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so crude about it.’

‘It’s fine.’ Mycroft cleared his throat. ‘So, dinner tomorrow.’

‘Yes,’ she was still smiling. ‘Dinner, same time?’

‘I could pick you up from Sherlock’s flat, as I remember I owe you another film.’

‘You’re actually inviting me over again? Mycroft Holmes, what an enigma you are.’ She chuckled.

‘Look who’s talking.’

That made her laugh a little harder. ‘Okay, I’d best get going, Rosie will be getting hungry and she’ll start making a fuss soon. Enjoy your evening and I will see you tomorrow.’

‘See you tomorrow.’

Mycroft hung up and felt his evening take a turn for the better. He settled with one of his favourite films, noting that since Bethany had asked him, he began making a mental note of the films he enjoyed most. He couldn’t help but mouth along to the dialogue having watched it that many times. He loosened his red tie, poured a glass of scotch and lit up a cigarette. He thought a lot about Bethany sitting with him, mouthing the other lines, he wondered if there were any films she liked enough to do that with.

Just as one of the scenes was coming to an end, the film began to flicker. It shouldn’t have done that, but the flickering continued and he saw himself as a child on the beach with his parents and Sherlock. Somehow the footage hypnotised him so much that he smiled, remembering the day well and how happily Sherlock played, dressed up as a pirate and having the time of his life.

Soon a new image appeared “I’m back”. It could only mean one thing and it terrified Mycroft to no end. She’d escaped. But it was impossible. He tired the door handle, his heart in his mouth as he heard a girl whispering his name. Footsteps above his head running around. The door behind him creaked open and he slowly stepped out.

The door slammed shut behind him, making him jump. The lights began flickering and Mycroft spotted his umbrella, he picked it up and unsheathed the sword that he kept inside to protect himself. He didn’t believe in anything supernatural, but he did believe in bad people.

There seemed to be a little girl running around his house and he wasn’t in the slightest bit impressed with any of it.

‘Why don’t you come out and show yourself?’ He called out. ‘I don’t have time for this.’

‘We have time brother, dear.’ The voice whispered back. ‘All the time in the world.’

He suddenly saw someone running up the stairs and chased after them to a corridor that led towards the main entrance of the house.

‘Mycroft.’ The voice sang.

‘Who are you?’ He demanded, keeping his sword raised.

‘You know who.’

‘Impossible.’

‘Nothing’s impossible. You of all people know that.’

Mycroft caught the sight of the painting lining his corridor, they were all crying blood. What madness was this? It couldn’t be what he suspected, it just couldn’t.

‘Coming to get you.’ The voice carried on. ‘There’s an east wind coming, Mycroft. Coming to get you.’ Mycroft felt his heart pounding in his ears, his blood running cold.

‘You can’t have got out! You can’t! Mycroft panted, the fear started to take hold of him.

Mycroft thought he was seeing things, a clown appeared behind him and took one of the swords. Mycroft took a handkerchief from his pocket and removed the blade from the umbrella handle, revealing a gun inside. He aimed at the clown and fired, but nothing came out. The gun was empty and Mycroft was defenceless.

‘No use Mycroft,’ the voice rang. ‘There’s no defence and nowhere to hide.’

The clown launched himself at Mycroft who sprinted away and down the stairs to find a way out. A shadow was cast moving along the floor and Mycroft could feel the sweat on his brow, this was it. Eurus had come back to haunt him.

Suddenly Sherlock appeared on the balcony.

‘Sherlock.’ Mycroft breathed. ‘Help me.’

Sherlock whistled and all the lights came on.

‘Experiment complete.’ Sherlock said and a small man appeared with pigtails, the one that had scared the living hell out of him. ‘Conclusion, I have a sister.’

‘This was you.’ Mycroft growled. ‘All of this was you.’

‘Conclusion two, my sister, Eurus apparently, has been incarcerated from an early age in a secure institution controlled by my brother. Hey bro.’

Mycroft was panting, struggling to understand why the hell Sherlock would do this to him. ‘Why would you do this? This… pantomime. Why?’

‘Conclusion three, you’re terrified of her.’ Sherlock dismissed all of his questions.

‘You have no idea what you’re dealing with. None at all.’ Mycroft growled again.

‘New information.’ John Watson walked through a door that had previously been locked. ‘She’s out.’

‘That’s not possible.’

‘It’s more than possible, she was John’s therapist.’

‘Shot me during a session.’

‘Only with a tranquilizer gun.’ Sherlock sighed.

‘Still had ten minutes to go.’

‘Well, we’ll see about a refund.’ Sherlock descended the stairs. ‘Right you two, Wiggins has got your money by the gate, don’t spend it all in one crack den. Oh, I hope we didn’t spoil your enjoyment of the movie.’ The clown and the man dressed as a little girl skipped away to the front of the house and it was just Mycroft left with Sherlock and John.

‘You’re just leaving?’ Mycroft said, in disbelief.

‘Well, we’re not staying here, Eurus is coming and erm, someone’s disabled all your security. Sleep well!’ Sherlock opened the door to leave.

John was about to leave after him. ‘Dr Watson, why would he do that to me? That was insane.’

‘Oh yes, well someone convinced him that you wouldn’t tell the truth unless you were actually wetting yourself.’

‘Someone.’ Mycroft knew he meant himself and it only annoyed him even more.

‘Probably me.’

‘So, that’s it is it? You’re just going.’

‘Well don’t worry, there’s a place for people like you, the desperate, the terrified, the ones with nowhere else to run.’

‘What place?’

‘221B Baker Street.’ John said it as if it was obvious. ‘See you in the morning. If there’s a queue, join it.’

‘For God’s sake, this isn’t one of your idiot cases!’ Mycroft said, through gritted teeth. They didn’t seem to understand quite the danger Eurus posed.

‘You might want to close that window,’ John said pointing to the one Sherlock had entered through. ‘There is an East Wind coming.’

Mycroft looked up to where the window was in fact open and once John left, he raced up the stairs to close it. He quickly went around to his security room and reactivated his systems, checking frantically to make sure no one else got in. Everything looked fine, but Mycroft was still scared. He didn’t sleep at all that night, every little creek or small sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Finally, the morning came, but it didn’t make him feel any safer. If Eurus had gotten out, then there was no telling what she might have been capable of. Mycroft gave in and made his way to Baker Street first thing in the morning.

He stood behind and empty chair and both John and Sherlock proceeded to ignore him. Mrs Hudson eventually came up and giggled to herself.

‘You have to sit in the chair, they won’t talk to you unless you sit in the chair, it’s the rules.’ Mrs Hudson explained, but it was childish.

‘I’m not a client.’

‘Then get out.’ Sherlock said, calmly.

Mycroft sighed and soon conceded, if it got this whole thing over and done with quicker.

‘She’s not going to stay there, is she?’ Mycroft gestured to Mrs Hudson. Sherlock nodded for her to leave.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ She asked.

‘Thank you.’

‘Kettle’s over there.’

Mycroft was in no mood to be tested. She eventually left.

‘So, what happens now? Are you going to make your deductions?’ Mycroft folded his arms.

‘You’re going to tell the truth, Mycroft. Pure and simple.’

‘Who was it that said “the truth is rarely pure and never simple”?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care. There were three of us, I know that now.’ Sherlock angled himself to face Mycroft a little more. ‘You, me and… Eurus.’ Even the name now made Mycroft’s spin tingle. ‘A sister I can’t remember. Interesting name, Eurus, it’s Greek, isn’t it?’

‘Mm, yeah,’ John looked down at his notes. ‘Literally the God of the East Wind.’

‘Yes.’ Mycroft was waiting for John to leave, it wasn’t a matter to make public.

‘The East Wind is coming Sherlock. You used that to scare me.’ Sherlock was angry, he could see that, but it wasn’t what he thought.

‘No.’

‘You turned my sister into a ghost story.’

‘Of course I didn’t. I monitored you.’

‘You what?’ John asked, surprised.

‘Memories can resurface,’ Mycroft tried to explain. ‘Wounds can reopen. The roads we walk have demons beneath them, and yours have been waiting a very long time. I never bullied you. I used, at discrete intervals, potential trigger words to update myself as to your mental condition. I was looking after you.’

‘Why can’t I remember her?’ Sherlock said, gritting his teeth.

‘This is a private matter.’ Mycroft eyed John carefully.

‘John stays.’ Sherlock dismissed his attempt straight away.

‘This is family.’

‘That’s why he stays!’ Sherlock yelled. Mycroft tried to understand it, he really did but in the end Sherlock wouldn’t help him unless he complied with his wishes.

John cleared his throat, breaking the tension. ‘So, there were three Holmes kids? What was the age gap?’

‘Seven years between myself and Sherlock,’ Mycroft just got on answered. ‘One year between Sherlock and Eurus.’

‘Middle child,’ John nodded. ‘Explains a lot. So, did she have it too?’

‘Have what?’

‘The deduction thing.’ John clarified, suddenly not quite knowing what to call it.

‘The deduction thing?’ Mycroft really hated the way he said it.

‘Yes.’

‘More than you can know.’

‘Enlighten me.’

Mycroft breathed deeply. ‘You realise I’m the smart one.’

‘As you never cease to announce.’ Sherlock said with a hint of boredom.

‘But Eurus, she was incandescent, even then.’ Mycroft ignored his quip. ‘Our abilities were professionally assessed more than once. I was remarkable, but Eurus was described as an era-defining genius beyond Newton.’

Suddenly footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. All three of them turned to see Bethany with her earphones in, reading through a textbook.

‘Alright, Sherlock-‘ she stopped, seeing all three of them watching her. She was stunning as always, black jeans that hugged her legs and made her look taller, a white t-shirt with a v-neck that descended enough to make Mycroft swallow thickly. Her black leather jacket made her youthful expression sparkle and he wanted so desperately to kiss her. ‘Sorry,’ she said, taking her earphones out and shoving the in her shoulder bag. ‘Are you in the middle of something? I can come back.’

‘I think you should stay.’ Sherlock piped up, alarming Mycroft, he didn’t want more people brought into the fold. ‘It seems Mycroft is more willing to loosen his tongue when you’re around.’

‘Sherlock-‘ Mycroft went to give him a warning, but Sherlock was already up and pulling out the chair that sat at the table behind him, gesturing for Bethany to sit.

‘Take a seat, Beth, you’ll want to hear this and hopefully now you’re here Mycroft will want to tell us what we need to know.’ Sherlock said, but she didn’t move.

Bethany cleared her throat. ‘Okay, I don’t know what’s going on. Mycroft, do you want me to leave?’

Mycroft held Sherlock’s gaze, but he was right. Bethany was due some truth from him and if Eurus was out then maybe she was right and keeping secrets from her was not the way to protect her.

‘No, you can stay.’ Mycroft conceded.

‘Are you sure? I don’t have to.’

He turned and grazed his eyes over her beautiful face, he felt more inclined to give her what she wanted as oppose to what Sherlock and John wanted. He stood, picking up the chair and placing it closer to John in front of the kitchen, gesturing for her to sit. Mycroft was well aware of John and Sherlock exchanging glances, but this just wasn’t about them.

‘Where were we?’ Mycroft frowned.

‘Why don’t I remember her?’ Sherlock sat back down, his anger coming back.

‘You do remember her,’ Mycroft nodded. ‘In a way. Every choice you’ve ever made, every path you’ve ever taken, the man you are today is your memory of Eurus.’ Mycroft caught Bethany glancing at John’s notes, trying to quickly catch up with the conversation. Mycroft felt his mind making the memories especially real for him, he could feel the pebbles beneath his feet. ‘She was different from the beginning, she knew things she should never have known, as if she were aware of truths beyond the normal scope.’ Mycroft looked down at his hand, feeling the weight of the pebble and closing his hand around it. He felt her eyes on him.

‘Mycroft, what’s wrong?’ He heard Bethany’s voice, the only thing that could break the vivid nature of the memories he had.

‘Sorry.’ He said. ‘The memories are disturbing.’

‘What do you mean? Examples.’ Sherlock demanded.

‘They found her with a knife once,’ Mycroft explained. ‘She seemed to be cutting herself. Mother and Father were terrified, they thought it was suicide attempt. But when I asked Eurus what she was doing, she said “I wanted to see how my muscles worked”.’

‘Jesus.’ John said under his breath.

‘So, I asked her if she felt pain,’ Mycroft went on. ‘She said “which one’s pain?”’

‘Then what happened?’ Sherlock wanted him to go on.

‘Musgrave.’ He said, seeing the house clearly in his mind’s eye. ‘The ancestral home where there was always honey for tea and Sherlock played among the funny gravestones.’

‘Funny how?’ John asked.

‘They weren’t real, the dates were all wrong, an architectural joke which fascinated Sherlock.’

‘…help succour me down, the East Wind blows… sixteen by six…’

‘And under we go.’ Mycroft finished the song and frowned, observing Sherlock’s eyes flicker. ‘You’re starting to remember.’

‘Fragments.’ Sherlock nodded.

‘Redbeard?’ John nudged the question.

‘He was my dog.’ Sherlock explained. Mycroft decided not to correct him, instead he wanted to spare Sherlock the trauma all over again.

‘Eurus took Redbeard and locked him up,’ he went on. ‘Somewhere no one could find him. And she refused to say where he was. She’d only repeat that song, her little ritual. We begged and begged to tell us where he was. She said the song is the answer, but the song made no sense.’

‘What happened to Redbeard?’ Sherlock suddenly asked.

‘We never found him… but she started calling him drowned Redbeard so we made our assumptions.’ Mycroft felt Bethany shifting in the corner of his eye, clearly feeling for him, but he didn’t have the courage to look at her. ‘Sherlock was traumatised. Natural, I suppose. He was, in the early days, an emotional child, but after that he was different, as though he’d changed. Never spoke of it again. In time he seemed to forget Eurus had even existed.’

‘How could he forget?’ John was the one to ask where Sherlock couldn’t. ‘She was living in the same house.’

‘No.’ Mycroft shook his head. ‘They took her away.’

‘Why? You don’t lock up a child because a dog goes missing.’

‘Quite so. It was what happened immediately afterwards.’ Mycroft could once again see the images Eurus drew of Sherlock, his grave, violent deaths, crossing him out of pictures. It was incredibly vivid. He could feel the heat of the fire burning the family home, smell the ash and it was only the smell of ginger penetrating his senses that brought him back. ‘After that, our sister had to be taken away.’

‘Where?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘Oh, some suitable place, or so everyone thought. Not suitable enough however, she died there.’

‘How?’ John asked and Mycroft risked a look in his direction to see Bethany giving him a sceptical look, she always knew when he was lying.

‘She started another fire; one she did not survive.’

‘You’re lying.’ She said, rather bravely.

‘Yes.’ Mycroft conceded. ‘It is also a kindness.’ That seemed to strike a chord with Bethany. ‘This is the story I told our parents, one to spare them any further pain and to account for the absence of an identifiable body.’

‘And no doubt to prevent their further interference.’ Sherlock said, rather cynically.

‘That too, of course. The depth of Eurus’s psychosis and the extent of her abilities couldn’t hope to be contained in any ordinary institution. Uncle Rudy took care of things.’

‘Where is she, Mycroft?’ Sherlock was getting more and more frustrated. ‘Where is our sister?’

‘There’s a place called Sherrinford, an island. It’s a secret and very secure location, whose sole purpose is to contain what we call “The Uncontainables”. The demons beneath the road, this is where we trap them.’ He could visualise the institution in his mind, clear as day. ‘Sherrinford is more than a prison, or an asylum. It is a fortress, built to keep the rest of the world safe from what is inside it.’ He looked to Bethany for a moment, finding his courage again. ‘Heaven may be a fantasy for the credulous and the afraid, but I can give you a map reference to hell. That’s where our sister has been since early childhood. She hasn’t left, not for a single day. Whoever you both met, it can’t have been her.’

Glass shattered in the back room of the flat, startling all four of them. They turned to where the sound came from.

‘I that am lost. Oh who will find me?’ Mycroft was surprised to see Bethany’s expression of recognition before fear flooded her. The singing came from a drone that was flying towards them. 'Deep down below the old beech tree, help succour me now, the east winds blow.’ Mycroft gently pulled Bethany to one side, close to him, recognising what was sitting on top of the drone. ‘Sixteen by six, brother and under we go.’

‘Keep back,’ Mycroft ordered. ‘Keep as still as you can.’

‘What is it?’ John asked, all of them just watching the drone float between them.

‘It’s a drone.’ Sherlock pointed out.

‘Yeah, I can see that, what’s it carrying?’

‘What’s that silver thing on top Mycroft?’

‘It’s a DX-707,’ he swallowed nervously. ‘I’ve authorised the purchase of quite a number of these. Colloquially it is known as the “patience grenade”.’ The drone landed on the floor and made a clicking sound.

‘Patience?’ Bethany asked.

‘The motion sensor has been activated.’ He said as the red light began flashing on top, this was it, they were stuck in that room. ‘If any of us move, the grenade will detonate.’

‘How powerful?’ Sherlock asked.

‘It’ll certainly destroy this flat and kill anyone in it. Assuming the walls are of reasonable strength, your neighbours should be safe, but as it’s landed on the floor, I am moved to wonder if the café below is open.’

‘Closed on Sundays.’ Bethany said, trying desperately not to move.

‘What about Mrs Hudson?’ John asked and they all listened for the sound of the vacuum cleaner.

‘Going by her usual routine, I estimate she has another two minutes left.’

‘She keeps her vacuum cleaner at the back of her flat.’

‘So?’ Mycroft frowned.

‘So, safer there, when she’s putting it away.’ Mycroft subtly gave him a questioning look. ‘Look, we have to move eventually. We should do it when she’s safest.’

‘When the vacuum stops,’ Sherlock continued. ‘We give her eight seconds to get to the back of the flat, she’s fast when she’s cleaning. Then we move.’ Mycroft didn’t care so much for anyone else, he cared that he’d asked Bethany to stay and now her life was in danger. This was his fault. ‘What’s the trigger response time? Once we’re mobile, how long before detonation?’

‘We have a maximum of three seconds to vacate the blast radius.’ Mycroft answered.

‘John and I will take the windows, you and Bethany take the stairs. Help get Mrs Hudson out too.’

‘Me?’

‘You’re closer.’

‘You’re faster.’

‘I’ll get Mrs Hudson.’ Bethany spoke up and settled the argument, they didn’t have time to waste. They listened closely for the vacuum cleaner.

‘She moving away, she’s further back.’ John said.

‘I estimate we have a minute left. Is a phone call possible?’

‘A phone call?’ Mycroft frowned.

‘John has a daughter, he may wish to say goodbye.’

‘I’m sorry Dr Watson, any movement will set off the grenade. I hope you understand.’ Mycroft briefly thought that he should have said something to Bethany, something in regards to the way he felt, but somehow the words escaped him.

‘Oscar Wilde.’ John suddenly spoke.

‘What?’

‘He said “the truth is rarely pure and never simple”. It’s from The Importance of Being Earnest, we did it in school.’

‘So did we. As I recall.’

‘I didn’t.’ Bethany spoke up.

‘If we survive this, I’m sure Mycroft will show you his Lady Bracknell. You were great.’ Sherlock looked at him and he felt a sense of brotherly love once again.

‘You really think so?’

‘Yeah, I really do.’

‘Well, that’s good to know. I’ve always wondered.’

The sound of the vacuum coming to a stop refocused them to the present situation and everyone was ready to move.

‘Good luck boys.’ Bethany said.

‘Three.’ Sherlock began the countdown. ‘Two… One. Go!’

All four of them darted from the room, Mycroft watching Bethany’s significantly faster legs carry her down the stairs just in time for the ceiling to collapse into Mrs Hudson’s flat. Mycroft watched her dive in to find the landlady while he called an ambulance.

He managed to make it out of the house and find Sherlock and John on the floor, fighting for breath, but when Mycroft looked behind him, he couldn’t see Bethany or Mrs Hudson.

‘Here.’ Mycroft handed his phone to John and as soon as the blast cleared, he sprinted back in to find Bethany. She was digging her way through piles of rubble, finding Mrs Hudson cowering in a corner and coughing through the smoke.

‘Mycroft!’ Bethany yelled, pulling the wooden beam out of the way, so that he could get to Mrs Hudson and help her out of the corner.

‘Come on, that’s it.’ Mycroft encouraged and soon the frail landlady was safe.

Bethany kept pace behind him and they made it out onto the street where the ambulance was eventually turning up.

John took over with Mrs Hudson while Bethany sat down on the side of the street, leaning back on her hands, exhausted. Mycroft cautiously approached her.

‘Bethany.’ He said, trying to work out what to say, but she held her hand up to stop him. She didn’t look upset with him, just tired and struggling for breath.

‘What do we do now, Sherlock?’ She asked.

Sherlock was still catching his breath. ‘Sherrinford.’ He said and pulled her to her feet.

‘That’s out of the question.’ Mycroft intervened. ‘I cannot take any of you to Sherrinford. Especially not-‘ he stopped himself speaking and stepped away, thinking hard. Sherlock didn’t let him get far.

‘And that right there is exactly why the four of us are going to Sherrinford.’ He hissed. ‘Make it happen.’

Mycroft knew what he was referring to, he was weakened when Bethany was around less likely to lie or cheat or making any decision a brave woman like her would disapprove of. Sherlock wanted her there so that he was accountable to someone.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

#Mycroft Holmes #mycroft holmes x ofc #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft x original female character #bbc sherlock

[devoursjohnlock]

Hey, I hope you've been well! I wanted to ask, since I really value your meta, what is your opinion on the necessity of John's kid according to blog theory? If he invented a baby when irl it died/wasn't his/ was fake, then how would he justify this fictional story to the people? It would make his rship with Mary seem good, but he can't make a baby appear out of nowhere in his real life and it would contradict his blog. This is the only thing I can't make sense of in blog theory and it is a bit confusing!

Hey, anon! Thank you, that's very kind of you. The short answer to your question is that I'm not really sure. My own theory is partly consistent with blog theory but not actually blog theory, and I suspect there are a few different theories being worked on by different people that involve some element of blog theory; it's possible that it's not all one thing.

What I have gathered is that blog theory tucks S4 (and maybe TAB?) into a discrete package that can be called "fiction" within the framework of the show. However... for me, Rosie Watson is one thing that makes this difficult if not impossible, because she provides tangible continuity between TSOT and everything that comes later. And if a random person in the post-S4 Sherlock universe can pick up "S4" in a bookshop and read about Rosie's development as a toddler, that might explain her absence as a real person after S4, but it wouldn't explain how/why she disappeared/wasn't born and it wouldn't contribute to anything in-universe (such as an alibi for the real John), where people can see that there is no baby. As such, there is the opposite of "a necessity of John's kid" in a fictional S4 if the rest of the show is "real". In fact, our attention is drawn to her status within S4 ("Has that come out?"). It's one of the first things the viewer is prompted to question. Why do that if the viewer/reader is supposed to be convinced that she's real?

TL;DR, I'm confused, too, although I am genuinely not the person to ask about this.

But since you did ask, here's how I think about Rosie from my perspective. Mary Morstan is consistently associated with gaslighting on this show, if you look at it through a canon lens. Her pregnancy has an indefinite quality to it, mostly to do with timing (everyone's hair is too long when the baby is born and John's "I'm going to be a dad" blog.jpg post can't decide if it's past or present). The baby mirrors both Sherlock (see John and Lestrade's comedy act at the beginning of TST) and John (Sherlock calls her Watson and speaks to her as he would to John), rather like Mary herself. So, to me, the baby feels very not-real, just as Mary does (and well... we can hardly expect a not-real Mary to have a real baby).

So, what good is a not-real Rosie, or even a Rosie of uncertain status? Why is she there at all? First, I think she is actually useful as a metaphor in a number of ways. The "Rosie is a gun" metaphor is a good example, and has interesting implications for the end of TFP. But also, she forces us to address the status of characters who simply don't appear to be real in the Sherlock universe, which is handy if you're planning an explicit confrontation between fiction and reality. That is something Doyle played with a lot and it was the focus of the 2007 film Reichenbach Falls (which... yeah, does actually feature an in-universe character picking up a book about a person in her universe who she knows is fictional, and that tension between real and not-real is the point of the film), and it's something that happens in nearly all of Steven Moffat's work and even some of Mark Gatiss's work (looking at you, An Adventure in Space and Time).

So, you know... it seems more likely than not that we'll see a similar confrontation in S5, and I have to say, that would be more appropriate in Sherlock than it may have been in any of their other work, partly because of how and why Doyle wrote the stories, and partly because of what fans have been doing with them since Doyle's own time.

#Sherlock #asks #S4 #Rosie Watson #what baby whose baby #Mary Morstan #gaslighting #Reichenbach Falls (2007 film) #reality #metafiction #anyway more on that in the thing I'm writing on the Great Game #because you know... that is also the point of the Great Game #it all fits #for people who were hoping to see it I didn't talk about canon inspirations for Rosie but I will write about that eventually #it's not a high priority but fits into some other things I'm working toward #I hope it doesn't sound like I'm dissing blog theory in this because imho blog theory is very close #but I still think some key things are missing from it from what I can tell

[queer-eye-for-the-london-eye]

First Reflection

I’ve always had an image of a “classier” New York City in my mind when I think of London. I suppose what that means is crowded, bustling, and possibly a little claustrophobic. I really don’t think it helps that the majority of the time, London is portrayed in media as Victorian/Edwardian (i.e. Sherlock Holmes adaptations, Charles Dickens adaptations, Penny Dreadful, etc.). 

Parts of me have always thought of it like a place that is “trapped” in that time period, but I logically know that it IS modern. There have even been adaptations such as the BBC Sherlock and Doctor Who series that tries to modernize the classics. This is something I have always enjoyed and appreciated as, back in high school, I went to a theatre conservatory during the summers. Each year, we would focus on a different Shakespearean play, and something that I learned was that the costumes were very rarely meant to be set in the time of the play, instead relying on the donations of the patrons as they got rid of their older fashions. This always meant that Shakespeare’s plays came across as more modern to their audiences. I suppose that’s all my way of saying that, while the city itself has always felt like some old relic in my mind full of history, I’ve always thought of the people as modern because they are human beings. 

I’m not sure how I would consider the food as it seems mostly appropriated from other countries. For example, Pokemon Sword and Shield is set in a idealized version of England, and one of the activities you can do in the game is make different curry recipes. This is obviously not a dish that is native to England, but it is also very popular there. 

Obviously, London weather is almost always depicted as overcast and rainy. One of the first things my mom said to me when I told her about this trip was that I should be sure to pack an umbrella. I understand now, based on the information that we’ve been given, that it is much more varied, so I should be prepared (though, umbrellas are not really necessary). 

I’ve never travelled outside the US. The furthest away from home I’ve ever been is Washington, DC when I was about eight years old. I’ve just never really had the means to travel before now. Thanks to a promotion at work and the support of my family, this is now happening. It still feels very surreal to me, and I keep joking that it will finally feel real when I sit down on the plane. I am excited for the shows (which I’ve already purchased a bunch of different tickets for) and the sights of the city. I’ll miss my cats like crazy, but I know this is going to be worth it. This trip is made even more exciting by the fact that I’ll be able to celebrate my birthday in London!

#london22 #london2022 #thoughts #reflection

[doriana-gray-games]

hello i’m the anon that sent the confusing ask! to clarify you said H notices/likes red should Sherlock wear it to the ball, so I was wondering if there were facial/body details that certain RO’s will notice or commented on that other’s wouldn’t? Like does Waston stare at “full lips” if you’ve picked that one? Does Adler comment on small waist or shapely legs? I was wondering if aside from noting the attractiveness of Sherlock, if they would notice certain features? Or if attractiveness is the indicator they notice and the details are for like the player to visualize? Sorry if this still doesn’t make any sense😣

(Clarification, H likes a red outfit/dress/detail—not necessarily red hair!)

I think Adler might have a preference for stylish or fashionable outfits ✨😌 not sure yet what W and Ls thing will be.

Sorry this took so long, first I wanted to give the original anon a chance to respond and then I forgot to answer 😅

I flounder a bit on this topic--because while I think it would be fun for the ROs to have preferences of features or colouring I fear people would feel excluded maybe? Like, if L expressed a preference to brunettes if the MC is one—but says nothing when not. I'm not sure people would be happier by that than if all ROs just like whatever the MC is or has.

I will probably just try and add as many of comments and reactions as I can, but it seems natural that I will happen to include more of some than others.

For example, Watson notices small waist and Shapely legs in the carriage scene--but other features will get reactions too, when it is appropriate to the scene to be noticed. But I'm not yet sure if there will be specific RO preferences. Maybe? 🤔

Would you prefer if the ROs have preferences of hair or eye colour? Or facial or body features? OR that the ROs have a preference for whatever the MC has? (Meaning the RO gets slightly rewritten aligning with the character creator choices)

[forestlingincorporated]

I wanna talk about Janet Drake

I’m not against exaggeratedly evil versions of Tim’s parents, tbh. It’s fanfiction, if we can depict an Exaggeratedly Good version of Bruce (which we can, and I do, and I love) then we can depict the Drakes as Exaggeratedly Bad. As someone who personally identifies with Tim, and his brand of complicated parental abuse in particular, I find it cathartic to uncomplicate that abuse and rescue him from the Obviously Evil Bad People. 

That said, since much of comics lore is passed down word of mouth, the oral tradition surrounding Tim has developed this idea of Janet as The Worse Parent between her and Jack that was never really present in the comics. We see much LESS of Janet, and we have 20 years worth of comics depicting Jack as a neglectful hotheaded idiot who ultimate does love his son. More importantly, Jack isn’t very much LIKE Tim, so there is a habit to attribute Tim’s traits to his mother... and, as someone who really really identifies with Tim, Tim has... some negative traits. Tim can be a bitch sometimes. He’s fiercely intelligent and sweet and kind, with a strong sense of justice, but he can be cold and judgmental and unthinking - he fights those traits, but he does have them. 

And it is perfectly fine to depict Janet that way. I’ve enjoyed depictions of Cold Calculating Janet Drake, but it’s not the ONLY option, and I want to challenge fans to consider different avenues. Tim could pick up these traits from anywhere: a nanny, Mrs. Mc Ilvaine (”Mrs. Mac”), a teacher, tv, Sherlock Holmes novels, Bruce Wayne himself. Tim is capable of not being like EITHER parent. 

So, what do we KNOW about Janet? (I’ll also touch on Jack, but only in scenes he appears with Janet.) 

When Janet was first introduced she was depicted as a gentle but “modern” woman. This was written in 1989, told by a 13 year old Tim, so this theoretically was meant to take place in 1979. I’m not here to give a lecture on the history of sex discrimination in the united states, but much of the legislation protecting women in the workforce or surrounding women’s bodily autonomy would have been very very new in this initial depiction. 

Here, Janet is shown to be encouraging, emotional, maternal, and projects her own feelings onto Tim. Jack is shown to be slightly sexist, possibly discouraging, but not overbearing. And the artist is shown not to know how to draw children. 

To insert some speculation, I think it’s important to note all the Drakes witnessed a terrible murder/accident that day. I point this out, because this is the last time Jack and Janet are depicted this way. It’s possible they changed as a result of this event specifically. 

However, this is also a story being told by Tim. It’s also possible these events aren’t really “real” at all, and Tim is misremembering what his parents were like as a three-year-old, possibly projecting a more palatable version of his parents into the narrative. This is entirely up to personal interpretation. 

In fact, the Drakes are shown in Legend of the Dark Knight attending Haly’s Circus, and the artist knows what a toddler looks like and they’re depicted as already having a slightly strained relationship. Jack is clearly on the defensive, and Janet seems to be passive-aggressive, though she could just be attempting to explain the situation to her toddler honestly. The intended tone isn’t especially clear. 

I do want to point out, in this depiction, Tim isn’t being carried like he was in the previous one. He’s walking ahead of his parents, which isn’t a terrible horrible crime, but could be dangerous in a crowded place like the circus. Might be a subtle hint to his parents overall neglect. 

Back to A Lonely Place of Dying, in Tim’s memories of the night he discovered Robin and Dick Grayson were the same person at nine-years-old, his parents are home, and watching TV together while Tim played... trucks, idk, in the living room with them. (This is semi-interesting, because you could say “oh, Tim liked vehicle toys as a kid” or you could extrapolate that this is another subtle indication of Jack’s sexism, providing Tim with appropriately “boy toys.” Either interpretation is valid. If Tim was assigned female at birth, would they have been given “girl toys,” or allowed to play with whatever they wanted?) 

This is, to my knowledge, the only panel of the Drakes when Tim is between ages 3 and 13. They’re all together, which might indicate that the Drakes were home more often when Tim was 9, only later going on business trips when Tim was “old enough” but... 

This is Tim’s boarding school when he’s 13. While most boarding schools in the US are for grades 9-12, Tim is clearly not a freshman at age 13; look how much younger the other kids in this panel are. In the US, the youngest you can attend most boarding schools is 7. 

That means Tim could have begun going to boarding school anytime between 7 and 13. He most likely spent all of middle school in boarding school, at least. There are an almost infinite number of possible ways the Drakes handled having a business that required lots of international travel, an archeology hobby, AND a very young child. Janet staying home until Tim was 7, 11, 13, is equally possible as the Drakes having a nanny until 7, 11, 13. Tim just doesn’t talk about that period of his life very much.

(”What about Mrs. Mac?” - it is unclear when Mrs. Mac begins working for the Drakes. We only see her when Jack comes out of his coma. She could either be a long standing staff member, or a recent hire.) 

Note: I’ve seen it said that it’s canon that “According to Tim, when his parents were home, they made a point to try and include him in their activities, bringing him along to events that were normally adults only.” I have never seen this panel, or I don’t remember it, so I cannot confirm, but I also cannot debunk this because... comics. 

By the time Tim is 13, Jack and Janet are away on business trips a lot, with limited communication, and no firm return date. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say it was harder to communicate internationally in 1990 than it is today. If I’m not feeling generous, I’d say the Drakes are extremely wealthy, and international communication was easier than ever before in the 80s and 90s. They’re not even going home to see Tim in a week or two, they’re going home and calling Tim at boarding school in a week or two. 

Even Bruce thinks its weird, though he doesn’t say so to Tim’s face. It’s written almost as if Tim’s parents’ neglect was meant to be a plot point that just got forgotten about. 

Tim’s parents are fighting at this point (their poor assistant), but Janet still goes with Jack on these business trips. And she’s clearly involved in the business, somehow, but the comics never SAY what Janet’s JOB is. We’re told Jack is the exec, but Janet is ONLY ever referred to as Jack’s wife, though they’re later described as the “heads” of the company, plural. 

Just to be clear, this is Jack’s business. There’s a perception that Jack is a bad business man because he and Janet fight over company decisions, and Jack looses the business after Janet dies, but Jack looses the company YEARS after Janet dies, and maintains it for about a year after No Man’s Land at that. We’re not told how Jack looses the business, but he’s got to be doing something right. Janet isn’t necessarily the “real brains” of Drake Industries. 

And I’m not... gonna... touch the... exploitation and racism because... I’m not qualified to do that. But, here’s the panel. The Drakes sure seem exploitative and racist in their business decisions. Someone else can... analyze that with more nuance. 

Regardless how how long they’ve been fighting, when their lives are in danger, the Drakes fall back into a loving husband and wife. Their marriage may be falling apart, but they do care about each other. 

I want to show these panels because it shows that Tim and Jack do have things in common. They’re both level headed in a crisis and can be somewhat cold in their practicality. Janet meanwhile and silent. Jack is later willing rant and rave at their captors, but Janet remains silent. 

That is, until they’re alone, and she finally lets herself fall apart. 

God, Jack can be obnoxious. Janet just looks miserable and resigned. I actually think Tim takes after his parents in this respect in equal measure. Tim can have a temper, but he can also be fairly melancholy and defeatist. 

Jack keeps reminding Janet to be strong and in control, which could be period typical sexism? But Jack seems so practiced and ready with the words of encouragement, and with Tim’s history with depression, I wonder if Janet has an inclination towards it as well. 

As the end approaches, when Jack brings up Tim, Janet seems to have a lot of regret. She talks about “wasting” the good things, and I don’t think it’s too big of a stretch to assume she’s talking about time spent with her only child. 

From this point on, Janet is at times spoken of, but not seen. Like here, when Jack says Janet wouldn’t approve of him and Tim being so “far apart.” He says this after he tells him he takes back his threat to send him back to boarding school, which might imply Janet was against the idea of boarding school? Though she obviously lost that argument when she was alive. 

Jack will of course renege on this later, but that’s Jack Drake for you. 

Or here in Tim’s illness induced dream, where he gets everything he wants. Though, since this is a fantasy of Tim’s, where his father and girlfriend are both more accepting and understanding than they are in real life, I would take this depiction of Janet with a grain of salt. 

After loosing Drake Industries, Jack thinks about Janet (though, they call her Catherine/Cathy for some fucking reason) during his depressive episode. And... uh... 

Hallucinates a Valkyrie???? Is this symbolic of suicidal thoughts, or is she... real? Or is he seriously hallucinating? 

Anyway, we’re not here to discuss Jack’s mental state, the fact that he forgot Tim’s birthday, or that concerning “I was going to knock some sense into you but you’re still bigger than me” statement from Tim, we’re here to talk about Janet. And even though this entire arc is about Jack mourning his first wife, they don’t SAY anything about Janet herself at all. I mean, they don’t even get her name right, so I guess what was I expecting. 

Then there’s Origins and Omens, which also doesn’t say anything about Janet, except that Tim’s memory of her is faulty - Janet was poisoned, her assistant Jeremy’s throat was slit on television, but Tim seems to have conflated the death he did see with the death he didn’t. 

The only piece of canon to suggest that Janet might be cold, is Tim compares her to Thalia. And even then, he’s really just saying Janet was protective of him. It’s kind of a scary look to make at your kid, but Bruce does the same thing, so. 

I do want to say... it’s not 100% clear if Tim is even talking about Janet. He could be talking about Dana. Dana was observably protective of Tim, though I don’t think he’s ever called her mom. He PROBABLY means Janet. 

And finally we have Tim visiting his mother’s grave (in a duel Christian/Jewish cemetery, make of that what you will), where Tim says she was “a little religious.”

And that’s it! That is all we know about Janet Drake in New Earth. Hardly the Mom From Hell, but she isn’t perfect. I’d be interested in seeing some alternate depictions of her within the fandom. 

I’m still gonna eat up Terrible Parents From Hell like a starving puppy dog, though. Just some food for creative thought. 

#Tim Drake #janet drake #jack drake #robin #Red Robin #character analysis

[fangirlings-things]

Rescheduled Lesson

❦ PART. II

Fandom: Enola Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x female reader

Word count: 3K

anon said: Can I request a Sherlock x reader where she visited Enola often when Sherlock left on long cases, so they became good friends? And when Enola runs away to find her mom, she goes to stay with the reader, which Sherlock deduces and tries to get her to let him find Enola and talk to her? -&

A/N: this request was amazing and I loved every bit of it!!! I put all my inspiration in this, tried to make the personality of the character good, so I hope you like this piece, love, I did my best!! (also I’m thinking about a part 2? if you guys like it let me know, I would be delighted to write it) (had to repost guys, I'm sorry!!)

also, the tag list for this fandom is open!!!

gif credit: @henrycavilledits

❧ You knew the Holmes family was nothing like the other families that lived in the countryside. The father had died many years before. The two oldest sons had already left home, to live their lives and follow the careers they desired. On that incredibly big house, where once lived a family, there was only a mother and her youngest child left. Perhaps the fact that you yourself was considered a little off by other people, was the fact that made you become friends with them.

You lived completely alone, surrounded by books in a small house. Your life was made of studying, researching and writing texts about science. You loved it, great authors of the matter being your inspiration. You tried to learn their teachings and with luck, wanted others to learn as well. You almost couldn’t believe when one day in the middle of a sunny afternoon, Eudoria Holmes had showed up at your door and invited you to her house, where she asked you to be Enola’s science teacher. She educated her daughter not for society, but for herself, so that she could find her own path when she came to grow up. That instantly made you respect that woman and accept her offer.

Twice a week you would go to the Holmes’s house and spend hours and more hours teaching the girl. Darwin, Copernicus, Newton, Galilei. She was eager to know and you were eager to teach her. She was the first student you had that actually wanted to learn and that was amazing. Made you proud and happy, more than you could say. At the evening, Eudoria would ask you to stay for dinner. You would put lessons aside and talk and laugh together. They were like your family, the one you didn’t had.

You were always excited for the days of teaching Enola to come soon. They were your absolute favorites of the week. In the beginning of the afternoon of one of those days, you had been incredibly surprised by a knock on your front door while you gathered the books you would make the girl read and study. Frowning, because you never had visitors or received letters, you went to attend the door.

And when you opened it, you saw that your visitor was Enola herself.

“Hi, Miss (Y/L/N)” the girl smiled at you, a little forced smile that instantly made your frown grow deeper. She was wearing boy’s clothes, even a hat, and her long brown hair had been hidden inside of it. “I’m afraid today’s lesson will have to be rescheduled”

“Enola, what…” you began, confused. You had seen her dressed in boy’s clothes before around her house, that wasn’t a big deal. She did find them more comfortable, she had told you before. But the fact that she concealed her hair as if she wanted to hide it and the expression on her face, something that you couldn’t quite identify but resembled urgency, was enough for you to get anxious.

“Please, Miss (Y/L/N), can I come in? I promise I’ll explain everything you want to know” she pleaded, eyes locked on yours as she did so. The tone on her voice made you nod and take a step to the side, locking the door once she was already inside. “I had never been here. Your house is really amazing” the girl seemed overwhelmed by all the books and unfinished texts you had around, laying on tables and shelves.

“Thank you” you said, mind still running fast as you tried to understand what was happening. You walked after the girl, that had advanced until she reached the next room of your house, one who only had two couches and a table. “Enola, what is going on?” her face instantly lost the admiration she was having for your belongings. Her eyes went to the floor, and she went silent. That made you sight. “Enola, you promise you would explain. And you know you can trust me”

That seemed to make her come around, because she sighted as you had just did and sat at one of your couches. Or better, she laid down on it, placing her head over a pillow and focusing her eyes on the roof. Her hands were joined over her chest. “I came here because I wanted to hide, Miss (Y/L/N). I’m running away”

Your eyes went wide at that declaration and you sat on the other couch, realizing that would probably be a long conversation. “Enola! Think about your mother! She loves you. Your disappearance will hurt her deeply”

“No, no, I’m not running away from my mother. I’m running away to find her” the girl sat straight on the couch, eyes meeting yours again like they had before at the door. She could see the confusion in your eyes grow by each word she spoke. “My mother went missing a few days ago, Miss (Y/L/N). She didn’t say goodbye or said where she was going. She only left me clues, here and there that I’ll have to use to find her”

Worry got a hold of you, the same worry you had recognized on Enola’s eyes. Eudoria. Where would she have gone? Was she fine? Not knowing you realized, was terrible. As you thought about what Enola had just said, another question got to your mind. “If your mother is missing, who are you running away from, Enola?”

“My brothers. Sherlock and Mycroft. Well, especially Mycroft, because he wants to send me to a finishing school, that prepares young women for society” the clear disgust in her voice would have made you laugh if you weren’t so worried.

“Where will you go to find your mother, Enola? What plans do you have? Do you want me to go with you?” all questions left your mouth in such a rush, that it seemed like you had just spit out the words one after the other.

The young girl smiled kindly and got up, going to sit right next to you on the couch you were on. She grabbed your hands in hers gently and squeezed them tightly. “Thank you for offering to go with me, to support me, Miss (Y/L/N). Is more than my own brothers have done. But this is something I have to do alone, I have to be the one to find her and know why she left. And I think that the less you know, the better it will be”

Oh, that girl. You smiled while you looked at her. Eudoria had raised her to be a force of nature and had achieved that goal, brilliantly. You squeezed her hands back in affection. “When will you leave?”

“At sundown today” she said, so quickly that you realized she had already thought about everything. At least, on that phase of that 'plan' to find her dear mother. “Will walk to the train station, not the closest one but the next, and get on the first train in the morning tomorrow. In this way, I’m quite sure my brothers won’t be able to understand my intentions soon enough as to catch me”

“Very well” you passed your arms around her and hugged her tight, sighting. “Let’s get you some food for your journey, then. If you find Eudoria and she finds out I let you almost starve I’ll get in trouble”

Enola laughed as she hugged you back.

════ •⊰❂⊱• ═══════ •⊰❂⊱• ════

Enola had left at sundown of the previous day, just like she had said she would. Carrying nothing more than money her mother had left her, a bag of food you had given her and her favorite book of yours, Origin of Species, you had watched her walk away into the night alone, as her name backwards spelled.

You had spent the whole night incapable of sleeping, wondering if she was fine and if she hadn’t encountered any dangers as she travelled on foot. You worried so much but all you could do, was hope that she would stay safe and find her mother. Soon.

On the next day, you had spent the morning and the beginning of the afternoon distracted. Tried to complete some of your works, but couldn’t. Your mind would always go back to the gone girl and her well being.

You had frustratedly been trying to read the same page of one of your books for fifteen minutes, without being capable of keeping any attention on it, when for the second time in a long time, you heard knocks at the front door.

You got up instantly, leaving the book forgotten upon the closest table as you rushed to the door, already smiling at the thought at Enola had came around on her idea of going alone and was back to ask you to go with her.

When you opened the door though, you realized that it wasn’t Enola who had knocked. It had been a man. A man you had never seen before.

He was tall, it was the first thing you noticed. The fact that he had no beard, was the second. And then, details of him came rushing into your mind through your eyes. He had short, curly hair, bright eyes and memorable features. He wore a white shirt, a brown vest with small white details in it and a brown suit as well as trousers of the same color. No tie which was insula for men that well dressed.

“May I help you?” you frowned at him, holding the wooden door firmly with one of your hands. To receive the visit of men, had always made you nervous. You lived alone, after all, and the world was becoming a more violent place day by day.

“I hope so” he said, which such confidence on his voice that it actually made you raise your eyebrows at him. His eyes were fixed in you, analyzing your face with much intensity. Far more than you thought it would be appropriate. “I’m Sherlock Holmes. And I suppose you are Miss (Y/L/N), my sister’s science teacher”

You took a moment to watch him again, trying to put into your mind that the man in front of you was the Sherlock Holmes, the detective who was making a name on England, solving the most incredible and difficult cases on his own. After long seconds of silence where you only stared at each other, you cleaned your throat. “I am in fact Enola’s teacher, Mr. Holmes. How did you know?”

“I found her works, studies on great science authors. They all had writings on the borders where she constantly mentioned a desire to please and make a 'Miss (Y/L/N)' proud. It only took me a visit to one of the closest houses to ask who it was and get pointed in your house’s direction” he explained, in an impersonal tone quite fitting to a detective. He saw the incisive tone look you were giving him, filled with suspicion, and smiled slightly as he looked at his feet, before focusing his eyes back on yours. “I came here because Enola ran away from home, Miss (Y/L/N). And I think she would come here to see you if she needed help”

You sighted, looking into his eyes. You remembered Enola’s words, where she had told you Mycroft was the one who wanted to send her to a finishing school, the one who had made her run away. If that had been Mycroft Holmes at your door, you would have denied being her teacher or even knowing the girl, wanting to cut the conversation short. But that was Sherlock Holmes. Enola hadn’t expressed much anger towards him and honestly, he would for sure find out the truth on his own. He was the best detective there was in the nowadays. You tell him, would just spin faster the process and you would be able to send him away sooner.

“Come in, Mr. Holmes” you took a step aside, motioning for him to come in. He did, in slow calculated steps and once he was inside you closed the door, sighting. You expected him to say something, but he didn’t. Not at first. Instead he walked around just like Enola had done, eyes floating through the uncountable books you had, all in a complete mess over the tables, piles and more piles of them . “She was indeed here, your sister”

He turned his head to look at you, a genuine smile on his lips. “I was already certain of that” then he walked towards one of the tables, fingers running through one of works. The paper was a bit kneaded, but he didn’t seem to care. “The works you did with Enola, the amount of things she learned… they were quite impressive”

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to contain your surprise to know you had impressed the most impressive man of all, Sherlock Holmes. You waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t, just kept on walking through the room and inspecting your things with his perceptive eyes. “I don’t know where she is, Mr. Holmes. She left many hours ago”

He placed his hands on the pockets of his trousers, turning completely to you the resemblance of his previous smile on his lips. “And I believe she didn’t tell you what were her plans?”

“No and if she had, I wouldn’t tell you” you said and went to sit on a chair, at the table he had been studying with his eyes previously.

“Mind if I take off my suit?” he asked simply. You just nodded for him to go on, not giving it much thought. He took off his brown suit in gracious movements, then placed it in one of the other empty chairs close by. “May I ask why you wouldn’t tell me my sister’s plans, Miss (Y/L/N), if you knew them?”

“Enola said your brother wants to send her to a finishing school” you replied, watching as one after the other, he folded the sleeves of his white shirt until they got close to his elbow. Unconsciously, you noticed how his muscles could be seen from under his shirt. “To try to turn such a brilliant, incredibly smart young girl into a 'lady society' would be a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t be forced to do it” at the end of that sentence, Sherlock Holmes had grabbed two books in his hands and after reading the tiles, he went to the shelves and started placing them there. “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I am organizing your books, Miss (Y/L/N). In alphabetical order, of course. Like I’ve noticed you do after a quick inspection” he smiled at you again, placing those two in place. Then, he went to the table and grabbed a few more. “I personally agree with you. I don’t think Enola should be sent to such a place, but she is my brother’s ward. It is out of my hands” he read the titles, then turned around to return to the shelves. “I suppose you weren’t raised as a lady of society also, for you live by yourself apparently and your academic interests”

“You’re wrong” you said with a little smile taking a hold of your lips, and that made him stop organizing the books and look at you with a frown. She shouldn’t be wrong often. “I was raised to be a lady, until the point where my parents died. After that, I started to live on my own, for I had no more relatives. It gave me a chance to become who I wanted to be, instead of whom I was being carved into”

“You chose your own path” he said with a bigger smile this time and when you nodded in agreement, he returned his look at the shelves. “How did your parents die?”

“They were murdered” you tried to swallow the knot on your throat. Even though they had been controlling parents to the most when regarding your future, they were still your parents, and you loved and missed them. “The police never found out by whom”

“The police can be quite… inefficient” he turned back around with his hands already empty. “I’m really sorry”

“Thank you” you said, squeezing your lips in a thin line as old memories came to surface. Things you hadn’t you thought about in a long, long time. “If there isn’t anything else, may I escort you to the door?”

Your polite way of sending him away made him smile.

He placed the books he had just gathered back on the table, grabbed his suit and accompanied you towards the door, not bothering to dress the piece again. You opened the door and he stepped out, turning to look at you once more. His eyes were curious, interesting. Full of something you couldn’t quite identify, so mysterious as his sister’s.

“If you find Enola, don’t stop her from trying to find your mother” you told him, trying to repress the emotion in your voice. “Not knowing what happened… can be quite disturbing”

“I promise, stop her, is not my intention” he looked down at his feet once again, as if he was thinking for a brief moment, before his eyes went back to yours. “I could try to find out what happened to your parents. Who was their murderer”

“I don’t have much money, Mr. Holmes” you told him, your turn now to look down at your feet.

“I never said you would have to pay” he replied and with that your gaze snapped back up to meet his, and that made him chuckle. You couldn’t deny he looked quite beautiful when doing that. “You were there for my sister through much time and when she needed help, when I wasn’t. That is enough paying for me. Think about it, Miss (Y/L/N). After I find my sister and discover where is my mother, I am willing to take over your case. If you want me to” he nodded his head in your direction in a silent appreciation for your reception in your house and began to turn to walk away, but stopped himself in the middle of such movement. “May I know your first name?”

You smiled softly at that. “It’s (Y/N), Mr. Holmes”

“Please, call me Sherlock”

And after that, he walked away.

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #enola holmes fanfic #enola holmes imagine #enola holmes #sherlock holmes fanfic #Sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill sherlock holmes #henry!sherlock

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part 11)

A/N- Okay so this is just a short 2k fill in chapter! It’s kinda cute and kinda sad but it was too long to add to the last chapter, and it doesn’t fit in with the theme of the next chapter (though it sets it up quite nicely!). The next chapter is likely going to be a bit angsty but I promise it’ll have a rewarding ending to it! I hope to have it written and up sooner rather than later but, until then, enjoy this little piece.

Word Count- 2028

The ten minute drive from Baker Street to the Natural History Museum went by in a flash- most of it being spent by Mycroft giving you a mental tour of the building's various rooms and the 'most appropriate route to take'. Though it did also take a minute or two for you to convince him to not get everybody kicked out for a private visit, no matter how many people were there.. Admittedly, you hadn't been to the museum for 6 years or so now- after living so long in London it feels less of a luxury being only round the corner from it- but walking through the doors made you feel like a child again. Entry to the museum was free, but that didn't mean you didn't see Mycroft swiftly pushing a few notes into the donation bin at the front before guiding you forwards. Glancing up, you eyed the blue whale skeleton that hung from the ceiling and frowned. Mycroft caught your look and spoke up.

"Ah yes, Hope has been a relatively recent addition to the museum. She was found dead on an Irish beach back in 1891. It's a rather beautiful marvel to gaze upon, though, large as she is, she doesn't quite fill the hole in my heart that was left after my beloved Dippy was removed." Your eyes scanned the skeleton of the large mammal once more before looking back at Mycroft. "I did try to convince the board to keep the diplodocus somewhere but all attempts were futile. There's only so much force you can put into such a topic without exposing yourself as-"

"As a man who loves dinosaur bones more than he loves people?" Mycroft shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"The very thing." Lifting your arm, you rested your hand at the crook of Mycroft's elbow to encourage him to move on.

"When we get home and have dinner we can raise a toast in Dippy's honour.. but for now, my mind's been taken over by that huge statue of Darwin." And the pair of you headed off, your hand very much staying place at Mycroft's arm as you wandered through the rooms- Mycroft more than willing to reel off facts about every deceased animal of history and, more often than not, even impressing the workers with his spiel of facts. Though you were very much enjoying wandering aimlessly through the room of human evolution, you most definitely noticed the pull from the man beside you as he was eager to reach his beloved dino-pals. As you turned the corner into the slightly darkened dinosaur room, you tripped over your feet slightly as you felt Mycroft stop in his tracks, his eyes wide and taking everything in. He looked as happy as a boy at Christmas and, quite frankly, it was adorable. You nudged him slightly when he still didn't move. "You okay?"

"Sorry, it just seems as though, no matter how many times I come here, it always feels like the first." He had shaken his head as though to bring his thoughts back to focus before taking a few steps into the gallery and leading you over to the skeletal remains of a Baryonyx. "The name Baryonyx roughly translates to 'Heavy Claw' from the Ancient Greek's 'Barys' meaning heavy and 'onyx' being claw or talon." He spoke, his voice smooth and relaxed as his fingers brushed over the board that announced the name of the creature within the glass. "It was also an excellent swimmer which it would use to its advantage while hunting." You listened to his every word as he spoke, grinning as he excitedly told you how many teeth it had and it's preferred techniques for capturing food before he moved you onto the next one.

"Oh these beauties have always been my favourite." You almost whispered, taking in the sight of the huge triceratops skull. You barely noticed Mycroft's hand shift from his pocket until you felt the heat of his palm against the small of your back, fingers squeezing slightly by your hip as he spoke.

"Mine too. Sherlock used to say they were boring and that we might as well have gone to the zoo to look at rhinos. He ended up spending 5 months trying to prove that the rhinos were descendants from the triceratops and then avoided me for 3 weeks when he realised there was no connection at all."

"That sounds about right. Though I can't imagine Sherlock enjoying it here very much anyway.." Mycroft began to guide you to a small bench just off the side to sit down, still giving you the view of the beautiful dinosaur bones.

"He didn't. When we were much younger he would kick off until Mummy and Father would tell us it's time to go and I had to go with them.. Then as we got a little older and Sherlock properly found his legs, he would simply run from the doors round to the science museum. Of course mummy and father had to follow him as he was so young, but one time I decided to stay here. They didn't realise I hadn't followed them until it was time to go home 5 hours later." Mycroft spoke quietly.

"Found his legs? That's at, what, four? Five? How young were you?"

"I was 9 the first time, I think." Now, Mycroft, you don't just 'think'; you know. Your hand moved to rest above his own on his knee, brushing your thumb fondly over his knuckles. "But it isn't all bad. Some of my best days as a child were spent here, and a lot of the staff were very kind and would teach me extra facts that weren't displayed. There was one gentleman who even gave me his own copies of some books that they had here. I'd wander the whole museum in time but I always found myself back here on this bench just.. watching. This room felt more like home than my very house sometimes. It was the room where I could escape the real world and find peace. Eventually Mummy, Father and Sherlock stopped bothering with the visits because Sherlock found the science museum boring after he'd prove them wrong on something each time, but I'd still pop back in on occasion without them.. Coming to think about it, I've never actually brought anybody here with me at all." You squeezed at his fingers and settled back into the bench.

"Well I am incredibly glad that I found out about your little interest, and I feel even more honoured that you let me come here with you." You beamed. And it was the truth. Evidently, this little museum meant much more to Mycroft than you could have ever imagined and it warmed your heart to know that he trusted you to see him nerd out over some bones.

"Eventually I used this very building as the scaffolding to build my mind palace. My files on Sherlock, very appropriately, are nestled in the human biology room. But most people's information is either stored in the entrance, where Dippy remains over Hope, might I add, or in a few of the rooms I find less interesting.." You didn't have to ask to know he was referencing 'that room with all the bloody rocks'. "I love most of the galleries too much to taint them with information on people that aren't important. The likes of Gregory and Doctor Watson now reside in Hintze Hall as the years have passed." His eyes remained focused in front of him, unblinking, as though he was wandering the very halls at that moment.

"And where.. where are my files?" You had to ask, really. Since he was on the subject anyway. "If you've put them in the marine reptiles room when you know I'm terrified of the ocean I shall never forgive you." Mycroft's hand flipped beneath yours so the pads of your fingers brushed before he blinked and looked over to you, a small smile on his face.

"Here." Oh. Well that's.. something. You shifted to give him a quick kiss on his cheek, knowing he wasn't overly fond of PDA and tugged him to stand.

"And on that note, I think we should go and grab some lunch before you make me cry in front of the dinosaurs."

---

After lunch, you both spent a few more hours walking from room to room (and of course circling round to the dinosaur gallery again) before you decided to call it a day at 4pm. Before departing, you headed towards the toilets that happened to be beside the little gift shop and you had a browse while Mycroft was occupied. Grinning, you picked up a deep blue plush triceratops and stroked a finger across its back. It was just small enough that, after purchasing, you could hide the little guy in the loose fabric of the sweatshirt you wore, acting innocent as you waited back outside near the wall. After going to the bathroom yourself, the pair of you headed outside where a car was waiting for you. Sliding in the back seat, you couldn't contain your little gift anymore.

"Surprise!" You laughed, producing the small toy from under your clothes and into the hands of the man beside you. He studied it briefly before beginning to laugh himself as he reached into his inner pocket and handed you the matching dinosaur, though purple in colour. "God, we're such children aren't we?" You noted as you swapped plushie companions, each of you brushing a finger on its nose as though it were a small pet. "I daren't think what your colleagues would say if they knew you were now the proud owner of a baby triceratops teddy that's.." You glanced at the tag. "..Suitable for children aged 12 months plus!"

"Probably nothing as bad as if they realised said triceratops was going to take proud placement on my desk at home." He beamed. "Thank you, this really does mean a great deal to me." You knew he wasn't just talking about the toy that rolled around his long fingers and you shifted to rest your head lightly on his shoulder.

"We can come back any time. I, for one, know I'll never get bored of looking through the galleries.. Or I'll never get bored of watching you light up as we walk through said galleries. Either or works, really." He hummed in response, his emotions slightly overwhelmed from the day and its revelations into his past. "Plus there were about 10 other little dinos in the shop and I've always been one to want a full collection.. so, if we pace ourselves, that's at least 10 more trips."

"13.. Although that could be tripled if we take the colour variations into account."

"Oh, of course! Can't half-arse a collection or it's just pointless."

"I concur."

"That's settled then. Almost 40 more trips to finish off our collection.. And thennnn we can move onto the figurines." Mycroft let out a laugh beside you and tilted to rest his head atop yours for the remainder of the journey home.

---

The evening between you was shared over a meal (where, as promised, a small toast was made to the memory of Sir Dippy) before Mycroft sat to finish the papers for Greg. Eventually you collapsed into bed at a relatively reasonable time, groaning at the throbbing in your legs from the day's adventure before finally slipping into rest.

---

The next day passed relatively quickly. The morning was spent visiting Greg in his office to drop off the papers before the pair of you took a small stroll through the streets of London. Eventually, Mycroft and yourself even got a text message from Sherlock giving a (albeit half-arsed) apology for his behaviour the day before and the rest of the day was spent in bliss. That was until exactly 17 minutes after you got back home when Mycroft's mobile began to ring. He swallowed deeply, showing you the caller ID of the person he had been dreading to speak to post-Eurus and answering.

"Ah, yes.. Hello, Mummy."

#mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft holmes x you #mycroft holmes fanfic #reader insert #bbc mycroft #bbc mycroft x reader #bbc mycroft x you #mycroft x reader smut #mycroft holmes x reader smut #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock holmes #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #mycroft fanfiction #mycroft fanfic #john watson #greg lestrade #lestrade #gregory lestrade #jim moriarty #james moriarty #moriarty

[characteroulette]

okay okay okay okay

now that I’ve finished DGS1 and can think of nothing else, let me elabourate on what I’ve been ranting about to Verse and my sister (thanks for putting up with me hahaha)

(spoilers for all of DGS1 by the by we going HARD)

So the overarching theme of DGS1 is Trust. How it’s built up, who deserves it, how to extend your hand to those who may not deserve it, and how to build it back up when it’s been broken. Each case builds on this as Ryuunosuke goes on his journey and I think it’s handled really, really well

Case 1, Asougi teaches you the basics of Trust. He tells you that he will trust you and follow you until the end. Twice, right at the beginning of the trial, he tells you that your actions are betraying his trust, even though Ryuunosuke thinks he’s doing it to spare his friend the pain.

(like, seriously, Asougi pretty much says “How sad. You don’t trust that I actually believe in you.” and then “You would throw that trust right back in my face by just accepting a Guilty verdict, huh?” it’s really explicit) (which is probs the only reason why I noticed it hahaha)

But as the trial goes on, Asougi’s unwavering belief in Ryuunosuke helps our protag boy believe in himself. And he trusts Asougi easily due to their close friendship, but you see the shift from “there’s no way I’m gonna be able to prove my innocence” to “I can’t do anything except prove my innocence” as the trial goes on, just because Asougi never stops believing in Ryuunosuke.

And then Case 2 hits and you have to learn to trust others who might seem like enemies at first. This chapter’s mostly for Susato’s growth, because she starts off absolutely not trusting you, but as you hang out and investigate together she just naturally slots into your little sister role and, before she even realises it, she’s trusting Ryuunosuke and working hard to help him prove his innocence. She admits in the end that she should never have doubted you, but you can tell this experience made a deep impression on her, as her trust in Ryuunosuke never wavers and I think that’s beautiful. ;w;

Next is Hosonaga! An odd addition, but he places his trust in Ryuunosuke pretty immediately and easily, showing just how much of an impact Asougi and Ryuunosuke’s relationship made on him during Case 1. The fact that he places any trust in Ryuunosuke at all is enough to bolster Ryuunosuke’s resolve, since Ryuunosuke needed to not be so alone while grieving for his best friend’s death on top of having to prove his innocence. (The whole of DGS1 handles grief really well, I think also, but that’s another essay I’ll have to write.)

And then the disaster man himself, Sherlock. (/Herlock) He’s the reason why Ryuunosuke’s been arrested again and it’s very, very hard to trust this man. I think they did a really good job of making his personality abrasive enough to be just exasperating enough that you can’t take him seriously, but also for you to feel fondness towards his dumb ass. (The perfect AA balance, honestly.) Sherlock is a hard nut to crack, appearing as if he never truly suspected you of any wrongdoing to begin with (it’s his whimsical nature that does it), but you really get a sense of how easily he builds up a rapport with Ryuunosuke from their first whole conversation.

Once you engage in your first Dance of Deduction with Sherlock, that’s it. You’re his friend now. And he basically is just treating you as such from then on, no hesitations on letting you out of your shackles and mischievously putting you right back in them once you’ve finished. Sherlock has seen your character and trusts you, even if he won’t say so outright.

(That one line really hits me, where he basically admits that he was treating this as a game and not fully realising how deeply the whole event has hit Ryuunosuke and Susato. Asougi was their friend, and his admitting that all of his mischief and jokes weren’t ever quite appropriate, given the circumstances, is touching and the actual moment, I think, where Ryuunosuke starts placing his trust in Sherlock in return.)

Case 3 is the big one. Ryuunosuke is sent to defend a man whom he’s not even sure is innocent. The trial goes along and you, the player, can do nothing even if you know what’s really happening. All you can do is trust that Ryuunosuke can handle things and it’s a huge, HUGE step for them to take to have your client mislead you like this. And so successfully!

But the damage is done and Ryuunosuke’s trust in his resolve, his friend’s belief, is broken. Not shattered, thankfully, but broken enough to make Ryuunosuke hesitant to place his trust in anyone again.

Unfortunately, Case 4 comes barrelling out the gate and you’re called upon to place your trust in someone yet again. Ryuunosuke is clearly not ready for it, his narration makes it clear, but you as the player ask Ryuunosuke to trust in you. He goes along and investigates despite being unsure, which as Susato points out (I think it was Susato), he’d made his mind up long before actually taking on the case.

This is also! Where we get to see that, despite all the airs and pretences Barok van Zieks puts on, he’s willing to place more trust in Ryuunosuke than he rightly should. Once Ryuunosuke has the truth in his sights, Van Zieks allows him to continue on his fancies. Van Zieks willingly engages him in discussions and helps iron out all the logic along the way. And though Ryuunosuke doesn’t realise it fully himself, he also starts to trust Van Zieks in return, thinking of him not as an opponent so much as a colleague. Maybe even a friend.

(All I can say is that it’s 1-3 Edgeworth all over again and I LIVE for this shit owo)

Since the truth is secured, along with your client’s innocence, Ryuunosuke’s willingness to trust has been mended somewhat. So we next turn to our client of Case 5, who needs to learn the same lesson after similar events have broken her ability to trust. Gina makes for an interesting parallel to Ryuunosuke in this regard, since they experience a whole slew of terrible events that test their ability to trust. The difference is simply that Ryuunosuke was willing to have friends, to keep trusting others, whereas Gina refused to have friends or place any trust in others even though she desperately wanted to.

That conversation she, Susato, and Ryuunosuke have about it at her cell is really good. The one they have during their night together at Sherlock’s attic is great, too! Iris admitting that she does have her own doubts and Gina, through no benefit of her own, going to confirm on Iris’ behalf because maybe this Sherlock person could be trustworthy after all. Ryuunosuke admitting that he had doubts about Asougi’s trust in him, but as the trial progressed, finding that it was an unwavering belief that Asougi placed in him and how it stopped even being a question in his mind.

Because, to place your trust in someone else, you must first trust yourself.

(shit I forgot to mention) This is a big breaking point for Susato, too! Because she loses her trust in the Law after both Case 3 and Case 4. She’s seen what the London courts will do and realises that, if others are going to play dirty, then it might be better to engage right back. But her unwavering faith in Ryuunosuke helps her realise that what she’s done is wrong and, though her faith in the legal system has taken a big hit, she knows that Ryuunosuke won’t give up the fight. Ryuunosuke will do everything he can to help his clients and she believes in him whole-heartedly.

And Van Zieks sees this, too! He sees this fierce dragon before him, fighting even the government of Britain to protect his client, and thinks to himself, “This is exactly what our system has been needing.” And he joins in the fight! The police hold no authority in the courts; to Van Zieks, it is just him and Ryuunosuke, figuring out the whole truth, no matter how painful it may be.

And Ryuunosuke takes this trust with him all the way through, even getting his permission to participate in trials revoked in order to save Gina.

And that’s why Ryuunosuke is probably the greatest lawyer next to Apollo in the whole series thanks for coming to my essay talk

#Momo writes stuff #DGS1 #DGS #TGAAC #The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles #The Great Ace Attorney #The Great Ace Attorney: Adventures #Ryuunosuke Naruhodou #Ryunosuke Naruhodo #Susato Mikotoba #Kazuma Asougi #Kazuma Asogi #DGS Sherlock Holmes #Herlock Sholmes #Gina Lestrade #Barok van Zieks #in this essay I will #spoilers #DGS spoilers #it's about TRUST #I never know how to finish these things #van Zieks is problematic but whoops I love him #I guess this counts as a review also #literary analysis brain go brrr

[justiceraffles]

About the Gosho Boys and literary crime fiction

This is a lengthy text wall in which I ramble about detectives. It started out with me thinking about the Gosho boys and their relationship with classic mystery fiction and literary/fictional detectives and it ended up derailing into a Hakuba rabbit hole in which I overanalyse details pointlessly for hours because I guess that is simply how most of my free time is spent.

(Fair warning that this is probably ridden with mistakes because I am capable of only 1.3 thoughts at a time)

So, when it comes to Shinichi, Heiji and Kaito, they all have a literary character from classic detective fiction that they’re closely associated with. Namely, it’s Sherlock Holmes for Shinichi, Ellery Queen for Heiji, and Arsène Lupin for Kaito. The relationship they hold with each of these figures (and with crime fiction in general) is very different, but it’s quite telling of their personality, character, their relationship with literature, and their respective approach to their profession. I talk about each of them a little bit and then just spend half the time talking about Hakuba. 

Shinichi is born in a household where mystery fiction is extremely important. He is surrounded by this type of story and his parents nurture this interest actively. Detectives and mysteries permeate his life wholly. For Shinichi, Holmes is seen as the maximum exponent of a genre. Holmes is The Great Detective. The archetype, the one that defines what it means to be a detective and the one later writers will seek to emulate one way or another. Detective fiction is what it is today because of Holmes, so it makes complete sense for Shinichi to have him as his idol. Holmes is what he strives to be and it’s what people associate him with. 

Heiji is a lot more subtle than Shinichi is, but he is also very much a lit nerd. Ellery Queen is both a character and a pseudonym for the writers that created him. As a character, Ellery Queen is such a perfect choice for Heiji’s favourite detective. He’s a mystery writer who doubles as a sleuth and helps his father, a police inspector, in solving crimes. Wonder if that sounds familiar, huh. Aside from similarities in the character (I could go on about some passages that have such strong Heiji vibes I’d be here forever) the Queen novels challenge the reader very directly. They tell you to pay attention, that you are presented with the exact same clues as the detective and should therefore be able to solve the mystery as well. The mystery story is a competition and the author issues a challenge by presenting it to the reader. I love this because Heiji has a huge competitive streak, and this is highlighted from his introduction. To find that the stories he’s passionate about also encourage this side of him is just so fitting and appropriate. 

The case where Shinichi and Heiji meet always makes me think of the contrast between reading a Holmes novel and a Queen story. Personally, I feel like the enjoyment of a Holmes story often relies on letting yourself be awed by the deduction. You can follow along with the mystery but a big part of the charm is based on the detective himself and the way he explains the thought process that leads him to his conclusion. You’re meant to sit down and enjoy as Holmes explains himself, and admire his brilliance. There’s a focus on the truth and the way to reach it, which is very, very Shinichi. A Queen novel, on the other hand, invites you to play along as you read. You are on equal standing with the detective, and it’s up to you to reach the same conclusion he does. These are the principles of “fair-play” in mystery fiction. As it implies, it is very much a game! So Heiji challenging Shinichi to a battle of wits and deductions goes perfectly in line with what he’s reading. Holmes is the genius detective you look up to with admiration, Queen is a sleuth that invites you to solve the crime alongside him. These suit the vibes that Shinichi and Heiji give off themselves very well. 

Kaito is much, much different for obvious reasons. He’s not a detective, and he’s not nearly as much of a mystery geek as the others are. The entire KID persona is closely associated with Arséne Lupin because Toichi fashions it accordingly. Even if phantom thieves aren’t quite the same as Leblanc’s original idea for the Gentleman Burglar, they still have a clear origin in Lupin and there’s important similarities to be made between them. Storytelling-wise, KID heists work on the same principles as Lupin stories. You know the criminal is there, hidden amongst the cast presented to you, and you know he will carry out the crime. And, regardless of whether you have an inkling of an idea of how he’s going to pull it off or not, you still allow yourself to be amazed by his methods regardless when the trick is revealed! Even when the schemes are outlandish and border on the fantastical and unbelievable, the stories are best enjoyed when you suspend your disbelief and allow the plots and characters to be over the top. But well, the connection between Lupin and KID is fairly self-explanatory. So, rather than KID, I think it’s more interesting to think about the relationship between Lupin and Kaito himself.  

Kaito doesn’t seek to be seen as a modern day-Lupin in the same way Shinichi wants to be a modern day-Holmes. Unlike Shinichi who becomes a detective in great part because he has Holmes as his idol, Kaito doesn’t become a thief because of his admiration towards a literary character, but because of his love and admiration towards his father. Kaito dons the KID suit with pride because it’s something his father left behind, and he embraces each part of it because it can lead to answers and understanding. But, always cryptic, Lupin doesn’t provide a whole lot of answers and understanding, and neither does Toichi. Lupin admits that he struggles to recognise himself under all the disguises and roles he has played. The truth behind his father’s character seems to become more elusive the more Kaito becomes involved with thievery. The “gentleman thief” persona, despite being charming and theatrical, has consequences on a personal life. 

...And then there’s Hakuba. 

Hakuba is complicated. 

But, Raffles! You say, Saguru is another Sherlock geek!

Well, yes. Of course he is. The deerstalker outfit and him naming his hawk Watson make that clear. Hakuba is an absolute Holmes nerd. 

I’m here to read too deeply into it when it’s most definitely not that deep at all. But, there’s never enough information about Hakuba and I have a blast overthinking stuff. So that’s what we’re gonna do! 

Despite obviously being a big fan, Hakuba’s relationship with Holmes is different from that of Shinichi’s. 

First, we don’t get to see Hakuba nerding out about Holmes novels and stories in the same way Shinichi does. He doesn’t quote Holmes at length or go on about how much he loves the books. Instead, we know Hakuba’s a nerd because he’s apparently passionate enough about this character to include things associated with him into his own personal image and identity.

Second, there’s the way others perceive him. Shinichi and Kaito (as KID) get “Heisei Holmes” and “Reiwa Lupin”. Despite irking a couple officers every now and again, Heiji is held in high regard and considered a great detective by the police force. Hakuba has a considerable amount of fame, but he doesn’t receive the same amount of trust people place on Shinichi and Heiji. It’s easy to forget because Hakuba acts with a lot of confidence and familiarity around crime scenes, but several of his appearances highlight the way his presence is tolerated at heists because of his father’s influence and is generally seen as an outsider. The police take orders from Shinichi and look up to him for advice— it’s not quite the same with Hakuba. More often than not, Nakamori treats Hakuba like a visitor or observer than a consulting detective. All of this rambling to say that even though he presents himself that way, Hakuba isn’t (or, at least, isn’t seen as) the Holmes he admires.  

So, if not Holmes, is there anyone that suits Hakuba better?

I’d say yes and no. 

As far as I can recall, the series never makes any explicit comparisons or references to other detectives when Hakuba is concerned. That said, much like you’d associate the deerstalker and Watson to Holmes, Hakuba has some other quirks and behaviours reminiscent of other detectives. Now, I’m not here to say that Hakuba was made deliberately as a compilation of references to literary detectives. These similarities are admittedly mostly coincidences. That said, deliberate or not, I think an argument can still be made that the connections exist! And well, considering the lack of concrete information about Saguru, thinking about them is fun. So this is what I think: 

One of Hakuba’s most prominent quirks is his fixation with time and exactitude. His pocket watch is a memorable prop and being precise about minutes and seconds is an important part of his character. You can find very similar behaviour in Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot, who also carries a pocket watch around and is extremely particular about punctuality and numbers. Another thing interesting about Poirot is that he’s most interested in the psychology behind a crime, in understanding the mindset of the killer. Poirot mysteries have each of the suspects explaining their own version of events, because the detective wants to understand everyone’s version of perceiving the truth. In other words, Poirot mysteries have a focus on the whydunnit. 

You can probably tell that now I’m going to gesture wildly at Hakuba’s “Why did you do it”

Speaking of Hakuba’s signature question, it’s probably also worth mentioning the Father Brown stories by G.K Chesterton. The sleuth is a catholic priest, and after his deduction and identifying the culprit, the stories usually end with the priest spending time with the criminal. Before an arrest is made, Father Brown has a private meeting with the killer (or thief). It’s implied that this is carried out as a personal confession of sins, and expresses a need to seek out an understanding of the motive as perceived by the criminal themselves. 

I say this because the catchphrase does come off as a little strange. It’s curious that Hakuba asks why when we usually expect the detective to be able to sort it out by himself. But, it’s really not that strange to find equivalents to it in stories that focus on the psychological part of the crime and empathy towards them. 

(Also worth mentioning that both Christie and Chesterton were presidents of the Detection Club, a group of writers during the golden age of detective fiction that based their stories around the concept of “fair-play” that I mentioned earlier when I was talking about Heiji.  

Back on track: Hakuba and Poirot share key similarities. 

HOWEVER! There are also differences between them. I’m referring to the fact that Poirot puts the most emphasis on this psychological level of a crime. Poirot says “I am not one to rely upon the expert procedure. It is the psychology I seek, not the fingerprint or the cigarette ash” On the other hand, I’d argue that out of all of the Gosho boys, Hakuba is the most fastidious about procedure. He has some level of knowledge of forensic investigation and places importance upon it.

Sherlock’s methods do draw inspiration from precursors of forensic science, so you could trace it back to that. You could also go to R. Austin Freeman’s Dr. John Thorndyke, who is inspired by Holmes, but places a heavier focus on the scientific method behind deductions. Thorndyke is probably the one to properly kickstart the forensic/medical sleuth subgenre that grows later with the improvement and development of DNA evidence and technology. We have Hakuba being observant enough to find one of KID’s hairs, and then use Hakuba labs to narrow his identity down. It doesn’t resemble Poirot’s methods, it also isn’t quite Sherlockian, but it does resemble other classic british sleuths!

OKAY, COOL. WHERE ARE YOU GOING WITH THIS RAFFLES. 

I’M NOT REALLY SURE! I NEVER KNOW WHAT I’M DOING! I JUST WANTED TO TALK ABOUT HAKUBA AND DETECTIVE STORIES. 

Alright. This is more of a personal interpretation/headcanon than anything else, but unlike the other three Gosho boys, who have one  clear inspiration/basis/model, I like the idea of Hakuba reading a vast array of detective novels and picking up the little habits, methods, that he finds interesting or comforting. The deerstalker, the name for his hawk, his pocketwatch, his signature question, his methods, his knack for competition, all of them handpicked from the things that he enjoys most about detectives. 

It’s also worth mentioning that all of the authors for these stories I’m associating with Hakuba are British. The thought of him being passionate about English authors as a way to understand his English side of the family is a headcanon I quite enjoy. And, technically, the same could apply to his Japanese side as well. I can imagine young Saguru reading Rampo’s Kogoro Akechi stories and also wanting a rival like the Fiend of Twenty Faces and jumping at the chance of chasing KID because how much he resembles the character. Or appreciating Akako’s cryptic clues because Rampo’s fiction also has supernatural edge to it. 

I don’t know. I just like the idea of Saguru learning about the world, his family, and himself through literature? This is pure, unapologetic self-indulgence on my part, I have to admit. 

Though, if I HAD to assign one specific detective to Saguru, I think it would probably be Poe’s C. Auguste Dupin. Poe’s stories with the character as seen as the start of detective fiction, and Dupin serves as the prototype for detectives to come — even Holmes, even if he doesn’t get nearly as much recognition as Conan Doyle’s detective today. Despite the fact that Hakuba is the original teenage detective in the series, and he’s also often forgotten and neglected by both Gosho and a big portion of the fandom. Even so, he paved the way for Shinichi and Heiji, and is very important regardless. 

Anyway! I don’t know why I wrote this and I am now very embarrassed but thanks for reading all the way!

#In which Raffles rambles #I am a very boring person and this is what I do for fun #Do you think my professors would accept Hakuba as a valid topic for a research thesis? #I am very bad at this #this is embarrassing #dcmk #gosho boys #hakuba saguru #saguru hakuba #shinichi kudo #hattori heiji #conan edogawa #Kuroba Kaito #kaitou kid #detective conan #magic kaito #detective fiction

[thran-duils]

Total Eclipse (P.2)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part Two) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 3,792 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always Author’s Note: There is heavy backstory here in italics! I was reading up on Victorian customs and tbh, I’m not privy to it at all, so I apologize if things are not historically accurate!

Part One || Part Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You walked away from where your ladies tea was going on, brushing your skirts out. You had begun to become uncomfortable sitting on the blanket and wanted to stretch your legs.

“Do not wander too far,” your mother called out to you.

“Of course not, mother,” you called back over your shoulder.

She would not notice how far you wandered when she was this engrossed in the latest gossip from the castle.

Coming onto the cobblestone, your eyes set on the fountain. There were goldfish inside and you made a point to always come to the fountain when you visited this park. You nodded at a couple as you passed them, exchanging pleasant smiles. They did eye you somewhat curiously at the fact you were walking alone but pleasant, nonetheless. Reaching the edge of the fountain, you leaned over, peering into it.

Just as you were reaching into the fountain, a small gust of wind hit you and you felt your hat fly off the top of your head. You let out a noise of frustration, turning around, eyes searching. It was tumbling away and coming to the feet of a gentleman sitting on a bench. His eyes were on you, and you had a feeling they had been for a bit.

He dipped down, picking your hat up from the cobble stone and stood up from the bench. His hands came up to brush at it as he walked towards you. He was careful with the fabric, his own coat bristling in the small breeze at his sides.

“Your hat, miss,” he said holding it out to you, giving a small bow.

You thanked him and took it.

He was terribly handsome. Dark hair, tousled just so, not to the point that he looked unkempt. His eyes were an alluring shade of chocolate. There was a playfulness in them and they excited you.

“You must keep a good hold on that. It’s woven perfectly,” he continued.

“Perfectly?” you asked, putting the hat back on.

“Yes. It’s immaculate. The stitchwork. Whoever did it took great care. I believe it is the work of the hatter on Bishop’s Gate, east end?” Your mouth fell open in surprise as you pulled the ribbon down beneath your chin and you froze. He gave a light chuckle at your expression, “Sorry, I have a keen eye for detail and a memory to boot. May I?” He asked suddenly, his hands reaching ever so slightly towards your face, eyes on the ribbons for a moment to explain what he was asking.

You stilled, your hands falling to your sides, and he took it as invitation. You breathed easily even though your heart jumped at him being so close. You did not even know this man; he was bold. Coming forward, his hands latched to the ribbons, tying it better than you could. He had a nice smelling aftershave and you locked eyes, your breath hitching. He was suspended in your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat.

He gave a brief smile as he pulled away. “That’s better.”

Something had happened there. And you pressed it.

“Are you sure you would like to tie it that tight? I may want to lose it again if it means you’ll fetch it for me?” you asked.

He actually looked amused, and you were relieved. You were constantly scolded from a young age for being so coquettish. “Bold. Aren’t you?”

“I’ve been told so.”

“Miss….?”

“Miss Y/N L/N. And you?”

“Sherlock.”

“That’s it, then?”

Now he was coy. “For now.”

“So, there’s to be a future, then? Between us?”

He caught your wit, amused even further. Thankfully he did not think you crass and he did not chastise. He was returning your flirtations. “I think so, Miss Y/N.”

“Well, I look forward to the future then. You live in London?” you questioned.

“Yes. Do you?”

“Most of the time.”

“’Most of the time?’” Sherlock repeated and you shrugged.

“Sometimes I dream of escaping. It takes up some of my time, pulling me away from here.”

He smirked at that. “I suppose I should say most of the time too. My mind pulls me to places. As well as my job.”

“Lucky you,” you said sincerely, and his expression was warm. He was interested in you. He was older, not terribly but there was distance. Reaching out, you touched his topcoat. “You are a bit of a pyromaniac it seems. Or just terrible with the cherries of your cigars. Please tell me it’s not the latter.”

“What makes you say that?”

You cocked your head and pulled down his vest and his eyebrows rose at the movement as you exposed some of his chest hair peaking out from beneath his dress shirt. You ignored his stunned look, doing your best to not linger on his exposed chest. Your finger landed on his dress shirt, pointing out the singe. “Do you think I’m blind, Mr. Sherlock?”

He let out a small laugh.. “I thought I hid it well enough beneath the vest.”

“You must not move as quickly as you have been to keep it hidden. Now, tell me. Why would you not just get a new shirt? You surely have the money. I mean, if you know the hatters on Bishop’s. And it’s not just anyone that splurges on a silk tie.”

He cocked his head, eyes running up and down you. You smiled in response, seeing you had impressed him.

“I haven’t gotten around to it,” he shrugged.

“Busy man, then.”

“Quite.”

“Too busy to escort me through the park?” you asked.

He eyed you and asked, “Would that be entirely inappropriate? We did not set this up beforehand.”

You shrugged now and said, “I could tell the gallant story of how you saved my hat from getting dirty in the mud. And I asked for you to walk me back. I did get quite a look for being on my own on the way over here.”

Sherlock’s lips pulled into a smile, and he gestured for you to walk. You were thankful he had initiated it; it was societally appropriate for him to initiate everything. How you wished you could loop arms but that itself would be societally inappropriate considering you had just met. Your mother would simply have a heart attack if she saw that, especially with so many possible suitors in the park.

He came to a stop, and you stopped as well, watching him curiously as he left the path. He reached for the rose bush, and you grimaced as he reached straight into it. He could cut his hands. But he yanked, his fingers moving ever so, pulling a single rose off the bush. His hand was unharmed.

He presented it to you, and you took it gently.

“A token of appreciation of your company, Miss L/N,” he said.

Examining it, you observed, “Pink. Are you of grace and sweetness? Or is that to refer to me?”

“I would have given red would it have been readily available,” he smiled, and you felt heat creep. “Also, pink can symbolize admiration. That is breaching on the red, is it not?”

You shrugged, keeping it close. “Yes, I suppose so. A fine point.”

The two of you walked on and Sherlock asked lightheartedly, “Where is your escort, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I am here with a ladies group. They’re probably sitting at the blankets still, tittering about the gossip,” you responded. “My mother especially. She loves being in the center of all the gossip and drama.”

“My, I must watch my back returning you. Would not want to start any rumors.”

“Would rumors about us be so bad, Mr. Sherlock?”

He was tickled. “You really have no shame, do you?”

“Only in the presence of people I think I can trust. Not all women are complete straight laces. And frankly, most are only that way in public. Have you not spent a lot of time with women in private spaces?”

Sherlock chuckled, “That is a very loaded question, my dear. Where did you ever learn to banter like this?”

“I have an older brother. And your ‘dear’?”

“Have I offended you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

His eyes were alight, sharing a look with you. It was only interrupted as you passed another couple and nodded at them, Sherlock doing the same.

“Ah, like I said,” you said coming back over the bridge. You spotted them still eating their small cakes and sipping on their tea. Sherlock followed your gaze and you leaned in, “Thank you for providing me a walk. My legs had become quite numb sitting on the ground for so long.”

“My pleasure,” Sherlock responded.

You saw that one of the women had noticed you and Sherlock approaching over the bridge and you needed to hurry up the conversation. Pressing your luck, you asked, “Do you happen to have an invite to the Mayberry Ball?”

“Unfortunately,” Sherlock sniffed.

“Would it still be unfortunate if I was there?” you inquired.

Sherlock’s eyes were locked with yours and you came to a stop in the path. You stared at him with sincerity, waiting for his answer.

He cleared his throat, looking away. “It would liven up the event, that is for sure. I am terribly bored at those events, but I am dragged along by my… partner.”

“‘Partner?’” you asked, your fiery hope getting water doused on it.

“Confidant. Flatmate,” Sherlock explained quickly sensing your discomfort, meeting your gaze once more. You visibly relaxed, and he no doubt noticed. He resumed walking with you down the path. “He encourages me to get out. It is why I am at the park today. I had only been out for about a quarter of an hour before you showed up and I had already been considering heading back inside.”

“What a shame, sir. To hide yourself away. Who knows who you’ll meet if you only ventured out?” you stated, shrugging in a lighthearted manner.

“Too true,” Sherlock returned, eyes bright. He shot a look towards where the tea was being held and then cleared his throat, straightening up. “Well, it looks like we have been found out, Miss L/N. I suppose I should let you get back to your lunch. I have taken up too much of your time.”

“The pleasure was mine, Mr. Sherlock,” you assured him as you reached the edge of the grass.

Sherlock gave you a curt bow and turned towards the ladies and gave them a smile and a bow as well in acknowledgment. The ladies bowed their head in return, and you kept yourself from smirking at the fact they all looked like chickens bobbing their heads in unison, eyes fixated on him.

“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Make sure to keep that hat tied tightly, Miss L/N,” he told you before turning on his heel and walking off.

You watched him walk off for a few moments before turning back to the tea.

Your mother was on you the second you sat down.

“Who was that man? And where did you get that rose?”

“My hat flew off and he fetched it for me before it went into the mud. I was foolish, I should have tied it before walking off. A gust of wind caught it,” you told her calmly, fixing your skirts around your legs as you relaxed in your sitting position. “And I made a comment about the roses, so he picked one for me. I was afraid the poor man was going to hurt his fingers, but he was careful. Very kind of him to do so, it does smell lovely.”

“And his name?”

“Mr. Sherlock.”

Your mother eyed where he had walked off and she said, “Why does that name not sound familiar?”

The other ladies looked at a loss as well and you merely shrugged in response. “Maybe he is new to the city. I am grateful he walked me back. Are there any cucumber sandwiches left? I am famished.” You acted as if you had little interest in him to get your mother off your back, but you were already thinking of what gown to wear to the Mayberry Ball.

<><><>

You looked down at your gown for the umpteenth time, making sure nothing had spilled on it. You had chosen a deep purple, silk brocade with silver detail. It was one of your finest and your mother encouraged it, considering it was the courting season and especially since it was your fourth season. Your father listened to you when you told him you were uninterested in the men who had tried to court you thus far, but you knew even his patience would wear thin with your pickiness and your hand would be forced.

Eyes wandering, you stood by where your brother was recounting a story to your father and mother. People spun to the dance, others off to the side, exchanging flirtations. You suddenly locked eyes with Sherlock across the room.

He grinned briefly before raising his eyebrows. He turned, disappearing back into the hallway behind him.

Your family was distracted with your older brother, and you easily slipped away through the crowd, following where he had gone. The hallway was empty and there were doors at the end of it. You pushed them open and were expecting him. But you were met with empty air and your brow furrowed.

“Sneaking away, Miss L/N?”

You startled hearing him from behind you. He was sitting on a bench against the wall, nestled between two tall plants.

Stomping over you glowered down at him.

“Did I offend somehow?” he asked as he stood up from the bench.

You scoffed, “You told me to sneak away! And then you startle me!”

“I did nothing of the sort! I merely made a face. And you assumed from there. I don’t argue your detection skills though.”

“Why do I feel as if you are jesting?”

“Never.”

You sighed before saying, “Well, I would accept a dance. But I am sure my mother would be on you in a second. She was already curious about the walk.”

“As you suspected. And she should be. A strange gentleman walking her daughter through the park. Especially during the season. And who said I danced?”

“Is that why you were standing on the outskirts?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You cocked an eyebrow and said, “If you haven’t noticed, I am single. I am to be escorted at these types of events. My father and brother were keeping me close until someone approached me to ask for a dance.”

“You’d already danced with three by my count.”

“You were watching me. For how long?”

“The detail on your gown is exquisite.”

“Will you always compliment my clothing? Is there nothing else about me to compliment?”

There was a pause, the two of you staring at the other. Sherlock’s lips twitched and he hid a smile. “It would be inappropriate of a me to engage in other compliments, no matter how much they are warranted.” Well, that answered your question in a sly manner, much to your pleasure. “But, being found outside with a man alone would tarnish your reputation. And yet you followed. Speaking of inappropriate.”

“And you encouraged it. Plus, it is not like I am a lady. I’m simply middle class. It would not affect me as greatly.”

“I would not say ‘simply’ in that regard. It is very respectable to be middle class. Especially since I can deduce your family is further into the elite side of it. And on the contrary, not being upper class, the situation which we are describing would certainly affect you greater considering you are closer to having less equity if a suitable match was not made within your own social class. Middle-middle class is less than lower upper class.”

He noticed your eyes were narrowed and he cleared his throat, stopping in his speech.

“Do you always speak so much?” you asked him.

“Yes.”

You spotted your brother going through the crowd inside in earnest, certainly searching for you.

“Well, do not change, Mr. Sherlock,” you told him, giving him a quick smile. His interest was piqued by the comment, and you added, “I’m quite serious. It amuses me so. You have intellect. But I must take my leave. I spot my brother who is certainly going to talk my ear off in an unpleasant way about wandering off alone. Even if I say I was using the lavatory and did not want to interrupt their conversation.”

“If you find yourself on New Bond Street…” you said in invitation. Sherlock looked taken aback and you quickly said, “I am sorry. I did not mean to be too forward.”

“No,” he recovered quickly. He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. You are just… very close to me. A few blocks actually… fascinating.”

You saw your brother cross again and you hurried, “Oh, well, yes, that is. What a coincidence. Well, good night. I hope to see you again.” You gave him a half curtsy before you turned.

He grabbed your hand and you stopped, facing him again. He brought your gloved hand up to his lips and gave it a kiss, keeping his eyes on you. “And I as well.”

A smile was on your lips as he let your hand go and you hurried back through the doors back to the ballroom.

<><><>

The day after your tryst with Sherlock, you were not surprised you were called on at home. Thankfully, Arthur was not home.

“A gentlemen is here to see you, ma’am. A Mr. John Watson.”

You greeted him in the parlor, the door cracked. You did not want to arouse suspicion about this gentleman visiting you while Arthur was out, no matter if he was known as an acquaintance. Although, he was far closer to you than anyone in the household would ever know. If the maids wanted to eavesdrop, they could do so gladly.

“John,” you greeted him and he took his hat off to greet you in turn.

“Y/N, you look lovely as always,” he complimented as one of your maids brought in a tray of tea.

John waited for you to seat yourself before he sat down as well. You reached forward, preparing two cups of tea for the pair of you.

“Thank you. You look well. Mrs. Hudson must be feeding the two of you well.”

“Quite,” he answered.

“Sugar?”

“Please.”

You handed him his tea and he placed it in front of him.

John asked point blank, “How was he?”

Of course John knew you had seen him. If Sherlock left 221B Baker, you were one of, if not the first, stops he would take on most of the time if John was not with him.

“He was Sherlock.”

John took a drink and you watched him closely. He met your eyes again and sighed, “He’s been manic.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s coming back out to see us then, correct? He confirmed he would be at the masquerade.”

“It’s gotten worse since—”

“I don’t need to be reminded again,” you told John.

“I think you do. Are you happy here?”

You bristled at the comment. Why did men think they had such a liberty to comment on your choices? Maybe you should have closed the door, but you did not expect something like this from John of all people. Sherlock, certainly. But not him.

John noticed your expression and he opened his mouth, but you cut in testily in quiet tones.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak so loudly about such matters right under my husband’s roof.”

You did get up now and go to the door, closing it. This was turning into something else entirely than what you had expected. John was watching and you hoped he realized he needed to be quick about this to not give too much time for them to speculate what was happening in here. You sat back down.

He matched your quiet tones, thankfully, even with the door closed. “It’s the most sure-fire way to get your attention on the matter.”

Taking a drink of your own tea, you kept your eyes pinned on him. Swallowing, you placed your cup back down delicately. “I cannot leave my husband.”

“I wasn’t asking you to do that.”

Cocking your head, you asked, “Then what are you asking, John?” His lips were pursed and you knew you had caught him. You shrugged, “You’re asking me to leave my husband. Divorce is illegal for me to initiate if you have forgotten.”

“I know that. He’s always better after he sees you.”

“But?” you asked, knowing there was more.

“But he always reverts.”

“Because he’s not with me?”

John gave you a look now and he said, “You know it is true.”

“John, is this for you or for him?”

“Can it not be both?” he asked honestly. “I am concerned for my friend, and I can simultaneously be concerned for my own mental health and anxiety.”

You sighed heavily, looking out the window.

“I know it is near impossible for you to obtain divorce – or even a separation – but… if you simply saw him more.”

“How?”

“Bring him into your circle. Then it would not be suspicious if the two of you were speaking with each other. On the street, in a restaurant, at the park.”

“You know it not just speaking that Sherlock and I engage in,” you whispered.

John rose his brows, looking embarrassed, but said, “I know. But just seeing more often may encourage him to imbibe less and relax.”

“Do you understand how much I wish I could be with him?” you asked seriously. John was quiet and you shrugged. “There will always be a hole, John, for me.”

John leaned forward and said, “Then try what I am suggesting. Please.”

Studying his face, you exhaled, running the risk of the idea through your mind. Sherlock was unorthodox, but perhaps he could put up a front to be around the gentlemen your husband surrounded himself with. It was farfetched but… possibly.

“I’ll consider it. I am going to see him tomorrow night at the ball. I trust you are attending?”

John nodded, “Yes. I am.”

“Good,” you told him, getting up again and going back to open the door a crack. You did not see anyone in the hall but you doubted they had not been there and had only run away when they heard your footfalls coming towards the door. Facing him again, you said in your normal voice, “I am looking forward to the gooseberry pie myself.”

~~~

Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan

#sherlock holmes x reader #rdj sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes rdj #my shit

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with MustangSally

MustangSally has 33 stories at Gossamer. Even if you haven’t read it, you’ve probably heard of at least one of them, Iolokus, since it’s an X-Files fanfic classic. All her fics hit big and are well worth your time. I’ve recced some of my favorites here before, including And Dance by the Light of the Moon, All the Children are Insane, and Iolokus. Big thanks to MustangSally for doing this interview.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I could tell you but then I would have to kill you.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes and no. Yes, because life has moved on since the early nineties and the characters and the fans are in vastly different places now. Our current tech would make the premise of the X-Files impossible. No, because of the longevity of some of the Star Trek TOS work (there’s an archive of hard copy fanzines at the University of Iowa). Top-drawer authors started out in TOS fandom.

I’m just greatly saddened that my physical body is showing wear and tear while the fic doesn’t. Fic gets to stay smooth-skinned and muscular, captured at the peak of perfection.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

At the risk of sounding atrociously trite, I think of the friends I made.  I met some very remarkable women that I’ve been able to stay friends with online for over twenty-five years.  We may have moved to Facebook and post entirely too much about our pets and which of our body parts has sagged this week, but we’re friends.  It’s a furiously funny, feminist, and well-educated group of women with jobs in the highest levels of academia, finance, communications, and media.  I’m amused by the fact that if I have a question about how a virus replicates, I can ask a PhD I’ve been drunk with in Las Vegas.

Back in the day, I had a job that sent me traveling around major cities in the US and UK. I could post on a message board and within ten minutes there were people I could go out for dinner and drinks with. We already knew we had something we could talk about for at least a couple of hours. Additionally, most of these people were women so there was an added level of security. Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Well, it was mostly atxc and the Yahoo! groups mailing lists that spiraled out into Geocities sites and, eventually, LiveJournal. The amusing thing is that getting in on the ground floor of social media and the Internet has helped me get jobs!  When I look at a new piece of software, I think, ‘this is hella easier than uploading to Geocities.’  We had to walk uphill both ways, in the snow, on dial-up, fighting off dinosaurs with our AOL CDs while writing HTML code. What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

DO NOT FEED THE TROLLS.

The past four years in politics have basically been the ugliest online kerfuffle the world has ever seen. I survived the Shipper Wars of ’96 and I thought those were brutal, but that was NOTHING. The only way to win an argument online is to not have the argument at all. Arguing with a troll is like mudwrestling a pig: You both get filthy and only the pig is happy.

Also, READ THE FUCKING TERMS OF SERVICE.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had the most terrible straight-girl crush on Scully. I wanted to be her best friend, I wanted to BE her.  I wanted to order Chinese food and paint each other’s nails and talk about bones.  Scully and Princess Leia and I could all just hang out poolside with hot and cold running waiters and poolboys, drink margaritas, and bitch about how unfair it all was – if the stupid men would just get OUT OF THE WAY AND LET US DO OUR JOBS, the world would be so much better. What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

This question is really about Iolokus, isn’t it?  You can’t fool me. [Lilydale note: I can neither confirm nor deny the motivation for this question, but I cannot complain about the answer.]

Simply put, I was enraged. The moment it was revealed that Scully’s ova had been used in experimentation, I lost my feminist mind. It was the most obscene defilement imaginable.  Scully wasn’t nearly as angry as I was.  What I thought needed to happen was for Scully to become a fiery force of vengeance against the MEN who had done this to her.  Clearly, I was not going to get that level of satisfaction from the show, as I was imagining Kali-like carnage on a global scale. I emailed RivkaT (whom I did not know well at that point) with a proposition that we work together. Strangely enough, we didn’t meet face to face until we were well into the project, but we did talk on the phone quite a bit. The rules were simple – everyone had to be punished in truly horrific ways, and at some point, we had to see if we could write a car chase (only because that seemed impossible).  Then it basically turned into a very twisted game of chicken to see who could be the most outrageous in terms of killing people off or writing really horrific things that fit within the structure of the narrative.  I did, in the end, write the car chase, but RivkaT one-upped me by throwing in a helicopter (a FOX News helicopter, at that).  

Really, RivkaT?  A helicopter? What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? I am terribly proud of what I wrote, pleased that it brought pain and pleasure in equal amount to people, and, again, thrilled by the people I became friends with. I admit that I stopped watching the show when Scully announced her pregnancy.  I could only see a long jump over a shark tank for the rest of the series. I haven’t watched the new episodes, either.  It is complete in my mind and doesn’t need to be continued.  I wouldn’t say no to having a reunion with some of my fic friends, although we’re still chatting online like everyone does.   Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Rivka and I wrote in the Buffy fandom for a few years, but then we moved on to real adult jobs that left absolutely no time for me to write. I’m in education, and I regularly sweat blood for fear that someone is going to find my old fic. The Buffy people were fun; there was a certain *shininess* to them that I really enjoyed. The X-men authors were just batshit and delightful, and some amazing stuff came out of Marvel fandom, particularly in the Thor/Loki and Steve/Bucky subgenres. I’ve learned to appreciate a good coffee shop AU and one famous Erik/Charles fic where all the main characters are crabs. Seriously, crabs—it’s hysterical. [Lilydale note: Other Crabs Cannot Be Trusted by groovyphilia currently has almost 2,500 kudos at AO3.]

Every few years, I’ll have a student try to explain to me what fandom is and I just smirk. Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? No. Not really. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I fell into an X-Men hole a few years back and had a great old time wallowing in the Cherik muck, and there was a flirtation with BBC Sherlock as well. Strangely enough, I became interested in A/B/O fics only because of what they were saying about the role of women in our society. The limitations on the male omegas seem absurd and then you realize those are the same limitations put on women all. the. time.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

RivkaT very nicely formatted everything and put it up on AO3. What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I will always be stupidly proud of how shocked and horrified people were by Iolokus. The truth of the matter is that Iolokus has Greek drama at its core. Scully is Medea, and the entire story is lousy with “blood on the threshing floor” and Dionysian rites. The everyday is subverted into horror, and wives and daughters will tear men limb from limb like the Maenads. Since I was ultimately disappointed with what Chris Carter did with the entire show, that approach seemed appropriate.

At a certain level, all fic is corrective fic.  Like critic Anne Jamison said, “Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.”  And because fic has fallen so much into women’s sphere, a pure form of correction is not just the death of the author but the MURDER, a new creation springing up from the spilled blood like Cadmus sowing dragon’s teeth.

Okay, that’s a bit much. Maybe I should just take myself back to the isle of Goth Amazons or something. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I had to write a self-evaluation and a reflection on pedagogy today. If that’s not fiction, I don’t know what the fuck is.

All my creativity is caught up in trying to pretend to be a normal middle-aged white woman so no one knows I am really a lizard.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Keep writing, keep reading, keep fighting the commercialization of narratives. As things grow more and more commodified, all our dreams and desires reduced to tchotchkes made in China, it’s a revolutionary act to separate your work from the marketplace. Be bold, take chances, turn the trope on its ear and kick it in the ass. Take everything the creators have done to make a work palatable to the unwashed masses and set it on fire.

Be subversive.

Be mean.

Have a great fucking time.

(Posted by Lilydale on March 2, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #mustangsally