Flann🍮.ᐟ @magpiepudding - Tumblr Blog

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MagpiePudding’s general info.ᐟ

˗ˏˋFlannˎˊ˗ is my name, hi-hi!! Here’s some stuff about me!

It/they/any, agender

Find me on ao3 and X(twitter)

Sherlock, mtp, Kingsman, M*A*S*H, GO fan

Sheriarty and Merlahad enthusiast

Louis JM yume (mirror sharing)

Aspiring screenwriter and director

Dyslexia, dysgraphia, dyscalculia

masterlist and request rules here

Thanks for checking me out!

Deviders by @newdarlingz

#intro post

I don’t even like them anyway.

Anyway I made a jimlock keychain \(^ ^)/

#I might write a fic with them next week #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes x jim moriarty #sherlock holmes #jim moriarty #jimlock #sheriarty

0ldw3bl0v3r

Embry

magpiepudding

What a cutieeeee!!!! <3

#its not me its my basement #embry

sboochi

And what if they're so in sync they start playing/singing the same melody without noticing

magpiepudding

I didn’t tear up. You did.

#young sherlock #sheriarty #jameslock

avicellae

Not her fault.....,..,,.,,..

magpiepudding

Innocent little baby!!!! She is so so so beautiful!!!!!!!

#milgram #muu kusunoki #i will pay for a matching haruka pleaseeeeeeee

Dearest BBC Sherlock fandom, I wish to present to you one of my personal headcanons: Jim is Anthea’s little brother.

We know almost nothing about Jim’s past and absolutely nothing about Anthea, not even her real, full name. So no one can tell me I am wrong.

#bbc sherlock #jim moriarty #anthea #itsy bitsy spider jim

avicellae

Mini baby doodle

magpiepudding

AWWWWW BABYYYY I LOVE HER! PLEASE MORE GINGER ALE LOVE IN THE WORLD!!

#agent ginger ale #kingsman

I will do anything BUT write. Can I sew? No. Will I do it anyway? Yes.

#iou a fic sherlock fandom #bbc sherlock #jim moriarty

Masterlist + Reqest rules

Sherlock (BBC)

Jimlock:

Dead Magpie’s Banquet Nights [ongoing] (also has some Mythea)

I am you (you were me)

Young Sherlock

—

Moriarty the patriot

—

Kingsman

Merlahad:

But I’d like to have a last love [part 1]

And love can last a good long while [wip + the part 2]

Good omens

—

Requests are open!

Rules:

no: smut, incest, pedophilia or anything too weird

yes: gore, historical figures, fluff, angst etc etc

#bbc sherlock #young sherlock #moriarty the patriot #kingsman #good omens #jimlock #merlahad

avicellae

Country girl i luvvv yewwww

magpiepudding

KINGSMAN FANART!! IT LOOKS WONDERFUL! LOVELY! I LOVE GINGER ALE (WHISKEY)

#I should really get back to writing some Kingsman #kingsman #agent ginger ale #kingsman the golden circle

avicellae

I am you

magpiepudding

As a little thank you for the art, I wrote a oneshot based on it!

I am you (You were me)

trigger warnings: Blood, gun, suicide word count: 975

Looking at him, Sherlock felt that he was staring into a broken mirror. A mirror that reflected all his best parts in the worst of ways. How could he be so alike to a man so twisted? Sherlock found himself questioning. How could that man so similar to him be so different?

The contrast between the heartless consulting criminal and the man sitting by his side was unnerving.

The sensation was as chilling on his skin as the prickly London wind. There was something in Jim's eyes.

Something reminiscent of emotion. And whatever it was, Sherlock had no plan to admit he noticed it. He refused to acknowledge that the criminal could be able to experience those kinds of things.

Sherlock found it almost impossible to picture that beneath those perfectly ironed suits dwelled a heart. Jim Moriarty had no heart. Neither had he. Yet, the thought became more difficult to entertain as he observed a semblance of unease in the other's eyes.

Jim placed his hand over his face. There was a slight tremble present in his fingers, which Sherlock noted.

The man's gaze seemed to be avoiding Sherlock.

"All my life I've been searching for distractions." Sherlock understood. He understood better than anyone. "You were the best distraction and now.. I don't even have you." In his voice no longer lingered playful teases and taunts, just a simple humanity, an exhausted melancholy hurting it.

The distinction intrigued Sherlock, who could not take his sight off the man sitting on the roof's ledge. It caused his demeanor to change. He hid his hands behind his back, Jim would have noticed the way his own hands shook otherwise.

After complaining for a few more moments, the criminal stands up. A small smile came to his lips as their conversation continued. He kept his usual mask up, but soon he looked like he was seconds away from crying. The gusts of wind came accompanied by the warm smell of Jim's cologne. It was sweet, heavy, the kind of scent a professional would consider balsamic, category that thankfully doesn't include Sherlock.

It was as if only a second had passed yet Jim was now holding his hand, shaking it and thanking him as if these were his last moments. Against Sherlock's palm, the other's hand felt warm. It trembled just like before. His pulse started picking up. The life of the English capital appeared to fade into the distance. The man consumed all of the detective's senses. All his thoughts were working to deduce what was happening to his enemy. He wanted to know why everything was happening, he needed to know, to understand, mostly due to the fact that he was never one to be satisfied with an uncertain answer.

"Promise me you won't let go" his voice was quiet, his grip tightened. He pulled the man close. They were a breath away. Jim leaned closer. Sherlock was faster. Their lips locked into a soft yet uncoordinated kiss.

Sherlock's free hand hesitated to cup the man's cheek. To Sherlock, he tasted sweet.

He should have kept his distance. He should have never let himself be pulled closer. He should have never allowed himself to lean in. There were many things he should have done, but it was too late for that now.

He looked at Jim until his vision went blank. Before that moment he would have avoided completely ever touching the criminal, but now he couldn't bear the thought of pulling away. It was so unusual. It was by all means new. There was a big probability that it is this novelty that makes Sherlock wish with a desire that nothing he had experienced before quite resembled. An unmatched high.

It was Jim that pulled away. With soft pants were the words which followed their lips' abrupt departure spoken. "Just promise it." His mouth opened again a second later. The words died quickly. The Irishman squeezed Sherlock's hand one last time, before he pulled out a gun.

"l’ll wait for you, love." Fear and loneliness. The realization took too long. It rendered him speechless. He didn't move. He couldn't. The weapon was raised. "See you in hell."

Click.

Sherlock only heard the trigger being pulled. The shot, the crack of breaking bones faded into the ringing in his ears. The arm and the body fell to the floor in sync.

The dead man slipped from his hands and into death's everlasting embrace. With nothing to hold, his hands felt so empty, so cold. Damned be Moriarty for showing him how it felt to have someone close. Of all the places he could have chosen for it... By another's side was never the place Sherlock would have imagined his greatest adversary's death. He deliberately chose to end himself while holding Sherlock's hand. While feeling his touch. Scared. He was terrified to die alone.

Blood pooled underneath the lifeless body. Sherlock's legs buckled. They gave out, kneeling him before Jim. His throat was tight. Unspoken words and emotions tied it shut. Fearfully, his fingers find their way to his cheek. Still warm. Like when he had first held his hand.

His body had a mind of its own. He didn't oppose it. The detective leaned forward and caressed his lips over Jim's. To Sherlock, he tasted metallic.

Sherlock laid on the concrete. Cold, hard against his cheek as he looked at Moriarty. He would have cried.

He didn't though. How can you mourn the loss of a love you hadn't known you held?

The scent of blood with notes of sweetness engulfed the rooftop.

Beside him was the sprawled body of a man. The man who burned the heart out of him with the spark of ignited gunpowder.

This last conversation of theirs contained many things. Such a shame "I love you" was not one of them.

notes: yay!! you’ve made it till the end. Thank you for reading ♥︎

#flann writes #bbc sherlock #jimlock #sheriarty #sherlock holmes #jim moriarty #sherlock holmes x jim moriarty

avicellae

I am you

magpiepudding

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! I LOVE YOU SO MUCHHHHHHHHHHH TOON!!!!

Since it’s William’s birthday, here’s a small drabble.

William stirred in his sleep. Such warmth, such coziness the sheets produced, it made the professor wish to never arise from his slumber. The room was basking in tranquility and silence. It was the night bridging March to April’s beginning. It was also the night which would be followed by William’s birthday. Oh, if only the sleeping man knew what preparations were taking place as he rested.

Through quiet steps, everyone did their part in making sure the house would be perfect for the celebration. His eyes were opened by the gentle caress of the morning sun against his cheek. The house was as welcoming as it always was.

With lazy steps, William leaves his room and the smell of fresh food fills his senses, guiding him towards the kitchen. But that was an everyday occurrence, Louis and Jack’s cooking was something that had always been able to get him out of bed.

Usually the room would be bustling with life, but now it was silent. He’ll just go to the main room in search of the others. And there they all were.

A nice breakfast was on the table. Louis’ omelette, crisp vegetables and fresh bread. The room was full of joy.

“Happy birthday, William!” Their voices exclaimed in sync, as they went to hug the still groggy man whose lips were played by a smile.

His heart swelled. William knew he was truly loved.

It could have been better, but I’m too tired for anything else (╥_╥)

#moriarty the patriot #mtp william #william james moriarty