bakerstreet | The Lucid Dreaming Meme

The Lucid Dreaming Meme

The Lucid Dreaming Meme

... and then it hits you: none of this is real. You're dreaming. You've been dreaming all along.

Maybe you'd normally wake up now. The brain is a funny thing, though, and you can't seem to. Must be something you ate. You do, however, realize that you're in a dream - and in dream, you can do anything. Always wanted to dream about flying? It's your lucky night. Want to dream back a lost childhood home? It's there just as you remember, or perhaps imagine it. Been fantasizing about that one cute co-worker for weeks? Well then.

There's only one problem. There seems to be someone else in your dreamscape, and they can apparently control it just as easily as you can. They even have the audacity to claim that they are dreaming you!

All the usual:

Post with your character's name and canon in the subject line.
Said character is having a lucid dream, where since they know they are dreaming, they can do literally anything. Fun!
... except that the character that comments on your thread is also in the same dream and just as lucid. Both characters can affect the world around them, but not each other.
Both characters are the "original" dreamer from their perspective, and neither is stronger than the other. Conflicting changes to the environment simply overwrite each other in a loop until one character or the other gives up.
The setup of this meme is built to facilitate cross-canon interaction: it's probably a good idea to state in your subject line whether you're open to it.
Tag around and play nice!
TRIGGER WARNING: Meme may contain unpleasant themes. Please use warnings and browse responsibly.

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[ Faraway, depressing things, dreams are. All the look and feel of reality without the finality. So ordinary. So simple. A man can be the king of the world and wake up to a life of ordinary useless existence. The great equalizer of humanity is hopes and dreams and Jim Moriarty isn't interested in them.

Then there's that woman, impecable as always, the dreary London morning in the background hardly taking away from it. He can see why someone as detached as Sherlock could become enchanted if he wasn't too careful. Jim, however, already gave Irene the test that would prove if she was worth it all.

She failed. Miserably, in fact. All the bishops turn to pawns when the game draws to a close. He had high hopes for her to be a queen. ]

You know I prefer these meetings to be arranged in advance, Miss Adler.

[ Dreams had been difficult for some time. Little sleep, travelling from hotel to hotel. This place in Milan had been exceptional though, so the blaring contrast between its morning sun and the sudden bleak backdrop almost burns. But something painful and nostalgic tugs at her chest. She pushes it aside the moment Jim Moriarty enters the scene.

The game wasn't over. As long as she still had a piece on the board, there was the possibility of a promotion. Making her way to the other side, turning a pawn into a queen, the most powerful piece able to move anywhere. Moriarty was stuck and always would be. The king may be the most important, but his moves are limited.

For the time, she holds her tongue that he was the one actually invading this dream. He certainly did like to make it all about him. But she takes the opportunity to put the control into her own hands, becoming the intruder. ]

I like our arrangements just as much as you do, dear. But I thought I would change things up a bit.

[ Isn't that what you like? ]

[ The most fatal mistake made is assuming Moriarty is a piece on the board. He owns the board. The game is being played because he allows it to happen, and influences every move made. Why can no one seem to grasp that? He'll show them all, one day.

But the king? Oh, what a hard piece to shift indeed. So many bits have to be arranged just so to get Sherlock to move. ]

So cordial. I appreciate your professional touch.

[ The approach is made with caution, his dark eyes filled with a calm wrath despite the smile on his face. Jim isn't interested in getting caught in her web or even pretending to, as he did on a few occasions prior.

With each step he makes the light drains from the sky, the veil of clouds thickening to block out what little sun was there. They're ominous things those clouds, signal of an oncoming storm that hasn't quite manifested. The calm just before it is a beautiful thing to witness. ]

Have you been good, Miss Adler? [ The smile drains completely from his face. ] Cause daddy's almost home.

[ Whether he allows the game to happen, she's not just another one of his threads. Irene is another spider, of her own category, and not one to get tangled up with. She has her own web and network of people, of course that was debatable at the moment. But she knew he was well aware regardless.

As the sky darkens, she has to repress rolling her eyes at his dramatic shift in the weather. If he's going to be this way, then she might as well make herself comfortable. And she does, since there's now a nice lounge chair for her to sit back into, legs casually crossed. ]

The best. [ That permanent smirk she wears isn't shaken, not even by him. ] What's keeping you held up? Though I'm sure I could guess, if you wanted me to.

[ Oh Miss Adler. Why is it he finds your confidence and demeanor so appealing? It softens his expression and oncoming onslaught to be in the presence of a peer (as for as she's concerned). ]

Holmes the elder. [ He continues his approach, not afraid to get close to the lounging black widow. ] But you already know that don't you.

[ He takes a seat as well, though his chair is a much shabbier, bleeding the open stormy sky away to a room quite familiar to Irene but not so much to Jim. The wall paper, the yellow paint, the disarray and the violin in the corner. It could only be one flat in London. ]

[ Exactly why she likes all the trouble he causes. But that's being questioned at the moment. The fabric of the chair's arm beneath her hand changes, softer and leather, and she's instantly familiar with her surroundings, even if Moriarty now occupied the chair she had once been in. Where Irene sits now was once the place that Sherlock Holmes took her pulse.

If someone were to take it now, it would be in a similar condition -- for completely different reasons. Well played. ]

Yes, he told me you were quite desperate for his attention.

[ A subtle, venomous jab. That was for bringing them into 221b. Though changing it to anything else would be an instant giveaway to her discomfort. ]

And vice versa. Funny how people change their tune when all their work comes undone.

[ He's reclining in that musty chair now, relaxed and reclined. Is it the conversation or the company, that's the real question. Or perhaps it's the atmosphere. Perhaps it's all of the brewed anger he's letting subside, set off to the side to be utilized later for something more worth his vigor. ]

By the by, I haven't had a chance to properly thank you for your help. I'll save the flaying for another day.

[ Oh, some part of him still wants to make good on that skinning threat. She'd make an exquisite corpse, he ponders while giving her a once over though it's far from lecherous. That is, if his suddenly pallid and dolorous expression is any indication.

Miss Adler is useless to him now. Comfortable. Boring. ]

A small setback. [ She quickly corrects, her still-manicured nails lightly scratching against the leather. Irene doesn't break eye contact. She would remain the woman who brought down both the Holmes brothers, though at a pricey cost. ]

I realize I would have made a pretty addition to your collection. But, you know, catch me if you can.

[ Irene might be sitting across from him, within skinning reach, but once she returns to her bed in Milan she fully intends to continue heading as far away from London as possible.

Ceasing to be on Moriarty's radar would be a relief. It wasn't a lost; his services were no longer required either. ]

[ He widens his eyes with a patronizingly amused look on his face, mocking her seriousness. No, no, Irene Adler was to belong at his right hand if she could pull this off and keep her grace, poise and domination all in perfect place. She was clever enough to dominate the game. Of course, she'd never best him on her own. She wasn't that clever when it came to plotting, no. He talents lie elsewhere.

Pity she must die. Although, he could use the shoes. ]

Oh, honey, I can. I will. I make good on all my promises.

[ Forward he leans, planting his elbows on his legs as as he stares daggers through her. Though the room remains the same 221B flat, it seems he's slid much closer too Irene. Dramatic effect for his psychotic gaze, perhaps. ]

I'm making a list, and checking it twice... [ He sings to her in the highest falsetto, but he expression doesn't match the music. ]

[ Irene lifts her eyebrows, her body tensing for only a moment as he approaches. Spider, indeed. Her head tips back slightly as her demeanor turns to steel. She was done dealing with the devil. This was only further proof. She sets her finger at the hollow of his throat, tracing the polished nail up under his chin. She's not getting lost in those black, bottomless pits. Fearful as she might be, deep down. ]

No need to check. We know what list I'm on.

[ Her knee careful raises, digging her heel into the bottom of his chair and pushing. This is not only his dream. She sends him sliding back into place, a good distance away. Grace, poise and domination all in perfect place, yes? ]

Don't toy with me, Jim.

[ Not today, bro. NOT TODAY. ]

[ Jim lets her finger trace his jaw only so far before he snatched her wrist. The grip of his hand tighten with every passing second, and he slowly twists her arm to the side, wrenching it away from his face. ]

Given you're on the side with the angels? Far too nice for my tastes.

[ He relinquishes his hold on her as he slides back with the chair, but he's just as quickly standing. This is a spider's game, after all, and he was done playing nice with this particular black widow. ]

Tell me, Miss Adler—[ he approaches her, stepping next to the chair. ]—How has your little crush gone?

[ A hand reaches to the back of Irene's perfectly sculpted bouffant, grabbing a handful of her hair close to the scalp and slowly pulling her head back to expose her delicate neck. Moriarty leans close, hovering his lips less than an inch from her ear. ]

That was not our agreement. I will have you killed for this. Mark. My. Words.

Angels? Are you sure you don't have me mistaken for someone else?

[ Irene grits her teeth at the pain, but she still manages to speak calmly. He's becoming too close for comfort, and she should have expected the retaliation. Especially when all the rules were gone in this dream state -- or is it a nightmare?

But then her mask hardens when she feels his fingers weaving into her hair. All of her instincts and defenses going up, knowing that Moriarty was like a ticking bomb and that she crossed him this time. Even though her mind logically separate this from the waking world, the pain is still very much real. Maybe she should have drove her stiletto into his leg to remind him. ]

Jealously isn't a good look on you, darling.

[ Her voice is ice. Sherlock was a sensitive subject for the both of them, so she's not holding back. It resonates more than his death threat -- not when so many were after her head. ]

But I'm afraid you'll have to get in line.

[ Jim leans into her even closer, lips pressing to the outer crest of her ear while the grip on her hair tightened. Near proximity means nothing at this point; it was all a dream and she still isn't quite convinced of how much he'd enjoy having her ripped to pieces. He just can't resist the prospect of igniting future nightmares for miss Adler.

Perhaps he likes dreams more than he thought. ]

Little birdy told me you were beaten, quite exceptionally. Flawlessly, perhaps? I can smell the angels on you.

[ Little does she know that all those terrorist groups wouldn't even know of her involvement if it weren't for him. Why would he put all that time and effort into eliminating her when there are extremists who will do it gladly for free? He could even leak intel about her to them, make a quick buck here or there, arrange for it to look like coincidence. The Woman was at his mercy, as far as he was concerned.

The heel in his leg was unexpected. How bold. His jaw clenches, skin breaking at the mercy of the sharp edge of the heel despite his slacks but it only makes him force her head back further, exposing her throat all the more. It's a deceptively delicate and vulnerable sight, but he doesn't allow it to distract him. Quickly his free hand wrenches the black pump from her foot and he tosses it across the room. ]

Sexier without it on, I think... your head as well.

[ Her neck visibly strains, skin stretching and veins pulsing, trying to resist the pull. Though she still doesn't allow herself to look weak, lips thinned out and eyes narrowed and focused. Only for a moment do her eyebrows flick up. ]

Thanks to you, perhaps. He didn't seem to react well to knowing you sent him your love.

[ The word doesn't come out in a hiss or snap, but rather mocking and almost ... fond. Like she was coddling a child who had been rejected. The Woman might have been beaten, but Irene is extremely confident she left an impression that will stay with Sherlock Holmes -- one that he would keep willingly. Unlike Jim Moriarty.

Her eyes don't even pull away from his, even when he tosses her shoe. She enjoys seeing the pain flash across his features. ]

I'd like to keep that one on, if you don't mind.

[ Irene suddenly wishes she hadn't taken the chair, this made for a more difficult escape than if they were standing. Her best bet is to take the wind out of him, just to create some distance and have him relinquish that increasingly painful grip at the back of her head. She winds her free arm back, then with the palm of her hand, punches it against the vulnerable area at the top of his stomach. ]

[ How odd it must be for Irene to see the spider falter, if even for a moment. His face cringes into something akin to disappointments, eyebrows knitting together at her comment. Whether it's an act to play on the faux-sympathies offered by her or a legitimate moment of weakness, she may never know. The impassive expression and narrowed eyes ]

No matter. Persistent is my middle name, and there's room for another dagger in that heart of his.

[ Jim relinquishes his hold on Irene's hair when the punch knocks the wind from him, though he takes it rather well; a skill well honed over the years. It only takes a moment or two for him to regain enough composure to laugh a gut-wrenching laugh filled with pure amusement and a hint of something else much more twisted. He stands from his spot next to the modern leather chair and circle around in front of her, reaching out to grasp that same audacious wrist that had the pleasure of landing a hit on him. Still chuckling to himself, his vise grip on her wrist as tight as he can manage, he yanks her from the chair and makes certain she is drawn to him rather to the floor. ]

Come now, Miss Adler. Why didn't you tell me you wanted to dance?! That's your specialty isn't it? The physical, not the intellectual?

[ He pulls at her wrist again, throwing her away from him and quite decidedly towards the floor this time. ]

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The Lucid Dreaming Meme

i dont even know, dude. forgive me!

i never know so this will be awesome

jim is cray cray

and i'm late late

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she is forever and always miss adler, idk why.

"yes, miss adler~" THAT'S WHY

im assuming this is before she had to fake her death?

yes inbetween jumbo jet and karachi

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DEAR ME.

NO, DEAR ME.

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