spider at the centre of a web


Meet the Characters of Sherlock: James Moriarty

He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order. He sits motionless, like a spider in the centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them.

Call Tony Stark - Peter Parker Imagine (soulmate AU)

A/N: This is my first imagine, it’s a bit of a soulmate AU but kind of took a mind of its own. Credit to @irenelair for the gif

Prompt: Soulmate AU where you wake up on your 18th birthday with the first words your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your body so you’ll know them when you meet them.
You were walking home in the streets of New York when Spiderman and a villain appear in a fight and Peter is brutally injured.
Words: 970

It had been a month since your 18th birthday and you still couldn’t stop staring at the words written along your middle finger. An odd place for the words to be but the sentence was short and to the point. “Call Tony Stark”. Call Tony Stark? Those three words left you with a headache. You didn’t even know Tony Stark, let alone had his number. Why would you need to call him? Why did your soulmate need to call him? And how do they even know Tony Stark? You shook your head trying to rid these thoughts from your mind. It was hard enough trekking through the streets of New York in a snowstorm without a pounding headache to top off your already numb limbs. Pulling your scarf tighter across your neck you braved the cold winds as you walked away from your last lecture of the week and towards the thoughts of a warm bath and hot chocolate waiting to be consumed at home. Normally you would be home by now, but you had made the decision of adding another half hour to your route so you could walk past the Avenger’s Tower on your way home. In hindsight, it was a stupid decision considering the amount of havoc that was caused in this part of Manhattan, but it was worth the risk if it meant you’d be closer to meeting your soulmate.

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Lilith: The Black Goddess

~*here have some channeled nonsense from the other night*~

Lailah you who’s name is Night. First of the Shining Ones to descend to Earth after the creation of Man. You, who took on mortal flesh and named yourself: Lilith.
You joined with the First and as His wife, bore a daughter. She was to be the Mother of All and you named her, Eve. You’re gift to Eve was the Sangraal. Her blessed womb would carry the seed of the Divine, so that it Man would know of his own grace.
When the First scorned you and took your daughter for his bride, you fled Eden. Your divine nature melded with that of the Earth and you became some more, something Other. Mother of Daemons, First of the Fayrie.
Eve, your daughter, consorted with your brother the Serpent. Lucifer-Azaezel, light bearer and giver of the cunning fire. He passed his Light onto his children by Eve. Cain with his sister Calmena, bore their Father’s flame in there blood and passed it to the children of Adam in secret.
You, mighty Lilith, passed into the shadows of night. You sit in the centre of the Void, hidden and all seeing. Your darkness is the cloak that hides your children’s children. As a spider in the centre of a great web do you sit. The voice of Fate, Grandmother Weaver, Witch Queen, Black Goddess.

Hail the Great Mother! Nema

Taking Back Control - Part 5


Mark was about to act on one of his stupider ideas.

It was the night Amy had gone missing. He had locked himself in his recording studio in an attempt to use the sound proofing. All his friends had gone home, though they must have shown concern at Amy’s absence by now.  He had suspicions on what could’ve happened to her, some more plausible than others. But Mark had inevitably decided the best person to go to get information on his absent girlfriend. He was quite sure he was going to regret this, but he couldn’t think of anyone else to contact. Well, at least anyone who he could actually get information out of.

He dialed the number, holding his breath.


“Umm, Hi. It’s Mark.”

“Ohoho~! Isn’t this a shocker ladies and gentlemen! I wish I was on air for this! Ready to schedule another interview I presume?” Came the drawled response. Mark flinched at the reference to his previous encounter with the omnipresent sociopath. None of his egos could kill Mark, he always came back. Plus, even if they did find a way to kill him, they’d all die with him. But the stab wound had been bad enough for him to ‘die’ for a few moments. It was a truly terrifying experience.

“No, Wilford, I haven’t. I was-“ He was cut off before he could ask his question.

“What a shame, what a shame! My viewers loved you! Almost as much as they love me! And I’m me!” Mark rolled his eyes, but tried to keep his tone placating.

“Yes, I’m sure they loved it.” It was on Mark’s channel after all, “And I may still consider coming back on. But that isn’t why I called you.” Each of his main egos did have contact information, it only appeared to people who’d met them before. Mark had no idea how calls across dimensions without costing a fortune.

“Hmm, now you’ve peaked my curiosity, Mr. Fish-Back!” Mark flinched at the obvious butchering of his last name, “I suppose I can listen to what you have to say…If my schedule isn’t too busy! Lemme check, I’ll be with you in a jiffy!” The sound of flickering papers reached his ears. Mark slouched against the padded recording room walls, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He knew that Wilford didn’t have a full schedule. There was nothing to put on it, since all his shows relied on Mark’s channel. The journalist only did this because it seemed like what they should be doing. It was in their character. Mark went along with it because it kept them on his side. A gun shot went off, causing Mark to flinch, followed by a scream that sounded disturbingly like his own. A pause. “Looks like it’s your lucky day! I have a small slot in my agenda to humour you! What appears to be the issue?” Mark could practically see Wilford leaning back, sucking on his index finger like he did when he was intrigued. Mark hoped that whichever ego had been shot was alright. He cleared his throat.

“Well, I was wondering if you could find someone for me?”

“Well excuuuuuuse yoooou!” They huffed out in indignation, “I’m not about to delay my activities to be your little helper!” Mark groaned.

“I know you’re omnipresent, Wilford! While in your dimension you can be everywhere and nowhere! You can use it to see anything occurring in the entire world! Therefore, you can find her in a second without technically even moving physically!” Mark could practically feel Wilford squinting.

“And how do you know that?” Mark practically wanted to scream, ‘Because I created you!’, but kept his mouth shut. He had to pander to Wilford’s interests.

“I have my sources…” he divulged. Wilford was always interested in a mystery.

“Well…” Wilford mused, “I usually don’t usually do this, even for my fans.” Mark rolled his eyes, “However, you’ve made an interesting case so far, and I’m intrigued so see how this will all end. Let me ask who exactly you’re looking for? You aren’t a stalker, are you?” Mark heard the scratch of pen on paper.

“No, I’m not! You can scratch that note out right now!” Wilford grumbled to himself. “I’m looking for Amy Nelson.”

“Ah ha! You’ve lost your girlfriend, have you? Isn’t that an interesting story? Do tell more~” There was more pen scratching.

“I can’t tell more if I don’t know where she is.” He tried. Wilford paused.

“I suppose you’re right…Would you like me to find her?” Mark sighed out in relief.

“Yes!” Wilford laughed slightly.

“Alright, alright. Calm your horses.” There was a pause, “I can’t find her.”

“What!?” Wilford sighed.

“Are you deaf? I said I can’t find her!”

“What do you mean you can’t find her! You can find anyone!” Mark paced the room, openly yelling now. “You’re lying!”

“I wish I was Markimoo, I wish I was. I’ve never not been able to find someone before…” Wilford perked up, “Why, this just adds to the mystery! I think Miss Nelson might not be on earth anymore! Maybe it was aliens! The theories are swimming. See ya Mark! I gotta get writing!”

“Will, Wait-“ Silence. He’d hung up.

Mark slammed the phone onto the desk, flopping down into his chair. He rubbed a hand across his face and through his hair. Well, that had been useless. Mark didn’t know what he expected. Mark didn’t know why he’d let Wilford frustrate him so much. He’d been so close to finding her…

Not on earth? Aliens? Bullshit. Unless…

If she wasn’t on earth, could she be in another dimension? Specifically, the ego’s main dimension?

Mark grinned. Perhaps Wilford had been useful after all.



It had been close to a day, and Amy still hadn’t left the room. Sure, Red had delivered breakfast and lunch – making sure to lock the door this time on his departure. Dr. Iplier had held to his promise, sending Oliver to deliver fresh ice for her head. The swelling had died, the headache was gone, and overall Amy was doing better. Physically, that is. She had still been kidnapped. She was always on edge, whenever there was sound outside, she ran, standing as far from the door as possible. He had thought of the possibility of claiming to be in the bathroom to avoid company but she doubted it would work. The Google’s would most likely be willing to stand there unmoving until she exited instead of leaving. She was sure Dark – the name sent shivers down her spine – would let himself in regardless. Doors simply unlocked for him. Every time she even imagined the ringing her entire body went into melt down, and she couldn’t sleep for longer than an hour without waking up in a cold sweat. Her only social interaction had been a short conversation with Oliver, which Amy was fairly certain Dr. Iplier had forced him to attempt. She missed her friends. She missed her pets. She wished Mark was here. The real Mark. Not all these different copies. She wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice the way he used it. She laid back on the bed and sighed. No tears fell. Why wasn’t she crying? She’d been kidnapped! She was trapped, her friends didn’t know where she was, and she was with a bunch of psychopaths with her boyfriend’s body! Crying was perfectly okay! It was human! Yet no tears had fallen since when she’d first arrived yesterday. Perhaps her body was using it as defense, not letting the alters see her turmoil. Or maybe she was steadily going insane. In the end, it didn’t matter. She might die here, at the hands of a character Mark had created and never told her about.

 Amy was starting to wonder how many days would be spent in this room hiding from the other alters when there was movement outside her door. She completed her now familiar routine of backing to the other side of the room, keeping the bed between her and the door. It was Google, complete with his scowling expression.

“It is time for dinner.” He stated. Amy forced a smile.

“Right, well. You can leave the food at the door and I’ll- “

“Dark is requesting you join him and the others in the dining hall.” She felt the dread clutch onto her heart like a weight, pulling it down. She had almost fooled herself into thinking she’d never see him again. It was like she was a fly caught on the edge of the web. Struggling. Almost free. Almost away from this hell. That is, until the spider decides to drag her to the centre, tangling her in a cocoon she can’t escape from. Caught in a snare, until the spider decides to eat her. When it became clear to Google that she had frozen up and wasn’t coming to him willingly, he growled to himself. He marched over to her and Amy played her one card, leaping over the bed and running for the open door. She didn’t get a chance however, as Google predicted her movement, grasping her by the back of her sweater and dragging her back. He was more forceful with his transport this time, pulling her arms behind her back and shoving her along. Amy was sure he was going to break her arms.

He took her straight down the hall from her room, turning right and pushing her through a door.

“It is a dressing room.” He stated, looking her over, “Dark wanted you to dress up, make it formal. He has picked out a few dresses.” Google gestured to the wall. The clothes rack was mostly empty, expect for the ten dresses hanging there, neatly ironed. “Take your pick, and make it fast. They are waiting, I will meet you in the hall.” With that he slammed the door shut, and Amy wanted to scream. She took a moment to pace the room, controlling her breathing. She knew if she wasn’t quick, Google would probably come in and dress her himself – he was a robot, if it completed his objective he couldn’t care less. Plus, Dark would be irritated by the delay, and she wanted him in good standing before she tried to escape. She groaned out, running her hands through her hair. She felt awful submitting to the alters whims, but there was no other way. She had to get out of here. Surely Mark wouldn’t mind if it kept her alive. Dark was right, she was helpless to his command. If she disobeyed him, he could kill her, and Mark wouldn’t know till it was too late. She calmed herself, looking over the dresses. This wasn’t just Dark, it was all the other alters as well. She looked over a short, revealing crimson dress that made her want to vomit. He had chosen it. For her to wear. It probably wasn’t even a case of appeasing himself. He knew it would make her uncomfortable, and he knew it would shock the other alters. All the dresses were different. Different lengths, colours and designs, though they all would fit her. One key factor stood out however. They were all beautiful. All things she would wear in a different scenario. Dresses to be considered attractive, or seductive. As well as this, none of them had pockets, or any place she could hide belongings. They took away any power, making it impossible to defend herself. Knowing the clock was ticking, she chose a black, mid-length dress with swirling branches and flowers of many colours. Little birds decorated them with gorgeous, swirling feather designs. It was stunning, and it looked great on her, but the pandering to her interests in the design made her sick. It was made to accentuate curves, and her slim figure. It was strapless, and revealed to much at the chest. She didn’t have time to overthink it. She found a pair of black heels, and quickly sat herself on a chair in front of a large mirror. The marble sink before her had a variety of makeup products. Time was short so she rushed with some basics; concealer, lipstick, eyeliner. If Dark wanted formal, he would get it. She was going to look great. Hell, maybe now she could get more information looking like this. Amy used a brush to fix her hair, before standing. She paced, reassuring herself, before nearly leaping out of her skin when Google banged on the door. She took a few deep breaths, before heading to the entrance, her heels clicking against marble. She opened the door, glaring at Google.

“Better?” She wasn’t sure where her sudden confidence had come from, and was sure it would die before she even saw Dark. Google smirked.

“Satisfactory.” Before grabbing her arms and pushing her along once more.

They made their way up the stairs and down the main hall. Amy stared longingly at the mansion’s entrance. Even if it had been unlocked, where would she go? Running in heels wasn’t her forte. Plus, she had no idea where she was, she might not even be in Los Angeles anymore. Sure, the time zone appeared to be the same as home, but that could mean anything. It could’ve changed without her even realising. Google made a sharp left turn through an archway which Amy knew led to the dining room. From where she stood, she could see Dark at the head of the table, sneering at her. The faint ringing made her sick.

“Welcome Miss Nelson! So kind of you to join us! You look lovely!” he glanced over her, licking his lips before smiling. Her chest constricted around her lungs. Google shoved her forward, and she stumbled a few feet, catching herself on the chair of the closest alter as she gave way under her heels. “I hope Google won’t mind if you take his place at the table, he doesn’t need to eat.” The robot accepted Dark’s dismissal, turning and heading up the stairs. You could have heard a pin drop at the silence, all the alters gawking up at her. She hated the way their eyes glanced her body over. She reminded herself that none of them were Mark. Just characters. Alters. Her eyes fell to the one in the chair she’d caught herself on, who looked at her with raised eyebrows, and she leapt back, her heart thumping in her chest

“Well whaddya know? Amy Nelson! I need to rewrite that article because this is much more interesting!”

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Mr Darcy (Mick x Reader)

Mick Davies x Reader

Characters: Mick Davies, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Arthur Ketch

Word Count: 6728(sorry not sorry) 

Warnings: Angst, canon violence, mention and slight description of injury to reader and car accident

A/N: Hey y’all sorry I haven’t been around much I’ve been very busy with exams but now I only have one left so I’m back. If y’all have an requests for something you’d like please hit  me up! xox


Originally posted by sleepypanda27

“Wait… you're…”

“Yep! Y/n, nice to meet you,”

“Mick, Mick Davis,”

“It’s so nice to hear another British accent again!” I laughed as I shook his hand, “Sounds so strange now, where you from?”

“London,” Mick said with a smile, “Southend,”

“Ah, cool, my mum is from Lewisham,” I said. Mick smiled and nodded, “I grew in Surrey, moved to Kansas back in 2009,”

“That’ll explain the twang then,”

“Hm yeah, hanging ‘round with these idiots all day does that to a girl I’m afraid,” I laughed, playfully nudging Sam and Dean. They laughed and rolled their eyes.

“Alright, you two can go have tea and crumpets in a bit but we’ve got hunt to go to?”

“Yeah, of course,” Mick walked over to his desk and grabbed a file from the cabinet, “Three dead in Dallas, two hearts missing and one throat missing”

“Hearts and throat?” Sam asked as he took the file. Mick nodded.

“Strange isn’t it? Now, usually, you would never see two monsters teaming up but-”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I continued scanning over the file, over Sam’s shoulder.

“A vamp and a werewolf teaming up? So what you’ve driven so many monsters out they’ve decided to help each other now?” Dean said grumpily, crossing his arms in defiance. He didn’t want to help, no matter how cool the case sounded. Come on, a vamp and a werewolf team up must be as good as it sounds.

“So it seems,” Mick shrugged.

“So let’s go then, can’t waste time!” I jumped back and clapped my hands excitedly.

“Actually there’s one more thing,” Mick said, seemingly apprehensive.

“What?” Sam asked, looking up from the file.

“I’ve got to come with you," 

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He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order. He sits motionless, like a spider in the centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them. He does little himself.  He only plans.
—  Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

James Moriarty isn’t a man at all - he’s a spider. A spider at the centre of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every one of them dances.

Stormbornwitch’s Storm Ward


  • 4 Branches that fell from trees during a storm (oak branches are best as oak is known to protect against lightning strikes)
  • Wool Yarn (black, charcoal, light grey, and robins egg blue)
  • Storm water
  • Rock salt
  • Crow feathers

Note: This spell will take a while because not only do you need to collect the materials, the ward itself must also be made during a storm. Once completed this ward can be hung on a wall or in a window of a home to protect it against storms and severe weather.

Step 1

Fill a bowl with storm water and a cup of rock salt. Stir until the salt has completely dissolved. Soak the woollen yarn in the water overnight (on a stormy night) so that it absorbs the properties of the storm water and the salt. Allow the yarn to dry completely.

Step 2

Collect four branches that fell from trees during the storm the night before. As mentioned above, oak branches are the best option as oak is known to protect against lightning strikes.

Step 3

On a stormy day when you’ve got nothing planned, pull out the sticks and the string. Weaving this storm ward will take a good few hours to complete but it is well worth it in the end. 

Lay the sticks so that they create a star (with the 2 thicker branches at the top and the 2 thinner branches at the bottom). This will help create a octagonal ‘spider web’ pattern which is designed to catch and snare any severe weather and prevent it from damaging the home.

Step 4

To begin the weaving process of the eye of the storm, place the end of the black yarn in the centre of the top two thicker sticks. Begin weaving from one stick to the other (weave the yarn over the stick, then wind it around the stick and then layering it over the string you just placed - to hold it in place. Continue on to the next stick. After five times around the centre of the sticks you should start to see a diamond pattern.)

As you weave, visualise passing through the storm unharmed. Visualise your home surrounded in a ward (I like to visualise a protective bubble) which prevents the storm from damaging it.

To alternate to a different colour you will need to trim the yarn so that it can just reach the middle of the back of the ward after completing a securing loop on one of the sicks. Tie the next colour to that piece of yarn and continue weaving at the opposite end of the ward (hiding the knot at the back of the ward). Continue alternating colours until you are happy with the centre ‘eye of the storm’.

Step 5

Once you have completed the eye of the storm ward you will begin including the outer points of the storm ward (the 2 thinner sticks). Ensure that your loops on the thinner sticks are higher up than the loops on the thicker sticks. Continue weaving and alternating colours until you have completed the octagonal shape.

At the base of the ward. Weave the crow feathers through the string. This symbolises passing through the storm unharmed. A crow feather should be added for each member of the household so that each person is protected as well as the house itself.

- Marci

Continuity Confusion #8: Doc Ock and Parallel Lives

I know it’s been awhile but here is another instalment of Continuity Confusion. Appropriately since it’s the eighth instalment we’re taking a look at Doc Ock.

Specifically we’re tackling a seeming contradiction presented about Doc Ock in Parallel Lives.

So here’s a conundrum.

In Web of Spider-Man #4-5, set before Peter and MJ’s wedding, Doc Ock was placed in a psychiatric facility.

Though in the prior story he escaped custody he relapsed by the end of the story.

In ASM #296-297  set after the wedding he was still suffering from these problems.

However Parallel Lives contradicts this.

As you can see the implication is that Doc Ock was perfectly active prior to the wedding and not too long thereafter he was actually monitoring the Parker’s at their wedding. He also created for himself some new armour and began rebuilding his old Master Planner hideout. We see the fruits of his labour in the last third of Parallel Lives set several months after the wedding and Doc Ock’s recovery.

The latter of course seems questionable since Doc Ock did not have this armour when we picked back up with him after the wedding and he also didn’t seem to have this facility on the go either.

Now look, in reality all these contradictions were a mistake on Conway’s part. And it has gone on to be used by detractors of PL *coughMisterMetscough* to invalidate the whole story.

I’ve already proposed one explanation for this, but I’ve come up with another one.

In Web of Spider-Man #4-5 Doc Ock freed himself from the psychiatric facility he was housed in and for awhile was active as a villain although he avoided Spider-Man.

He went on to rebuild his criminal organization.

As you can see he’s got quite the organization going hasn’t he, and a new outfit to boot.

So here’s my theory.

Otto created his new armour during his first escape from the psychiatric facility in Web of Spider-Man. He similarly robbed  the atomic research centre during this time period too.

Why didn’t he use the armour in other parts of the Web story?

Well arguably the armour existed as anti-radiation armour than outright battle armour. This is supported by the fact that if you look closely at the scene of him robbing the research centre there are no spikes on his boots the way there are when he later confronts Spider-Man.

In Parallel lives the armour didn’t even serve much practical purpose beyond allowing him to breath under water. It didn’t even seem to offer that much protection from Spider-Man’s attacks. In fact given the lack of details in the scene where he robs the facility you culd just say that he was wearing an anti-radiation suit not an outright suit of armour.

On the other hand he might have just been experimenting with the armour so it was still a prototype when he used it to rob the research facility but wasn’t prepared to use it in battle.

Or perhaps there was a deeper psychological reason.

Check out the scene above where he’s showing off how he’s not afraid of Spider-Man to his goons. He doesn’t need to do that, it’s ultimately just to make himself feel better.

With that in mind then perhaps he avoided using his battle armour against Spider-Man because to do so would be to admit or remind himself of his fear regarding the wall-crawler and/or in not using it he’d pretend there was nothing wrong, projecting that image to outside observers.

As for his Master Planner facility, he could have robbed the atomic research centre and begun construction on his old hideout during the Web story but not completed construction of it until after ASM #296-297 when he was cured of his problems and on the run.

This still leaves the big dilemma of how could Doc Ock have been observing Peter and MJ’s wedding when he was definitely in the psychiatric facility during that time period?

Well the implication of Parallel Lives as it was written is that Otto is somehow keeping tabs on Peter and Aunt May, presumably this is how the learned of the wedding in the first place.

With that in mind I propose this explanation.

At some point before the wedding (like during the Web story) Otto programmed his flying drones to monitor Peter.

They never caught wind of him becoming Spider-Man because his Spider Sense would always alert him. But on his wedding day he was caught up in the moment he ignored it, and the tingle probably wasn’t anything major. I imagine the Spider Sense would give him a stronger buzz if he was in danger of exposing his identity rather than if he was just being generally watched in his regular life. Furthermore they weren’t so sophisticated that they’d like search his apartment or anything.

So the drones were obediently following their programming and monitoring Peter during his and MJ’s wedding, but when we see Otto watching the footage, that’s not actually him watching the wedding AS it is happening. Rather it’s him watching the recorded footage of it at a later time.

I know the thought captions imply Peter is thinking his thoughts at the same time Otto is watching him, but that’s fairly easy to dismiss as hard evidence in light of the fact that it doesn’t make sense with Otto’s continuity.

What do you think?

Crime fighting Spider

Author’s note: So here it is! The third installment to ‘Spiderboy’…. I hope you guys like it! I think I’ll probably write one more part, and then end it, because I have a lot of other requests to get to! Maybe I’ll have part 4 up tomorrow??? Who knows. And don’t worry about the end of this, I have MANY more Peter Parker oneshots coming! Without further ado… Part 3!

|| Part One || Part Two ||

Peter Parker x Reader

“I’m coming too.” You stated, folding your arms and staring expectantly at your father and Peter who stood in front of you. “Y/N, that’s not happening.” Tony replied, mirroring your stance, and Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “He’s right.”

“Peter!” You gasped. “Don’t take his side!” You raised your eyebrows, looking between the both of them. “You could get hurt.” The teen said, to which your father nodded and muttered, “Exactly.” You shook your head at them, uncrossing your arms and planting your hands on your hips. “So could you both. But I’m not telling you not to go. It’s my decision, Dad.” Tony sighed, looking down at the floor. “I can’t stop you, can I?” You smiled victoriously, shaking your head, to which he replied. “Fine.” 

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Jim Moriarty isn’t a man at all he’s a spider, A spider at the centre of the web. A criminal web with a thousand threads. And he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances.

Jim Moriarty: me!
Sherlock Holmes: @knowhowtohide

last night’s dream: 

it was late at night, and i was walking down the street towards my house when i saw a butterfly sitting half-hidden under a leaf. it was pure white and covered in tiny glowing crystals, arranged in intricate spirals. i rushed home to tell my mother, saying to her, “you gotta come see this butterfly, it’s amazing, i think it might be a totally new species” etc, etc. she followed me out, even though we were both pretty sure it would be gone by the time we got back. 

when we arrived at the place where i’d seen the butterfly, it was still there - but now it was caught in an enormous spider’s web. the web stretched from one side of the fence to another, and the butterfly was suspended right in the centre with its wings outstretched. the light from its crystals illuminated the entire web like phosphorescence, making the beads of dew on the individual strands glow.

the dream then segued into something else entirely. i was on the same street, but i was following a girl who ran up ahead of me, just a little too quick for me to catch her. she had a cloud of black hair that glittered and floated around her head and was wearing a dress made from mermaid scales. every time she turned the corner, her green dress was the last thing i saw as it fluttered out of sight. i saw her slip through a doorway, so i went after her. 

inside, a party was in full swing. crowds of people in venetian masks were sipping pink champagne and dancing to 50s music. i saw the girl pass through a beaded curtain at the end of the room and followed. when i came in, she acted as though she hadn’t seen me chasing her, and offered me a shell containing a strange green liquid. i sipped it and immediately felt dizzy. she guided me down to the sofa and stroked my hair as i lost consciousness. when i woke, feeling sick and headachey, i was sitting in a cafe miles from my home. it was very early in the morning and the sky was overcast. i checked my pockets and found no evidence of the night before - only a single green scale in the right-hand pocket of my jeans.

Sherlock, through the looking glass

Sherlock’s gone through the looking glass, like Alice, that’s why John’s flat is backwards.  

Remember the white rabbit next to the pink lady in ASiP?  Remember all the other rabbits on the show including Rosie?  

Well, now, not only are we seeing tons of reflections and mirrors, including that strange wobbly mirror in Morocco, but John’s flat is, in fact, actually backwards? We also see John and Mary lying in the opposite side of the bed as we’ve seen them do in HLV and we look upon them in bed twice through a mirror’s reflection.

Chapter One ~ Looking-Glass House

Alice steps through the looking glass and finds a book of, ‘looking-glass poetry whose revered printing she can only read by holding it up to the mirror’,

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anonymous asked:

45 sheriarty ;)

Sheriarty + “Tell me a secret.” 

i wanted to write something fluffy but lmao this happened instead. i kinda like it so i posted it on ao3 too, please give both a kudos there and a like here if you enjoyed ;_;

It’s only soft after sex.

They are naked and tired and James Moriarty - consulting criminal, the spider at the centre of the web, the most dangerous man in the country and ten more epithets Sherlock uses to dehumanize him during work - is snuggling against him.

He. Is. Snuggling.

He’s snuggling and he looks so vulnerable, all messy hair and soft skin and lips just curled in a tiny smile and chest slowly raising and falling that Sherlock almost falls in love. Almost.


The man doesn’t even bother to open his eyes. He hums, low and content, before placing a soft kiss on his chest, right next to a particularly purple hickey.

“Jim, tell me a secret.”

Jim furrows his brows.

“Secrets are meant to be kept, silly.”

“I know what secrets are.”

If the situation weren’t so peaceful, he would be offended. He’s not though, so he runs a hand in Jim’s hair, combing it back and tracing his scalp with the fingertips. He can’t help but think of when they took a bath together and washed each other’s hair. It’s a pleasant memory, it paints a soft smile on his lips.

“I just… I don’t know that much about you. I mean, i’m without any doubt the person who knows you b–”

“Of course you are.”

“Don’t interrupt me. You are annoy— and don’t bite. I was talking, if you didn’t notice.”

“You never mind me biting you, but whateverrr”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply - Jim is right after all - and keeps talking, simply ignoring the remark.

As I was saying, I don’t know much about you, but thanks to my brother you know everything about me. It’s not fair.”

He’s capable of connecting dots that other people can’t even see, he can link together crimes that happened at the same time in two different countries, he can see Moriarty’s touch with a single glance and yet, there are so many things he doesn’t know about the man himself.

He’s learning though.

He found out that he always hums the same song when he’s happy, a traditional irish melody Sherlock has memorized just for him, just to play it with his violin. He also makes terrible math jokes (”Why do they never serve beer at a math party? Because you can’t drink and derive…”) and cooks wearing a terrible apron Sherlock hates. It has “kiss the cook” written on it and Jim always steals a kiss from him and laughs and Sherlock pouts.

When he’s sad - sad isn’t the right word, but is the word Sherlock uses, because he doesn’t want to admit the truth, because he’s pretending to not see the symptoms of bipolar disorder - he either talks about his work a lot or wants to have sex not-stop.

(Sometimes Jim doesn’t leave his room. He lays on the bed, with clothes that smell and dirty hair and Sherlock sits by his side and tries to take care of him and doesn’t know what to say and what to do and he wants to leave, because he’s uncomfortable. He did left once. When he came back home he had to force two fingers down Jim’s throat. Sherlock doesn’t like to think about it, though.)

So yes, he’s learning, but there are gaps that he can’t fill, no matter how much he observes Jim. 

How is his family? Is he still in touch with his parents, are they even alive? What did he like when he was a child? Does he still like those things? Did he try to have friends? What exactly Carl did to him?

There are many other questions and Sherlock repeats them in his mind, as if doing that would help him find an answer.

“Life isn’t fair. But for you, I can make an exception.”

Jim opens his eyes and looks at him. He stays in silence for a couple of seconds - always dramatic - lips just parted and Sherlock can’t stop staring at his mouth, heart beating a little too fast.

“I sing Ke$ha in the shower.”

Sherlock wants to punch him.

“That’s not a secret.”

Jim laughs and Sherlock sits up. He wants it to be serious.

“I want something more important. More…” He stops a moment, trying to find the right word. “Personal.” 

(I want to know you even more, thinks. We don’t have much time.)

Something shifts in Jim. His eyes are different.

He waits Sherlock, expectation and curiosity running in his veins. Jim moves and sits on his lap. 

Sherlock doesn’t have the time to say anything, there are lips on his own, lips that kiss him roughly and there are hands on his shoulder that push him down on the mattress again.

After a while, Sherlock tries to break the kiss, but Jim doesn’t allow him, pulling him back on his mouth again. When Jim moves, Sherlock’s lungs hurt.

“I want you to be the cause of my death, someday. I love you.

In the early years of my journey after Peru, the recurring themes were Sumer and Babylon and the bloodline families who came out of there - one name in particular: Rothschild. You simply cannot understand the global conspiracy without knowing the background to this vicious bunch of interbreeding global criminals and power-crazed genocidal maniacs. Over the top? Far too mild, if anything. ‘Genocide’ is defined as: 'The deliberate and systematic destruction of a racial, political or cultural group’. This captures the ambitions of the House of Rothschild so perfectly, and the 'racial group’ in their sights is called 'humanity’. They operate at the centre of the web and they act like conductors of the orchestra. The Rothschilds are not the origin of the power that drives the conspiracy, because the rabbit hole is much deeper than that. They are, however, the prime dispensers of that power within human society on behalf of the 'spider’. Almost everyone will have heard of the Rothschilds, yet almost no-one knows what they actually do. They are bankers, aren’t they? Yes they are, but that’s like saying that Hitler was a painter. It doesn’t tell anything like the full story. The Rothschilds have a horrific record of engineering wars, including the world wars, instigating financial crashes and manipulating countries across every continent via the networks they control. There is not a single man, woman or child whose life is not affected, often disastrously, by the Rothschilds.
—  David Icke - Human Race Get Off Your Knees

Chile bans the export of tarantulas

Chile ban the export of tarantulas is a headline I’ve been reading on a number of spider related Facebook groups this weekend. I haven’t been able to substantiate the stories on Google News but it does raise all sorts of ethical issues around keeping tarantulas and other exotics as pets. As someone who has kept reptiles and inverts since my teens I have mixed views and emotions about keeping essentially wild animals captive. The market for reptiles in the UK skyrocketed between 1990 and 1999, rising by 300% with a total of 1,338, 633 live reptiles being imported (Auliya 2003:2). It is estimated that the UK reptile industry is worth £2.2 billion annually (Fernando 2010).

Problems with the pet trade

I have three main issues with the exotic pet trade. First, I question the probity of people in the First World encouraging the exploitation of natural resources and animals from the Third World. The pet trade does little or nothing to ensure the sustainability of natural habitats from where wild caught species are taken. It’s also certain that the indigenous people see little benefit from working with the pet trade. Second, the pet trade is driven purely by profit. The trade shows little responsibility towards the health and well-being of the creatures it traffics. Finally, I have an issue with the general levels of ignorance that exist at all stages of the supply chain, but especially in pet stores, and among consumers.

Like many, many people my first tarantula was a Grammostola Rosea (Chilean Rose) purchased at the local garden centre. Long before I thought about heading to a pet store I did my research, reading various care sheets on the Web and buying a couple of books on tarantulas. When I finally went to make my purchase it was immediately clear the sales assistant knew absolutely nothing about tarantulas. Having examined a couple of G. Rosea specimens we finally made our choice. However, the sales assistant seemed petrified of the spider. A pantomime followed as the poor guy tried to get the spider from one container into another so we could take it away. He could tell me nothing useful about caring for the spider, and yet happily made the sale without any thought to the animal’s welfare.

Ignorance is misery

Promoted by the pet trade as the ideal starter spider, the G. Rosea is a fussy eater who can fast for long periods. They’re marketed as docile when in fact they’re usually quite skittish and defensive. However, I’ve seen videos and read reports of individuals with a propensity to bite first and ask questions later. Our G. Rosea turned on my partner the first time she touched him. She’s never had anything to do with my tarantulas since. In reality, the G. Rosea has been heavily marketed by the trade because they’re cheap and plentiful. If your pet spider dies from your ignorance or neglect it’s easily replaced – this is the attitude. Unfortunately many within the exotic pet trade are happy to peddle the lie that reptiles and inverts are low maintenance, almost throw away pets that don’t possess the same needs and requirements as dogs and cats, for example. In reality, the opposite is true. Exotics often need very specialised care such as housing, lighting, heating, humidity, substrate, food stuffs and supplements. There also seems to be a misconception that just because you’re a cold blooded animal you don’t feel stress, fear, pain, hunger, thirst or need company.

Apparently the prices of G. Roseas have already risen on some UK pet websites by £10.00. As the supply of wild caught spiders dries up prices will steadily rise. This might be a good thing for the hobby and the spiders in the long run. The mass market appeal of almost fully grown, cheap spiders will hopefully disappear to be replaced by captive bred slings and juvies who mainly appeal to genuine hobbyists. Sincere spider enthusiasts take their responsibilities seriously. They spend time and energy educating themselves about every facet of their spider’s needs and welfare.