#it's stuff like this where they add remove and change things always in stark opposite of Flynn's favor that riles me up :/

[goldentigerfestival]

Using this as an audio reference for the posts I'm making, but to summarize:

Yuri starts out mad.

Yuri tries to calm himself down with a deep breath to ask for details instead of going through it angry.

Flynn doesn't say "like a good knight" in the sense of putting himself down. He simply says "as a knight" (the tl here doesn't use that, but with that included it's basically along the lines of "even though I had doubts, as a knight, I was determined to follow my orders").

Once Yuri has answers he calms down significantly.

Yuri uses " 'ttaku", which is a shortened down version of "mattaku" (Yuri often shortens words and speaks very casually), which in this particular situation basically would mean "geez", or "good grief". In this manner, it's expressive of exasperation/frustration/etc.

Yuri never mentions that "Flynn told him what to do" like the dub does (because in fact Flynn did not ever tell Yuri what to do. He only gave Sodia and his other knights orders. He expressed his own desire to take responsibility, but never told Yuri and his friends what to do).

At this point you can tell the anger has gone out of him and that he's calmed down, now that Flynn is approaching this with admission and responsibility.

Sodia is asking that Flynn returns as soon as possible (I believe this was a general translation error).

Flynn's thank you to Yuri is tonally much more heartfelt.

Yuri's response and gratefulness at Flynn coming back to himself is tonally much more heartfelt, relieved and sincere.

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Becoming A Stark? (1) Peter Parker X Stark! Fem Reader

A/N: This will eventually be a Peter Parker X Stark! femReader. However, there was backstory needed so Peter won’t be introduced until Chapter Six. This takes place after Iron Man 3 but before AOU. However time is wishy washy and will pass in weird ways so lol opps. Let me know if you want to be tagged.

Word Count: 3073

Warnings: Swearing

You feel it in your soul that you will hate Tony Stark for the rest of your life. It doesn’t matter that you’re related to him. It doesn’t matter that you’re his daughter. He ripped you from everything you’ve ever known. You were happy living with your grandparents. Sure they were getting up there in age, but you were happy. You had a life, you had friends, hell you had been working on moving forward with your crush and were hoping to have a date to homecoming this year. But all of that was ruined the day that Tony Stark waltzed through your front door. You can’t help but think back to that interaction. 

“Nana, who’s this?”

“Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, Iron Man, to name a few things. I’d offer a hand but that’s not something I normally do. I guess, maybe I should due to the circumstances but…” It’s not the first time you’ve seen his face. The Avengers have saved New York a few times, but it is the first time you’ve seen him up close. The dark haired stranger trails off and you’re put off by his attitude alone. Why was someone this stuck up standing in your living room? So instead of saying anything, you turn your head back to your book. Tony decides to take a seat at the opposite end of the couch and tries again. “What are you reading?” 

Instead of answering, you just hold up the book and let him read the cover. Once and Future, spelled out on the spine of the book that you had removed the book jacket from while you read. “Y/N, maybe put the book down for a few minutes. I think Mr. Stark-”

“Tony is fine.”

“I think Tony and you need to discuss something.” You hesitantly pick up the receipt you had been using as a bookmark and slide it into the book, not wanting to leave Ari Helix behind, but you wouldn’t be rude to your Nana on a good day. On a day that you had trudged through the snow in your converse, maybe, but not on purpose.

“I don’t know him. I don’t think we have anything to discuss.”

“You’re right, we don’t know each other yet, but I’m hoping that will change with everything that’s going to happen.”

“What’s going to happen?” You can feel your eyebrows fall towards your eyes as you feel as though something is about to change without your permission.

“Well Y/N, I’m… I’m your dad.”

“Bullshit.” You say quickly. “Tony Stark doesn’t have kids. And if he did, there would have been a fucking gossip blog screaming about it already.”

“Well you definitely have my mouth if nothing else.” Tony adds with a chuckle. 

“I don’t have anything of yours, because you’re not my dad. I never want to see you again. Get the fuck out.” You push off the couch and turn to run off to your room.

“See that’s going to be a little tough seeing as you're supposed to come live with me.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” You turn on your heels, the anger building quickly. You’ve always been a bit of a hot head, but in this moment you don’t even try to control your temper. “I have a home, thank you very kindly. I don’t fucking know you. And I’m not looking to find a dad anytime soon.” The words spit out of you before you can stop any of them. 

“See the thing is, you’re fourteen and I’m your dad. Custodially, you’re supposed to live with me.”

“See the thing is,” you mock before continuing, “You didn’t care for fourteen years, so I don’t give a shit what you think you’re supposed to be doing custodially.” You can’t help but add air quotes around the word custodially. It burns as it leaves your lips. He hasn’t cared about you for fourteen years, why start now? 

“That’s because I didn’t know you existed Y/N. I found out about you twenty four hours ago and I’m stepping up now.” The words leave his mouth in an exasperated tone, but he doesn’t raise his voice.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How did you find out about me?” 

“Your high school.”

“What?”

“When you registered for school they had your birth certificate. They needed more information. Since it listed me as your father, they reached out to Nat- to my assistant. It was quite the shock to me that my child’s school was reaching out to me, since I didn’t know I had a child but the timing adds up and looking at you, it makes a lot of sense.”

“You were listed on my birth certificate?” This question was aimed at your grandparents more than at Tony-your father.

“We didn’t know if it was true or not. Your mom was in a bad place when she had you Y/N. So we had to take everything she said with a grain of salt. Was she beautiful and loving and did she love you? Yes completely. But did a lot of what she said during that time make sense? No, not at all.” Your nana says as she sits down on the couch, rubbing her knee. It’s probably another bad day. If you leave, who will make sure Nana and Pops are ok?

“I can’t go with you.” You cross your arms as you speak to Ton-your father.

“Why not?” His eyebrow raises over his square glasses.

“‘Cuz someone has to help Nana and Pops around the house.”

“I’ll make sure there’s a nurse helping them. Or better we can move them into a nursing facility where they don’t have to go up and down a bunch of flights of steps all the time.”

“Why would you do that.” The question came out as a demand, especially since you don’t want to believe this man that’s taking you away from the only family you’ve ever known would do something… nice.

“Because they’re your family. I’m not heartless. Well I guess that depends on what your belief on science is and arc reactors are, but technically I do still have a heart underneath all of this.” He points to where you know there would be metal and lights under his suit. “But for right now, we need to focus on getting you to the tower.”

“What tower?”

“Avenger’s tower? It’s closer than Malibu? And in less shambles.”

“So you’re moving me from the home that I know and love, but you don’t even live where you’re moving me?”

“I live there a lot of the time. And the Avengers are there most of the time which means you’ll be very safe. But I do have to travel for business.”

“Then I’ll stay where I am thanks.” Tony goes to speak when Wallace goes off. The beeping is only jarring for him since you and your Nana are used to it going off at random times.

“What the hell is that?”

“That is Wallace.” You say, not clearing up anything. Hmmm, your Dexcom says you’re 205 and rising? You could have sworn you had insulin on board. So you unclip the pump from your side and tap the screen to enter your blood sugar. No correction needed. 

“You good babydoll?” Your nana asks from across the living room.

“I’m good. I have insulin on board.”

“You’re diabetic?” Tony asks, putting two and two together.

“Yup. Have been since I was four.”

“And Wallace?” He asks hesitantly.

“Do you honestly care?” You say before rolling your eyes and walking towards the kitchen. Mentally, you slap yourself. You should have grabbed your book. Now you’ll either have to start a new one or wait until your father, you roll your eyes at even saying it, leaves so you can continue your space adventure. Walking down the hallway you enter your room and close the door behind you. All you want to do is shut out the bombshell that was dropped on you and not deal with it. But for some reason you get the feeling that Tony Stark, freaking Iron Man, isn’t one to just let things go. 

Giving up on the idea of starting another book, you open your computer and click your Spotify to start playing the playlist you had paused this morning when you had left to run errands with Pops. You only have two weeks of summer left, so you had spent time getting school supplies and groceries before returning to the apartment. While Hitchin’ A Ride by Green Day starts playing, you open Twitter, hoping for anything to distract yourself. But somehow you find yourself on Tony Stark’s Twitter. It was less narcissistic that you imagined for him. Some retweets about Stark Industries, a few comical tweets about wanting a cheeseburger, and then a tweet from twenty four hours that just said HOLY SHIT in all caps and nothing else. Could that be about you? Closing out Twitter, you find yourself opening up your Tumblr to scroll as Lithium by Nirvana played. Or well you tried to scroll, but a knock on your door interrupts you. 

“Can I come in?” Tony’s head peaks in.

“If I say no will you go?” You say without looking up.

“Probably not. The people in my inner circle say I’m fairly stubborn.”

“Hmm.” Is the only reply you give him. To be fair, a lot of your friends would say you’re stubborn too so it’s not that surprising that your father is too. 

“I know you don’t like it kiddo-”

“Don’t call me kiddo.

“-but we do need to head to the Tower soon. Happy’s been parked downstairs for about as long as he’s allowed to be there.” Tony continues as if you hadn’t said anything. “So how about you pack up stuff you’ll need for the next few days and then I can send Happy and some other people to come get the rest later on?”

“You’re going to send people to pack up my stuff? You know how invasive that is?” 

“Ok, I’ll send you over with them, you can pack it up and they’ll move it to the tower, it’s your choice. Or to Malibu if you’d rather. Well that is once the rebuild is done. Long story. But if you stay at the tower, you won’t have to change schools.”

“Yippee. Everyone at school will get to find out that Tony Stark is my father. How much fun will that be.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm. “I definitely wanted to be ostracized my first year at high school. Thanks for making it even better than I could ever imagine high school being.”

“Look I know this isn’t a win/win scenario, but we can keep your name out of the press until your eighteen if you want. You’re a minor-”

“Yeah, but when the paparazzi see me coming out of the tower, that won’t tip them off.”

“I’ll have Happy drive you. There’s a garage entrance. No one will see you coming or leaving.”

“Great so I just have to give up my freedom. That’s even better than I imagined.”

“Y/N, I know this isn’t what you wanted, or even what you want, but I think we can come up with something that works in the long run. Plus I’m having Pepper, you’ll meet her later, take over SI so I won’t have to do as much. I can try to stay in New York as much as possible. Because no matter what happens, you’re my daughter and I want to know you.” You don’t say anything in response. “I hope one day, you feel similarly.” He says softly.

“I doubt it.” You say honestly. 

“Well even if that��s the case, right now we do need to pack up some stuff to take to the tower for now. Want me to hel-” He starts to pick up a sweatshirt from the end of your bed and you snatch it from his hand as you reply.

“I’ve got it.”

“Y/N, we’re here.” Your father’s voice pulls you from your thoughts and you look at the non descript parking garage that is under what you assume is the tower. The man you’ve figured out is Happy, though he’s the exact opposite of Happy, opens your door and you climb out, knowing that Tony will be behind you. Happy goes to grab your bags from the trunk, but you stop him. 

“I’ve got it.”

“It’s part of my job.”

“I don’t have an issue carrying my own stuff like some people.” From the trunk you lift out your purple backpack, the black rolling suitcase, and the canvas bag that’s filled with all your pump supplies, sensors, and insulin. You follow Tony and Happy towards an elevator. 

“JARVIS take us to the main floors.”

“Certainly sir.” You look up expecting to see a face or something but there’s no one there.

“JARVIS is the AI that runs the whole tower. If you need anything JARVIS is the one to ask. If there’s specific food you want or if you need stuff for school or, well, anything really, just ask JARVIS. I’ll get you added to the levels of clearance that allow you to order anything that you want.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Part of you living with me is that I’m going to provide for you. JARVIS is part of providing for you. I’m not the best at remembering to like grocery shop or send the laundry out so JARVIS helps with that.”

“Send the laundry out? Do you not have a washer and dryer in this whole place?” You cock an eyebrow at how spoiled he sounds.

“We do, but there are other things that take time away from me.” You add continue to do my own laundry to the mental list of things that will make you different from your father. Tony notices the disapproval marked in his daughter’s face and hopes that maybe meeting the Avengers will make up for the disappointment he’s been to her so far. The doors open and in the living room Natasha and Clint are sitting watching a movie while Steve sits in a chair reading a book. “Where’s Code Green?”

“In the lab,” Steve comments, not looking up from the page he’s on.

“That’s Capsicle. Legolas is sitting next to Nat. Big Green is down in the lab and Point Break is currently back at home but you’ll meet him eventually, though hopefully not his brother.” At the sound of being introduced the three in the living room look up and see the girl standing next to Tony in surprise.

“Uh, Tony, are we taking pint size Avengers now?” Clint asks.

“I might be small, but I can kick your knees out just as easily.” You pull on the strap of your backpack, not really wanting to be in this room much longer. 

“Ok, before you kick anyone’s knees out. This is not an Avenger recruit. This is Y/N Stark, my daughter.” Ok taking on his last name was something you were going to have to talk to him about because you were perfectly happy being Y/N Y/L/N, not this Y/N Stark bullshit.

“You have a kid?” Steve asks, genuine confusion spread across his face. 

“I do. I didn’t know until yesterday, but I’m doing the right thing.” You can’t stop the snort that escapes you. Tony looks over at you.

“Sorry,” You say although you don’t mean it. “Can I es- go to my room?”

“‘Yes, you can escape to your room. I’ll show you where it is.” 

“I got it boss. I think you have some people that need answers.” Happy offers. You’re silently relieved that Happy offered to show you. If you had to spend another minute with your dad, you might lose your mind. Happy walks you into the kitchen and opens the fridge as you go past it. You look at him, trying to figure out why he’s opening it. “Tony told me you’re diabetic. You have insulin that needs refrigeration right?”

“Oh, yeah I just didn’t know he told you.”

“Head of security. There’s not much he doesn’t tell me.” Happy turns them towards a staircase leading away from where all the Avengers are. “But you know if you need someone to talk to, or grab a cheeseburger with, there’s things he doesn’t have to know about.”

“I don’t eat meat, but I appreciate it, Happy.”

“He’s going to say you’re not his kid if you don’t eat cheeseburgers.” And for the first time since all of this started, you actually let out a laugh.

Tony’s head turns towards the sound of the laugh. It’s unfamiliar, but he wants to hear more of it. He’s missed fourteen years of your life, but he wants to make things better, he does. He’s just not sure how.

“So you found out you have a kid?” Steve asks, his book forgotten now.

“Yeah, yesterday I found out I had a fourteen year old and then it’s been a whole process of finding out that since she’s mine I have custody technically.”

“So you took her away from all she knows?” Natasha's voice comes softly from the couch. 

“I guess you could say that.”

“Did you give her a choice?” Natasha asks, harsher this time. In her eyes anyone could see the remainders of another girl that was taken from all she ever knew and replaced with a hard boiled assassin.

“In the eyes of the state she doesn’t really have a choice.”

“So you didn’t give her a choice.”

“She’s got a medical condition that was costing her family thousands a month on top of her grandparents’ conditions. I’m helping!” Tony’s voice raises for the first time this afternoon since he tried to stay calm around his kid.

“You think you’re helping, but you’re taking her from the only life she’s ever known and I’m betting you gave her no choice in this. All you might get out of this is four years with her and then she disappears from your life.” Clint says softly, not trying to upset Tony, but also hearing the points that Natasha was bringing up. 

“You’re going to have to work hard to make this worth it to Y/N, Tony.” Steve says before picking up his book.

[adie-dee]

[Introduction] [Parents] [Friends]

For @yourocsbackstory​​​​​ Week 3: Education/Mentors.

 Bethany never went to school. Instead, out of fear for her safety, her parents arranged for tutors to come to her instead. Here’s 12 year old Bethany in one of those classes.

My piano lesson was due to start soon, and for once I was waiting in the music room waiting for Miss Calla instead of hiding in my room. I’d headed in early with the intention of practicing the scales I’d been putting off for a week, practice which I’d promised to do daily. What I’d done instead over the past week was literally anything else, which to the surprise of my parents and the maid had included cleaning my bedroom.

I hated the piano. But I really liked Miss Calla.

She wasn’t like my other tutors. She dressed like them, wearing sensible old lady clothes that I’m sure my Dad insisted on because he liked the people working for him to look professional, but she didn’t act like them. Maybe it was her age - I wasn’t great at guessing how old adults were, but I’d asked Mum and at 26 she was definitely the youngest tutor I had. Or the fact she wasn’t as serious as the rest. Mr Brown my maths tutor was funny and nice, sure, but Miss Calla always had interesting stories and a different way of looking at things. Plus it was nice to spend time with someone who didn’t try to stop me from talking.

Already bored with what I was doing I took to pretending I knew how to play instead, putting on a performance for an invisible audience, thumping the keys and creating a cacophony of noise that annoyed even me.

“Do you know where the tool shed is,” Miss Calla asked, having snuck in without me noticing. “Because if you’re that determined to murder the piano I should probably get you an axe.”

“Why an axe,” I asked in return, spinning on the bench to face her. 

“It’d be less painful for everyone involved,” she said with a smile. “Including the piano.”

I giggled. No one else ever mentioned anything death related around me. 

“Now did you practice like I asked?”

“Yes!”

She sat next to me on the bench. “Bethany…” 

“Ok no,” I admitted, staring down at my hands. I hated disappointing her. 

“Why do you do this?”

I looked across at her, breaking eye contact as soon as I made it. While most of the time she had happy eyes, there were times like now when it felt like she could see everything about me, something which always made me feel so tiny and insignificant in her green-eyed gaze. I’d tried looking at people like that too, only all I’d managed was a weird squint and questions over whether I had something called a headache.

“It’s obvious you don’t like the piano,” she continued. “You don’t practice, you procrastinate in lessons… and don’t think I don’t know about the two teachers who came before me that you convinced to quit. So why stick with it?”

“Dad says I need to learn things,” I replied, trying not to fidget. Miss Calla was always so still and I wanted to hold myself like her. “And that if I make another tutor quit he’ll pick the lessons that replace it. He keeps talking about deportment… and I looked that one up in the dictionary and I don’t want to do that.” I glanced back at her, relieved to see friendly eyes once again. “Sometimes I think he’s embarrassed about me because I talk too much. He says he wants me to do things I enjoy because my life is short but then he gets annoyed that I tell people everything… but I enjoy talking to people! It’s so boring here otherwise.”

“What if you asked for a different class then?”

“Don’t you want to teach me anymore?” The words rushed out, accompanied by a quickened heartbeat. “I don’t want you to leave!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she insisted, cutting me off mid-panic. “I still have a few months on my contract and I’m definitely not going to quit and subject you to the hell that is deportment lessons.”

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down. “Oh good! Because you and Mr Brown are the only ones who treat me like a grown up and not some kid.”

For some reason she found that funny.

“But I did try and get piano replaced with more maths lessons,” I added, grinning as I spoke. “Only Dad wouldn’t let me because I’d already done that to my history lessons and he thought I was trying to do that to all my classes.” 

I didn’t add that for every class except literature I would have, given half the chance. While Mr Brown was teaching me the kind of maths Dad wanted me to learn, he’d also added in a lot of logic problems and puzzles and I really liked the way they made me think.

“At least you’re doing something you enjoy. Don’t waste your life doing things you hate.” She gave me a knowing look. “Especially considering how short yours is likely to be.”

“Mum says I’m not meant to talk about that.” I couldn’t remember telling Miss Calla about my curse, but I did have a habit of babbling so it was possible. “She says it should be a secret.” 

Why it needed to be a secret was something I didn’t understand though. Mum seemed to think that talking about it upset me or something, only she was the one who went sad every time it was mentioned. I didn’t see what the big deal was. My twenty-fifth birthday was forever away, so it wasn’t like it was a problem now. 

Miss Calla raised an eyebrow. “She also says you’re meant to do your homework, only we both know you haven’t been listening to that request.”

I hoped I didn’t look guilty.

“Can I give you some advice,” she asked, then continued to speak without waiting for me to answer, “it’s your decision as to what you keep secret about yourself, not anyone elses. And yes, telling people stuff like that can have consequences that you should definitely think through, but if you’re ok with that then why shouldn’t you share? It’s your life, your story…” the intense gaze returned. “Don’t change who you are to keep other people happy. It’s not worth it.”

Everyone else around me seemed intent on teaching me to hide the bits of me that weren’t socially acceptable, so Miss Calla telling me to do the complete opposite had me confused. 

Miss Calla stood up. “We really should start today’s lesson though,” she said as she smoothed out her skirt. “Because if you can't show your father you’ve improved in the next couple of months my contract to teach you won’t be renewed. But maybe I can teach you something else at the same time so that it’s not so boring. Is there anything you’ve wanted to learn but haven’t?”

I nodded with excitement. “Sword fighting.” She’d mentioned she knew how once and I’d wanted to learn ever since. I doubt it was something she’d mentioned to Dad though, as there was no way he’d ever approve.

She let out a small laugh. “I’m clever, but not ‘sneak two swords into the house without them being seen’ clever. Anything else? You don’t have to answer straight away, so,” she pushed my shoulders gently, spinning me to face the piano, “let’s start with scales while you think.”

I groaned, but did as she asked. “What about curses,” I asked as I hit the keys with what I knew was too much force. “Do you know much about them?”

Her smile returned. “Oh yes.”

Previous Backstory Characters:

Blake Raleigh

Nyssa Williams

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[irregularjohnnywiggins]

(in response to @mirrorfalls question on my favourite Moriarty, which I answered... then deleted. Because I’m good at tumblr.)

To answer the question of what my favourite versions of Moriarty is, we need to figure out what, imo, makes a ‘good’ Moriarty. For my money, there are three aspects that make Canon Moriarty interesting:

Intellect: probably obvious, but Moriarty is an opposite to the World’s Greatest Detective, so his intellect, like Holmes’, is key to his character.

Familiarity: the phrase ‘everything I have to say has already crossed your mind/then possibly my answer’s crossed yours’ is a cliche of Holmes/Moriarty interactions, but it’s a damn good cliche for a reason. Holmes and Moriarty should have a healthy respect for each other, that’s true, but more importantly they should have this sense of, as Neil Gaiman once said about him and Terry Pratchett: ‘You’re another one of me! I didn’t realize they made another one!’

Savagery: Seems weird given the other two points, but a good Moriarty should always have this point that, if pushed off, attempts to, say, push a guy off a waterfall. If my favourite Holmes is a bleeding heart barely pretending to be an unfeeling machine, Moriarty is barely hiding his inner savage behind the mask of congeniality.

So, with that out of the way, my most interesting (not objectively worse/best, just the ones I feel deserve attention) Moriarty’s from worst to best.

10: BBC Sherlock (Andrew Scott)

Let’s break this down: he’s not 1 because no-one in Sherlock is smart, it’s just Moffat trying to trick the audience with lack of explanation. He’s not 2 because Moffat is so obsessed with twists that Sherlock and Moriarty spend most of their time twisting each other so much that there is no time given to their familiarity between them. He’s not 3 because he’s not savage - he’s a poor man’s Heath Ledger’s Joker, but boring and with more homoerotic subtext. He’s not Moriarty. He’s just boring.

9: Elementary Moriarty (Natalie Dormer)

I really wanted to place her higher because I honestly love Natalie Dormer’s version, but whilst she covers the first two points the focus is more on her torrid romance with Watson Holmes, which is all well and good but does rather detract from her Moriarty-ness.

8: Young Sherlock Holmes (Anthony Higgins)

This version of Moriarty, like this version of Sherlock, is... interesting. We don’t really see his savagery, but the entire movie works to build up his relationship with Holmes. I could have done with a little less racism, though. And a little more actual Egyptian Moriarty in a movie that makes him Egyptian.

7: League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

1 and 3, mostly - as interesting as the idea that he’s a former British agent turned actual bad guy is, that’s the disadvantage of removing Holmes from the story - it’s like a Joker story without Batman, Moriarty doesn’t really have anyone to contrast with, and the two people who can contrast with him - Mycroft and Fu Manchu - never share a second of pagetime with him. And yet you can only do Holmes v Moriarty so many times, so how do you make Moriarty interesting without Holmes? Well...

6: Newman’s Moriarty

...You make them the contrast of another character, that’s what. In all seriousness, Newman’s version of Moriarty might not get much to do, but man does he feel good.

The premise of Hound of the D’Urbervilles, i.e. Sherlock Holmes but Moriarty instead, is brilliant at giving us not just how similar Holmes and Moriarty are, but how different - a personal highlight being Moriarty telling Moran that of course he didn’t figure out Moran’s backstory using deductive reasoning, why would he waste his time, he researched everything about him before he entered the room. 

I’m not entirely sure if Newman’s Moriarty is savage as opposed to increasingly petty, but his relationship with Moran hints that whilst Holmes looks at people and sees problems to be fixed, Moriarty looks at people and sees tools to be exploited, and that is a pretty sweet contrast that isn’t really explored in other versions.

5: Brett Moriarty (Eric Porter) + Merrison Moriarty (Michael Pennington)

Moving on to a classic Moriarty, whilst I don’t really think Porter adds anything the same way Brett does, he is still a really engaging portrayal. The bit where Holmes and Moriarty exchange a look on the Reichenbach Falls? Brilliant, and it wouldn’t be half as good without his particular portrayal, which stems far closer to the canon than previous ones on this list.

The BBC Radio adaptation is practically tied with this because they’re extremely similar - both attempt to follow canon as closely as possible, whilst adding their own twists. I do prefer the radio version, though, because we get some hint as to how Moriarty’s organization works and how much of a threat Moriarty is. This is actually enhanced by it being radio - whereas Brett’s version has to have Moriarty enter the room because it’s a visual medium, the radio adaptation can just have Holmes playing the violin, suddenly stopping and then revealing Moriarty’s been in the room this whole time. It’s really good, is what I’m getting at. But speaking of canon...

4: Canon

@mirrorfalls said in their original question that no version of Moriarty since the canon has ever actualized the reptilian qualities of Moriarty, and I can’t help but agree. It’s really interesting that Moriarty is linked to an animal whilst Holmes compares his body in another story to ‘a mere appendix’ - something intrinsically human even as it is superficially worthless. The idea of Moriarty in this version - calm, cold, but liable to snap at any point - is quite simply perfect, and the only thing that doesn’t rank him higher is that, in the same way William Hartnell doesn’t rank as one of my favourite Doctors, what it means to be Moriarty has changed so much since his inception. I don’t think Conan Doyle ever intended Moriarty to have the staying power that he did - he’s a plot device, pure and simple. Other authors added to that, and so we’ve got the version of Moriarty which lasts today.

3: Light Yagami

...Hear me out.

No, Light isn’t exactly a traditional Moriarty. For one thing, I’m fairly certain Moriarty doesn’t have a god complex, or a magic notebook that kills people, or a snarky apple loving Death God as a sidekick (Though, who knows, give Moran an apple fixation...) But, there’s a reason I recommend at least the first half of Death Note for anyone wanting a great Holmes/Moriarty story... It’s really good at outlining exactly what makes Moriarty and Holmes so interesting: Mind Games. Mind Games galore.

Watch, say, L’s introduction. Now imagine Holmes challenging Moriarty in the same manner. Hell, Light definitely ticks all of the points of a good Moriarty in this scene alone: he anticipates the police noticing him, he builds such a good rapport with L without either of them actually meeting that I remember losing my shit when I first watched Death Note and realized that this episode would feature the two of them actually meeting face to face, and despite his apparently calm demeanor at first, he immediately kills Lind L Tailor the instant he says something he doesn’t like. Just... he might not be a ‘true’ Moriarty, but he’s a damn good interpretation even if that wasn’t the goal. Speaking of not exactly ‘true’ interpretations...

2: Professor Ratigan (Vincent Fucking Price)

No objections, I trust?

Really, though, I wasn’t someone who watched Great Mouse Detective as a kid - I first watched it about two years ago, and god damn is this a good movie. True Story, when thinking about which Moriarty’s belong on this list, I immediately jumped to Ratigan, because he’s brilliant. He ticks all the boxes and then some - His intellect may not be his primary trait, but it’s still there, and his rapport with Basil is the stuff of legend at this point. And, to be brutally honest, Ratigan is the reason savagery is on this list in the first place. That fight on Big Ben? No version of Reichenbach has yet surpassed it, and it is everything great about this version of that core concept. Really, everything about Ratigan is a summation of how to do a brilliant Moriarty.

So, who can top the World’s Greatest Criminal Mind? Well...

1: RDJ Moriarty (Jared Harris)

Yes, I know, I was surprised to.

I was around during the Sherlock/RDJ films strife. I remember how much these films were lambasted for being ‘too action-packed’ and ‘not cerebral enough’, in stark contrast to the majesty of Sherlock and it’s twerpish plot twists. But when I think of a great Moriarty? Oh, boy, this one kicks Sherlock’s ass.

It’s also irritating, because it’s really hard to point out what makes him better than Ratigan or even Light. His plan is convoluted at best (not that the other two are any better - a good Moriarty does not a decent plan make), not helped by it being exactly the same as his plan in that godawful League of Extraordinary Gentlemen movie (which, btw, would still be bad even if it didn’t drive Sean Connery away from the film industry, but is far worse on those grounds) but, still, look at this scene. Or this one. Or that fight scene.

Tell me that’s not Moriarty.

That first scene especially runs through all three establishing Moriarty traits, yet perfectly utilizes all of them. We see how smart he is, we see his and Holmes’ respect for one another, but at the same time we see how much Holmes wants to see him behind bars and we have the perfectly paced reveal of his murder of Irene and that he intends to do the same to Watson and Mary. Everything about this scene is brilliant despite it being just the two of them talking. There’s even a bit later in the movie where Moriarty outsmarts Holmes and they communicate the gamut of emotions both characters are feeling through them exchanging a single glance.

So, yes, these films may be a bit too action packed. Yes, they may exaggerate character’s abilities, their plots may be inconsequential for the most part. But goddamn is their Moriarty a classic.

[tackyink]

Okay. OKAY.

...

*deep breath*

SO. This is rather short and probably won’t make much sense on its own, but that’s why I’m posting it here. Other reasons are that it’s rather personal, that it isn’t going to be regularly updated and that apparently somebody came up with a similar idea and posted it just this week. What were the chances? Anyway. There’s more poorly written stuff that I need to redo before sharing. This is @luckystarchild‘s fault, by the way. Go read her fanfiction if you haven’t yet.

If this were the last day of your life, my friend Tell me, what do you think you would do then?

I’d always liked September.

I’ve always associated it with new beginnings. The start of the school year and the hope that it would be better than the last. New books and pencils. It was the month when the unbearable summer heat died out, when I met two of my best friends, when I changed schools after ten years in the same place, when I cut my hair short willingly for the first time, when I got my first real job after a drought of two years right after college.

Septembers gave me hope for change, and I’d learned long ago that I didn’t know how to live without it.

I was twenty-eight and hoping for another change. Anything would have been welcome at that point – getting fired, switching jobs, moving to another country – as long as it got me out of the hole. But of all the things I wished would happen, death wasn’t even at the bottom of the list.

I rather liked being alive. That was why I didn’t take to kindly to dying.

Or, more precisely, to my body dying.

I had joked a million times with my friends about going to the Spirit World when I eventually kicked the bucket. It didn’t happen, of course, because the Spirit World isn’t a thing in our world, but things didn’t go according to plan, exactly.

I wouldn’t know the mechanism of what had happened until years down the line, but I should start this story from the beginning. The moment where the wheel of fate got jammed and began revolving backwards for me, so to speak.

It was early morning, and I was heading to my work at a small marketing company located at the posh part of the city.

The rain was coming down hard that day, but I didn’t mind. It made the trek up from the subway station more pleasant.

My workplace was on a crossing of a long street with lots of transit during the day. Pedestrians and drivers alike, most hailing from that same district and on their way work, lived by the motto, ‘Screw traffic signs, I have money.’

Just on that street, I had witnessed two accidents during the last year and heard about another one. One I saw from the balcony of my office, where a biker got stuck under a truck. My coworkers and I never found out if he survived, because the paramedics rushed to the scene and blocked it from view with tarp screens. Just a few months prior, a pedestrian had been hit by a car and died at the opposite end of the street. And another time, as I made my way to the office, I saw a car turn from the wrong lane and hit a biker that flew, along with his vehicle, just a meter from me. Had it happened five seconds later, I would have been caught up in it as well. The biker wasn’t gravely injured, but he told me as we waited for the ambulance that it wasn’t the first time the same exact thing happened to him on that street.

It checked out. I’d nearly been run over three times, on a crosswalk just a bit further down, by bikers that took a turn in the wrong direction to park. Nobody seemed to think that traffic rules applied to them.

So I was always extra careful when walking up that street, never standing too close to the edge of the sidewalk, remembering daily how close I had been to getting a motorbike to the face.

It happened on that same crossing, precautions and all.

I was waiting for the light to turn green as cars drove by, looking at my now wet sandals and legs, and I didn’t have time to register what happened next before it was too late. A car turned from the wrong lane, again, and in order to avoid a crash, it swerved to the right at the last second.

The road was slippery from the rain and the oil. I saw the car skidding towards me in slow motion, blinding lights, heard the sound of brakes and screams and smelled the burnt rubber and the dirty water as I fell. I cried in pain and hit the pavement, acutely aware of the yelling of the witnesses and the blood seeping through my skirt. My head ached like it never had, and I remember thinking that at long last something had managed to crack it. I tried to move and failed.

I heard people talking to me, blurs in motion before my unfocused eyes, but I was quickly losing consciousness, and this time it didn’t feel like the other times I had passed out. But as always, no matter how much I tried to fight it, my body was firm in its decision to shut out, and I was helpless as I felt my eyes close and the world go black.

There was no light, no movie reel of my life, no gates to Heaven or Hell or anybody to pick me up, only the sensation of being pulled out, forcibly removed.

And then, I woke up.

At first, I thought it had all been a dream.

Then I felt a dull pain on the back of my head, and I winced at the ceiling lights when I tried to open my eyes. I heard sounds of people moving and people talking around me, but I was in a haze until I was able to focus my eyes.

I was in a hospital room, which meant I hadn’t died. There was an IV attached to my hand that I tried not to look at because it made me queasy, but that, along the headache and a slight pain on my hip, were the only signs that I had been in an accident. It hadn’t been as bad as I thought. Death cheated once again, I could add that one to my Tumblr list.

I looked at the people in the room. An Asian family that I assumed was visiting another patient, and a nurse and a doctor, Asian as well.

I wondered where my parents were, but maybe they had gone outside or they hadn’t had time to come yet. I didn’t think much about it until the doctor began talking to me in Japanese. I caught something about waking up, but my Japanese wasn’t exactly great and I was too groggy to decipher what was being said to me.

“I don’t understand,” I replied in Japanese, a thankfully ingrained response after years of lessons.

The doctor seemed confused. He said something else.

“I don’t understand what you are saying,” I repeated.

He frowned at my reply while the man and woman behind him stared at me with concern. There was also a little kid sitting in a corner of the room. He had stark black curly hair, a face peppered with freckles, and beady black eyes framed by thick glasses. Clutching a book he had been reading, he watched me with obvious interest.

The doctor took out a small lantern from his pocket and checked my pupils. He barked something at a nurse and the woman left the room in a hurry, then returned his attention to me. He checked my neck and my head, asked if they hurt. I said I had a headache. I felt proud of remembering the specific word for headache, too.

“Do you only speak Japanese?” I asked him as he ran his tests. “English? Spanish?”

The adults in the room shared alarmed looks. The doctor asked the man and woman something, and they denied it and launched into an unsure explanation. I didn’t get what was so strange about what I had said. As far as I was concerned, the weird thing was being spoken to in Japanese as if I had to know it. It was pure luck that I’d been studying the language for most of my twenties.

I let out a tired sigh, already knowing the answer to my question, and resigned myself to waiting until somebody saw fit to call someone I could communicate with.

A high-pitched, self-assured voice spoke up in English. “I do.”

My eyes flicked to the kid. I had never felt so much gratitude towards one in my entire life, of that I was sure.

“Thank God! What’s going on? Where am I?”

He blinked, looking thoughtful, and for a moment I feared he hadn’t actually understood, but my worries were unfounded. “You were involved in a traffic accident yesterday,” he said. “The paramedics tended to your wounds at the scene and brought you to the hospital, but you went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance and have been comatose until now.”

I noticed the kid avoided looking at me when he spoke, and that he was using some big words for someone his age. I had been that kind of kid, too, but from an adult perspective I understood how out of place it sounded. His English was also better than mine, which could have been mildly ego-puncturing in a different situation, but I was too busy feeling relief to think about that.

He said I’d been in an accident and fallen unconscious. That matched what I remembered. What I still didn’t understand was who were these people and why were they here, getting all wound up over me instead of my family. I had to ask.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?”

The kid, who until then had regarded me like I was a rat lab in the middle of an experiment, faltered. The man and woman stared at me with alarm.

The doctor said, slowly, maybe hoping that I wouldn’t have so much trouble understanding, “You don’t know them?”

The way he asked, expressionless, coupled with the shock of the other people in the room, made me finally realize that something was very wrong and I hadn’t grasped what it was. “No.”

The woman covered her mouth with a hand to hide a gasp, and the man beside her didn’t know whether to look at me or at the doctor.

The doctor asked something that I only vaguely understood as relating to me. When I didn’t reply, the woman approached my bed and asked me, teary-eyed. “Do you remember us, Satori?”

The words took a few seconds to sink in. I turned them around and around, trying to find an alternate meaning that I wasn’t catching. I didn’t. Who was Satori? They had confused me with someone else, though how they had managed it boggled the mind. I’d had my ID on me when I got hit by the car, and I was whiter than mayo on wonder bread.

I felt incredibly awkward when I spoke. “I am not Satori.”

Her face changed as if I slapped her. She broke into sobs, and the man that accompanied her put an arm around her shoulders and tried to comfort her. I felt awful. Meanwhile, the doctor, who appeared to be quite composed, told me, “Your name is Satori. These are your parents, and this is your brother Yu.”

They were all looking at me, waiting for my reaction.

“You’re wrong,” I tried scrambled to say my mangled Japanese. “I don’t know them. I am not Satori.”

The doctor listened, but there was no reaction on his part, too lost in his own thoughts to reply. I was sure that if I paid enough attention, I’d hear the wheels in his mind turning.

The nurse came back with another one, the doctor said something to them, and then he said to me something, that, again, I didn’t understand. The nurses got to work and drove my bed out of the room while the doctor stayed behind to talk to the family.

My family, I’d soon learn.

This was a mistake so gross that it was difficult to believe. How on earth had been those people able to confuse me with their daughter?

Every person I came across in the hospital was Japanese as well. The only explanation I could find, however feeble it was, was that I was in a private hospital that catered to Japanese expats. It didn’t make any sense, but neither did the whole situation.

I went through a scanner, several physical examinations and a blood extraction during which I managed not to pass out with great difficulty. I let myself get carted around, since nobody was listening to me and nothing that was being done to me seemed dangerous, but I was at a complete loss for what was happening until I asked a nurse to go to the bathroom, and she brought me to one in a wheelchair.

I noticed something off as soon as I got up from the chair and started walking, but I attributed it to the after effects of the accident, the painkillers and the overall weirdness of the day.

I caught sight of a reflection out of the corner of my eye.

I hadn’t even meant to use the mirror, but when it happened, I had to turn and stare, because for a second I thought I’d imagined what I saw in it.

The person staring back at me was a young girl with wavy black hair past her shoulders, parted by a white bandage stained in brown-red, dark brown eyes, and a face full of dark freckles.

I moved, and she did as well.

I felt my chest constrict, my breath shorten, and my heart accelerate as an all familiar pain burst inside of it. I saw the girl go deathly white in the reflection as a cold sweat covered my body – her body – from head to toe. I’d never suffered a full blown panic attack until that day, but there was a first time for everything, it seemed.

Even swapping bodies with a teenage girl.