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march2nd · 5 months

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STORM IS BREWING

FORGET ME (not) m.list next

chapter I - storm is brewing

please note that I do not follow canon in this one , basically i have read the hunger games series a long time ago, and i can't read it again bc reading finnick's death scene pains me (that's why I am writing this ff, to give him a deserved happy ending). also english is not my first language!

tw: canon typical violence, mentions of psychological distress, allusions to prostitution , reader is still a minor in this chapter!

word count: 1762

You think that all the odds are now against you. With your sister Diana missing since yesterday you are not feeling confident anymore. Maybe you were too harsh, maybe she is being too stubborn. You two were never too close, with your conflicting personalities. Even though Diana was the older one you could not fathom how did she manage to live her unrealistic dreams of freedom. Deep down you know her doings could only bring doom for your family. In your eyes she is too detached from the realisty and in her eyes you are too pragmatic.

Right now you are getting ready for the reaping. You have to keep reminding yourself that the chances of being chosen are extremely low. You personally know people who's name has been put more than forty times. This gives you hope because someone has ten more chances of being pulled over you. You know that you would have not survived in that area, you are not a born killer. When your father was alive he took you and Diana to train from time to time. He was a wise man, as he thought that those are skills that you could need at any time. Unfortunately for you, it was a few year ago when he was more often at home than not and you did not pay much attention to it as you considered that stupid at that time, as your names were not even once put on the list. You can make a fire and recognize most of the plants that are growing in your district. Your father even managed to smuggle an encyclopedia containing pictures of other, less common ones. Even thought the book is yellow from old age and some pages are missing it is still your favorite thing. Elena once took it and after briefly skimming through memorized all the plants and its names. It deeply amazes you, how her brain works.

During the illegal training with your father Diana turned out to be very skilled in terms of combat. You would fight with her using toy knifes that you would both create from wood. You enjoyed the creating part more than the actual fight. In your life you had never won with Diana. Your father said you had to train until you win with your own sister. It used to deeply upset you and created an unnecessary rivalry until you found a way to trick her once. You were sick of tired of always loosing. Your sister at that age was a lot taller than you and had some muscle definition as she wasn't stuffing herself with candy as you did. You came to your usual spot with a wire in hand and wired the area around you. You memorized when the wire was, even thought the ground was covered in leaves and was nearly impossible to spot it. When it came to your usual fight instead of giving it your all at first you thrusted in the air few times, missing her on purpose. You could see it in her eyes, the fire rising as she realized that another victory was ahead of her. You opened your [e/c] eyes wide, faking being surprised. You turned on your feet and started running, hoping just over the wire. Your sister missed that, as she was sprinting to you, wanting to have it over already. That's when she tripped and fell. You felt bad for a millisecond until you sat on her back and held the knife over her exposed neck as a sign of having the upper hand. "Now I win" you said, not trying to hide your growing smile. Finally. You looked at your father for approval and could see a shine in his eyes in a moment. He gave you a knowing look. You felt so happy, being validated by your own father as he was usually frowning at you, giving you dissatisfied looks. On the other hand, Diana was furious. She accused you of being a dirty little cheater 'it is a knife fight, its point is not to create the most barbaric looking trap ever' she commented. As a consequence she wasn't talking to you for some days after, but after that when she realized that you two didn't have to wake up early anymore to train she seemed grateful and your relationship went back to normal. That meant occasional bickering and some fights but nothing major. It all changed after the death of your father. She and Stella got so much closer and you started to take more care and pay more attention to Elena. You used to envy their relationship, as they were like best friend in your eyes. And Elena, could never understand you just like you couldn't understand her and her episodes. What didn't help was the fact that she was still a little kid when you were in the middle of puberty. Now Stella seems to not be found of Diana, and is orbiting closer to you and mom. You pitty your second sister as she seems to be so bitter inside and burn every bridge she has. You wish she was different or at least more accepting.

As you are getting ready Stella comes to your and Elena's room. She is holding a small parcel. "For you," she unpacks it in front of you, "I figured you would like to look pretty for your first real reaping."She smiles, but it does not reach her eyes. It is in fact, a beautiful dress. It is bright orange, reaching your knees, with puff sleeves. It will make you look like a princess but at the same time not because of the color that is not that far away from red - color associated with blood. All the new clothes you got right now are from your sisters, that outgrew them already. Most of the clothes were sold at the market, bringing joy for whoever got them. Unfortunately for Stella, she kept some of her dresses to look more appealing for richer men.

"I will save you," you think while making your lips into thin line. "You don't like it?" Stella questions you with disappointment in her eyes. "No, I just thought I would never look as beautiful as you in that dress." You lie as not to upset her. She thinks you are speaking nonsense and reassures you that you have only turned seventeen recently and that you shouldn't compare yourself with a grown woman. She is telling the truth, but as for now you don't care. For now you are not an object of desire and don't have to consider the same line of job as she does. This brings relief to you.

You dress yourself as Stella styles your hair. You notice her nails are colored a nice color that matches her [e/c] eyes. You tell her that and she blushes. You realize she does not want to share the nail polish with you or anyone. She bought it for her own saved money, from the job she hates, to make herself feel more beautiful. You understand it but you are sure that if you were her you would share it with your sisters. It is the small things that matter. After some time you look at herself in the mirror. Stella remarks that you look just like her when she was younger. It might be true as you look at yourself - your hair, now braided exposes your face that you normally hide under all the hair you let loose. She playfully pinches your cheeks. "Not so chubby anymore, huh?" she says with a hint of sadness in her voice. After everything you couldn't allow to buy your beloved sweets anymore. This is not just a symbol of change in appearance but also fall in status. "When you grow up you will be the most beautiful girl here," she says and kisses your forehead. Your sister is extremely nice to you, but there is something that you both know. Beauty can be considered a curse around here, as it endangers women to certain line of work.

However, if you manage to secure your dream job in the Capital everything will change, you won't stop by just helping women in your family, but if you are able to other young girls who are forced to make a choice how to earn for living. You smile and hug your sister. You wish you could do the same with Diana and Elena, but Diana is nowhere to be found and Elena hates when anybody touches her.

You and your family of four go to the central square. District 3 is one of the most populated districts. As a result there are a lot of children and teenagers who are eligible for the reaping. Your mother stays in the back with Elena who is disinterested seems to be counting the cobblestones. Knowing her, she is trying to estimate how many stones were used in building this place and how long did it take to polish everything off. There is also a privileged group far in the back which you used to be a part of that does not take part in it at all. They are just there to watch who is being chosen to die a miserable death. Stella walks with you to get your blood taken and then to your sector with other seventeen year olds. She reminds you to take deep breaths. Other teenagers look at you like the odd one out, having to be accompanied by an older sister, but truth be told you are shaking and nothing you say to calm yourself down helps. The short propaganda film starts playing and you bring yourself to focus on what's before you.

In Districts like yours, where there are much more people than in the outer ones instead of using paper cards for dramatic effect they use the computer to chose, as the bowls containing the names would have to be comically big. The machine starts as the escort clicks the button. The names that are chosen are only known to her eyes.

You hear your last name being called. "[L/n]?" She makes a pause "[L/n]?" You think that it is impossible, Elena's name is not there even once and Diana and Stella are both over eighteen already. You feel like fainting. It is you, you are the tribute from District 3.

NOTES:

devil works hard but i work harder, 2 chapters in one day!

#finnick x reader #finnick odair #forget me not #xreader #the hunger games #angst #fluff

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valentine-writes · 1 year

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sorry, i'm too shy !

[ tws + notes: no tws, insanely quiet and nervous reader, staff reader, unedited becuz u know me ]

↳ ft. montgomery gator

「 gn! reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

author's note: reader gets 2 b a little shy and awkward.... as a treat :] anyways i got carried away and write a whole lil short fic heeheheoeheoehoeh.... first post of 2023!!! woo!!! i will also say rq. i will b clearing my inbox to have a Brand New Start!!! i am sorry if i couldn't reach ur req in time babes :[ </3

the first time you met monty, you were fixing up some scratches on the paint of his bass. he eyed you, as you sat on the green room sofa, gently painting over the marks.

"so, you're the newbie at the 'plex, yeah?"

you glanced up at him for a second, considering his question before giving him a small nod. your incredibly brief response was followed by your focus falling right back to your task.

monty let out a slight huff, dissatisfied with your incredibly curt reply. you had barely even acknowledged him. his impatience was clearly getting the best of him, evident in the edge of his words as he spoke up barely even a second later.

"you got a name, or am i gonna have to keep callin' you newb–"

tap.

you looked up at him with a small smile, gesturing to the name tag pinned to your uniform shirt. your finger tapped its smooth plastic surface again for emphasis.

tap, tap.

he stared at the neat printed lettering of your name, mouthing it to himself before looking up at you irritated. did you just think he wasn’t worth your time? you had spared no words to him, even to introduce yourself. and just like he had never asked, he watched as you went back to finishing up your job.

you lifted the bass to the light, eyes focused on its shiny surface. your nose scrunched slightly as you examined it, trying to figure out whether the scratches were visible. after a few seconds, you deemed it well enough to hand it to him. you gently placed it in his grasp, smiled– and got out of the green room before he could say a word more to you.

—

before monty had known you, you were just the quiet, no-name human employee, present during early morning shifts before opening, or after closing shifts in the late night.

you mostly took care of small tasks– but every so often, you were trusted enough to do little bits of maintenance on the glamrocks. basic things like touching up chipped paint, or replacing broken or missing accessories.

more than usual, however, you took care of more mundane work, such as unpacking and restocking gift store shelves with merch, or being the standby human staff to help out customers who weren't so keen on technology. this specific part of your job (and more noteworthy, the main part of your job) seemed to be something you were… less fond of. any passerby could notice the hesitation before each of your movements or see the soft trembling of your hands as you tried to help out the customers to the best of your ability. monty might’ve not been the most observant– but it’s not like it took too much to see how timid you could be.

still, he never saw you complain about it. not once. you dealt with everything your job required you to do without a single word, even if you had to go out of your way to do things you disliked, you abided by every single rule and regulation, made sure to stay out of other people's way, and even apologized to wet floor sign bots if you ever accidentally bumped into them.

despite your reserved behaviour, you weren't a stranger in the pizzaplex. a lot of the staff and animatronics knew of you and saw you around the place frequently but you seemed to insist on keeping to yourself whenever possible. you were content with being a silent, social recluse, who got the work done day after day without a word.

that sparked curiosity in monty. your shyness had accidentally wrapped you in complete mystery to others.

at first, conversations between the two of you were mostly reliant on monty initiating them, followed by him doing most of the talking. you were all nervous smiles and laughs, nods of agreement or shrugs, and barely ever spoke up. it almost pissed him off, knowing you meant no harm but still showed no obvious interest in speaking to him.

he could’ve ended it there. waited for you to make the first move instead. ignore you and your presence until you came crawling back into hopes to gain the attention he once gave you. in every other scenario, he would’ve resorted to pettiness, yet still, he found himself saying hi to you when he passed you, in a half hearted attempt to start conversations. it didn't work. monty however, ever persistent and growing more curious by the day, had decided to put an end to this. once and for all. he was determined to talk to you.

—

your task of the day was sanitizing and reorganizing the rental bowling shoes in bonnie bowl. so there you stood, behind the bowling shoe rental counter, disinfecting spray in hand. you’d grab a pair of shoes, clean them, and then set them aside, each in a different group according to size. a very simple task, which demanded little to no thought. repetitive, plain, and utterly boring– you did it in silence, off in your own world as you carried out your job. wash, rinse, repeat.

in fact, you had happened to be so zoned out, that you hadn’t paid any sort of attention to the very large gator animatronic that had just walked in. not even when he approached you to stand right in front of the counter, his arms crossed and stance towering over you. you didn’t even look up.

"not even gonna say hello, huh?” though his gaze was undeniably intimidating, something in his voice gave you the impression he was almost amused by your unresponsiveness. it takes a lot to not notice a huge animatronic gator after all.

a smile crept up on your face as you looked up at him, no hint of alarm at his sudden presence. you set down the shoes you had just disinfected, before giving him a little wave.

your little grin seemed to make him stop for a second– like he had lost anything that he was about to say. there was a pause in the moment, as he considered your silence. he looked you directly in the eye. the type of stare that made you want to wilt away, nervously waiting for some sort of angry, sharp-tongued remark.

“y’know, it’s kind of weird,” he began, “to know your name without even being told it.”

your glance briefly dropped to your nametag, pinned to your shirt.

a small frown formed on your face.

“oh.” you had forgotten that your first response to him asking for your name was just a quick point at your nametag and a polite nod. even your reply now– a small noncommittal mumble, more sound than word– was incredibly ambiguous. did that make you rude? oh god. the last thing you wanted was to upset someone.

“that’s what i’m talkin’ about. i get it, you’re not huge on chatting or whatever. but you should know you’re not talkin’ to just any stranger. in all the time you’ve been here, i’ve barely heard your voice.”

the shake in your hands did not calm at this. somehow, the fact he was being patient with you felt worse. you tried to search for something to say, feeling your mouth running dry already. was "sorry, i'm too shy" even a good excuse?

as the mini debate raged on in your head, monty began to feel like he messed up, watching you quiver like an anxious puppy.

“...i didn’t know you’d want to hear it.” you reply. you looked straight back at him, trying not to shy away again. “i’m sorry.”

you leaned forwards, offering a nervous smile while trying to ignore the quickened pace of your heart, or the burning heat in your face. “so uh… what are you trying to find out about me?”

he grinned at you, star-shaped shades slipping down in front of his eyes.

“anything. what’ve you got going on inside that head of yours, huh?”

and so you talked. for the very first time, you did all the talking and he did the listening. it really only began as some mindless rambling to spill the thoughts you’ve been holding in, as you had assumed he wasn’t really listening all too much. but he learned a lot of things about you that day.

he watched the way your eyes lit up when talking about something you loved, how mouthy you could get about something you hated, or how expressive you were when telling stories. your voice was a sound he would’ve never gotten tired of. he clung to every sentence, every word… if you had just carried on with your little rants forever, he would’ve never objected.

finally, he got to know you.

you paused for a second, staring at the now neatly organized shoes. the corners of your lips twitched into a small, uncertain grin.

“ah… thank you for listening. but– i really gotta go.” you mumbled, feeling sheepish that you had lost track of your progress and the time, all because you got caught up in your scatter-brained monologue.

just like the first day, you left before he could even get a word in. giving him a sweet smile and another small “thank you,” you headed out the doors and out of the ‘plex.

always slipping away before more progress could be made. that was fine. he’d just wait for your next shift, hoping he could finally hear your voice again.

#security breach headcanons #fnaf security breach headcanons #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #montgomery gator #monty fnaf #montgomery gator headcanons #monty x reader #montgomery gator x reader #Spotify

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alastairstom · 9 months

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All right, you asked me a question and now I have one for you, in a very similar vein: where do you see Matthew Fairchild post-canon? What are your hopes for him? If you were the writer, what would you do?

Sorry this took me a couple of days to respond to! I'm here(ish) now.

I actually am extremely happy with the direction Matthew's story has taken in the canon thus far. Even if I was dissatisfied with some other arcs/writing choices (see: Grace's, Christopher's, Cordelia's in many ways), Matthew's storyline was handled in a sensitive, realistic, and character-driven way that I loved. And, of course, I'm excited to see him going forward. I think that Cassie is going to continue to do an amazing job with his story because she has not dropped the ball on him yet.

This is probably a cop-out, and I'll give more of an answer in a minute, but I just want Matthew to be happy and healthy. That's my only real hope for him in the future. Think that song My Wish : "My wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it to / your dreams stay big / your worries stay small", yadda yadda. But that's my real answer. I just want a happy Matthew and don't care what form that takes. I am going to therefore be unequivocally satisfied with any story direction in his bindup since Cassie already basically said at a signing that he would get a happy ending.

But if I were Cassie, here's what I would do.

I'm excited that Matthew has chosen to travel, because it's something that's also important to me. It's yet another way that Matthew's values and life goals mirror mine. I think that travel is freedom, and I am happy that Matthew is going to experience that freedom.

I think that in the bindup, I would take him to visit a ton of places all across the world. I don't want him to confine himself to Europe. I'd like to see him in South America, Asia, Africa - everywhere! I think this seems likely to happen, and am glad of it.

However, within the confines of "Matthew gets a partner abroad," I would like to see him not being with said partner 100% of the time. A big part of Matthew's travel should be finding himself. I'd like something where he travels alone most of the time, sees his love interest like once a month or so, and spends a couple of days with them. This would be the short story we see, and they would split up again until the next month, which would be the next story. This would give him ample time for solo travel, meeting interesting people, and taking the reins on his own adventure.

In my ideal world in canon, I probably would not have him meet his partner while traveling. I think he should meet someone in about 5 years, so he can get a grip on his newfound sobriety and freedom. Just, like from a realistic perspective. I think this would be the best thing for him in a realistic scenario.

HOWEVER, I am all for him getting a love interest now since it's something I'm really excited to see in the bindup. As a reader, I'm 1000% here for Matthew's adventure romance whirlwind. And I know that it will be totally fine in Cassie-Clare-Bookland, even if it's not what I think would be best for Matthew in a real life case.

For Matthew's love interest, I actually actively want him to end up with a woman. It's important to me as a bisexual to see a bi person wind up with someone of a different gender for once, and unlike a lot of people, I really trust Cassie to deliver with it. She hasn't disappointed me regarding Matthew before, and I don't see why she'd start now. I also would like to see an absolutely chaotic scapegrace of a girl who rejects Edwardian social conventions and embraces the bohemian lifestyle alongside Matthew.

Regardless of love interest gender, I want the person to be kind of a batshit bonkerballs sort that matches Matthew's chaotic energy. I want them to be comfortable in their freedom and their chaos; I want them to have scandalous fun together. I think Matthew needs someone who loves and embraces the crazier sides of himself, the mercurial moods, the fact that "feelings flow from him like blood from a cut." The fact that he's a little impulsive. This is what I deeply want for Matthew, and it's another reason that I'm chill with the idea of him meeting someone on his travels. It'll be another adventurer.

In my ideal world, Matthew would not have children. This is wish fulfillment because I am childfree. But I know he is going to have them and be Clary's ancestor. Though I'm not enthralled about that, I still don't think it will be harmful to his character. I think that he and the love interest will continue to be unabashedly themselves and raise their kids in a rabble-rousing bohemian way. But, if I'm taking creative license, I ain't giving him kids. I'm making one of the twins Clary's ancestor. I don't give a fuck about bloodlines, sorry.

I actually do have a controversial take regarding Matthew. If I were given full creative license over the character, I would give him a lot of distance from James and Cordelia. I hope that he goes no-contact with Cordelia while traveling so that he has time to heal from her and get over her, and I hope that he keeps his communication with James to periodic letters. I know he'll be close with them in the future, which is fine.

But if it were up to me, he wouldn't be. He'd still talk to them, be James's parabatai, but the emotional proximity would decrease.

I always viewed TMT very much as James/Matthew + Thomas/Christopher, but I'd want to bend the shape of this. I think James should become closer with Jesse, and Matthew should become closer with Thomas and Alastair. Not just because I like Thomastair better than others, but because I think that James and Matthew have so much hurt between them. And because, I cannot stress this enough, Matthew needs distance from Cordelia.

I think that Thomas's disposition complements Matthew's well, and I think that he could provide him and the chaotic love interest with a calming presence. I also think that Matthew and Alastair should become really, really close because they can understand each other in ways that other people cannot. Adding Grace to this BFF mix would also make me really happy, though I understand that it's unlikely.

That's where I currently am!

#matthew fairchild #tlh #the last hours #matthew bindup

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ogsherlockholmes · 2 years

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After writing my post on The Three Students, I read The Picture of Dorian Gray, not because I mentioned it in the post but because I’ve always wanted to read it. I already knew about the sexually implications within it, since it’s usally the first thing people think of when the book is mentioned, but I honestly didn’t realise it was so explicit.

Because I’ve only read the book once, I’m not going to do an analysis on all of the ‘subtext’; it’s not my area and plenty of other people with greater knowledge have done it before.

However, one thing that I did notice was the strange ‘parallels’ between Sherlock and Watson with Dorian Gray and Lord Henry. I say parallels for lack of a better term, because I don’t actually see it as a mirror as such, or a foil either- I’m also not trying to suggest that ACD and Wilde wrote these stories with a huge masterplan to reflect each other (the other story being The Sign of the Four).

A bit of context, ACD and Wilde were both commissioned on 30th August 1889 by Lippincott’s monthly magazine to write a book. ACD wrote The Sign of the Four, published February 1890, and Wilde wrote The Picture of Dorian Gray, April 1891. These dates are going to be very significant.

The scene I am focusing most on in TSotF is the final scene (not the full scene though, just the last few paragraphs), where Watson is discussing his engagement to Mary Morstan to Sherlock.

“I [Watson] fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honor to accept me as a husband in prospective.” He [Sherlock] gave a most dismal groan. “I feared as much,” said he. “I really cannot congratulate you.” I was a little hurt. “Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?” I asked. “Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way… But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment.” “I trust,” said I, laughing, “that my judgment may survive the ordeal. But you look weary.” “Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag for a week.” “Strange,” said I, “how terms of what in another man I should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigor.” “Yes,” he answered, “there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines of old Goethe,— Schade, daß die Natur nur einen Mensch aus Dir schuf, Denn zum wurdigen Mann war ¨ und zum Schelmen der Stoff. … I remarked. “You have done all the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones [detective] gets the credit, pray what remains for you?” “For me,” said Sherlock Holmes, “there still remains the cocaine-bottle.” And he stretched his long white hand up for it.

Ignoring how miserable it is for Sherlock to turn to drugs after Watson gets engaged (I know it’s difficult), but the translation of the ‘Old Goethe’ (German) is ‘It's a pity that nature only created a human being out of you, because the material was for a worthy man and for a rascal.’ This is important.

Now, the scene(s) in APoDG I am focusing on is Chapter 4, when Dorain Gray is talking about his relationship Sibyl Vane to Lord Henry, and when Gray, Henry and Basil (the artist) are discussing it in the beginning of Chapter 6. Both of these sections are too long to entirely quote here, but in Chapter 4, when Gray tells Henry of his relationship, Henry is disappointed because he thinks marriage turns a person selfish, therefore making them boring. He goes on into a philosophical rant about marriage and women, with plenty of misogynistic remarks of course, before Gray talks about how he met Vane. When Gray leaves, Henry again thinks about it all, then receives a telegram from Gray telling him he is engaged. In Chapter 6, again Henry goes into the morality of marriage and why he hates it so much, even though he is married. I’ve put a few important quotes in.

“Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious: both are disappointed.” “I don’t think I am likely to marry, Harry. I am too much in love. That is one of your aphorisms. I am putting it into practice, as I do everything that you say.” “Who are you in love with?” asked Lord Henry after a pause. “With an actress,” said Dorian Gray, blushing.

“My dear boy, no woman is a genius. Women are a decorative sex. They never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly. Women represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as men represent the triumph of mind over morals.” “Harry, how can you?” “My dear Dorian, it is quite true.”

“Your [Henry] voice and the voice of Sibyl Vane are two things that I [Gray] shall never forget. When I close my eyes, I hear them, and each of them says something different. I don’t know which to follow.

Lord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of pleasure.

“But do you approve of it, Harry?” asked the painter, walking up and down the room and biting his lip. “You can’t approve of it, possibly. It is some silly infatuation.” “I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd attitude to take towards life.”

Personally, when I read TPoDG, I immediately thought of TSotF, because of these scenes. I don’t know if I’m thinking too much into this, but anyway, this won’t hurt anyone.

Dorian Gray’s and Lord Henry’s relationship is more explicit than Sherlock and Watson’s, clear by the stigma surrounding the story and the fact it needed to be pared down in order to be deemed ‘appropriate’ when it was originally published. Gray is heavily psychologically affected by Henry’s opinions and beliefs, leading to his demise. But, Henry has this strange infatuation about Gray, making it seem like a twisted romance.

On the other hand, Sherlock and Watson’s relationship is less ‘mental/emotional torture’ and more ‘love’, to simply put it. But, if we strip down the characters to what the audience’s image is, or the stereotype, and not the writer’s initial intent, they bear some sort of resemblance.

First we have the Sherlock-Lord Henry, the intelligent, cold, philosophical thinker, who is incredibly intimidating and has an overwhelming presence/influence. They are unusual, by both modern and Victorian standards, characters that people do not wish to be associated with.

Next, the Watson-Dorian Gray character, deemed the only character to be ‘acceptable’ to the one above. They are in awe of their respective companions, treating them like a god and obeying whatever they say (for Watson, think The Hounds of the Baskervilles; for Gray, the first quote above).

The difference between these relationships is that Lord Henry and Dorain Gray are so much more extreme. They are not right for each other, but they are drawn to each other. Lord Henry is obsessed with Gray, and Gray with Henry.

Sherlock and Watson are, again, drawn to each other, but they aren’t hurting each other. Sherlock has this admiration of Watson, and Watson is in awe of him, but they also recognise each other as human beings.

So, if they are different, why have I bothered writing this post for about an hour now?

What I am trying to suggest is that Wilde perhaps took some inspiration from TSotF and inserted it into TPoDG. Yes, I recognise that they were released not long from each other, but I don’t think it’s entirely impossible. Lord Henry seems like the evil, dark version of Sherlock Holmes, focusing mainly on his thinking rather than his character. I drew attention to the German quote that Sherlock said, ‘It's a pity that nature only created a human being out of you, because the material was for a worthy man and for a rascal.’ What he is saying here, after Watson tells him he is both energetic and lazy, is that he agrees, and humans have potential to be amazing or awful. From such a small-meaning comment of ‘you are amazingly lazy and hyperactive’ to talking about a person’s path in life, it really reflects the basis of Lord Henry’s personality; he turns even the smallest statement into a heated discussion about morality.

So, I might not be making any sense in this, but I do truly think there is some sort of link. Whether Wilde read TSotF and decided to base his characters on it, but making them extreme, will probably never be known. I might write a bit more on this because I do have some other ideas.

#Sherlock Holmes #sherlockholmes #acd holmes #acd canon #acd #sherlock meta #the picture of dorian gray #oscar wilde #wilde #The Sign of Four

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wishfulstargazer · 1 year

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Main Character Cust Support

So, this grew out of a discussion that @f0xywrites, me, and a third party who wishes to remain anonymous, had on the AUgust Writing Challenge fanfic server.

One of us said "I think I've wrecked my character beyond all repair. Maybe I should return him for a refund." And that sparked an idea--which rapidly turned into this!

So here's Episode One of the "Character Support Chronicles". Let us know if you enjoy it!

Rating: Gen; Words: 1581

TW: very passing mentions of rape and childhood traumas

Episode One:

Marge smiled politely at the angry author in front of her station. “I am sorry, sir, but this character clearly does not meet the standards of our return policy.” She pointed at the large sign on the wall behind all of the desk agents.

Main Characters must be returned in their original condition.

No cash refunds. MCs may only be exchanged for characters of similar age and gender or credit toward future characters.

No returns after the character has appeared in an uploaded fic.

Excessive returns by authors may revoke your rights to future credit.

Marge indicated the character in front of her, still enclosed in her tiny shimmering orb, the blues, greens, and pinks swirling about her like a translucent abalone shell. “She appears in 3D. Clearly she’s been featured in a work that has been made available to the public. All of our MCs are released in 2D until uploaded.”

“I don’t care!” The author fumed. “She doesn't trust men at all–not even me!”

Marge picked up her scanner and aimed it at the MC’s barcode. She studied the profile. “Sir, you specifically said you wanted her for a Rape and Revenge storyline–”

“But–” he pointed a finger in her face. At that moment her desk phone rang. “One moment, sir,” she said, before picking it up.

“Customer Service, this is Marge, how may I help you?”

“Yes, I’d like to make a complaint. I ordered a fully fleshed out Main Character–Roger B, and I was writing him today and this guy has no hobbies–and no friends! This is NOT what I had in mind when I placed this order!”

“I’m so sorry to hear that you’re dissatisfied, ma’am. May I call you ma’am? Do you have your order number or character barcode?” Marge listened, then pulled up the character specs. “Thank you, I have your information in front of me. It appears the character is still unused. If you would like, we can send a replacement, one that functions a bit better and is more on the social side. Great, I’ll get that out to you shortly. Would you prefer a smaller, more intimate friend group or a larger group with fewer close connections? Thank you, it was my pleasure to assist you, we just ask that you be more specific in your order for next time. Hope that you enjoy the experience!"

With an internal sigh, Marge turned back to Mr. Angry. She held up a hand warningly. “I absolutely can not process this as a return. However I can give you a one time free upgrade of “Character Undergoes Intensive Therapy” that may resolve some of the issues you’re having with her.”

He thought it over. “Will she be able to find true love?”

Marge wasn’t about to over promise. “With a man? I can not guarantee that, sir, no.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “She can like anybody she wants. I just want her to have a family.”

Marge smiled. Maybe Mr. Angry wasn’t so bad after all.

*****

“Customer Service, this is Bill, how may I help you?”

"Yeah, I ordered a character with a messed up childhood, and I'm not satisfied."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. If your character is too well-adjusted, we could have our Freak Squad take a look at him or her..."

"No, that's not what I meant--this character--damn--I wanted some Hurt/Comfort, but way too much fucked up shit has happened to this guy!"

“I am very sorry to hear that, sir, but retrofitting like that is simply not something our company does. You’ll be much happier taking your Character for some after-market work at Fluff Corp. May I transfer you to them now?”

“I guess if that’s my best option, then fine.”

“And, sir, if I may make a suggestion? So that Fluff Corp knows what you’re after, you might try “difficult” instead of “messed up” when placing your childhood order. Thank you, please hold the line…”

*****

“Hello this is Fluff Corp, where your teeth may rot but your stories never will! My name is Keiko. How may I help you today?”

“Yeah, I’m Ed. I got a fucked up character.”

“Oh, I see! Sorry to hear that, Ed. May I suggest one of our specialist departments? I could get you over to someone in Soulmates for a ‘Love Heals’ story arc, or Found Family is always so popular for that–but if you really need a total reboot I can recommend our FixIt Fic hotline.”

Keiko felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up to see her coworker Abdul who was just coming back from break. He whispered, “Another fucked up?”

She covered the mouthpiece of her phone and nodded. “Another one. Came in on the aftermarket number so it’s not one of our Originals.”

Brenda from PWP was passing by and overheard them. “What the hell are they doing over at Plots, Inc these days? Some of these cases are brutal.”

“Are you still there?” Ed’s voice resonated from the headset in Keiko’s hand.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Ed, yes, I’m here,” Keiko said, shrugging at Brenda and Abdul. As she resumed her call, she heard Brenda whisper to him, “I had a guy the other day who couldn’t figure out why his MC kept safewording in a scene. Turns out Plots gave him claustrophobia from being locked in the closet as a child and then happily released him in a sub role with no TWs!”

Abdul was horrified. “That’s just irresponsible.”

Meanwhile, Ed was growing insistent. “I just want the fastest, most effective route.”

Keiko studied the profile he had uploaded to her tablet, and accessed the Guilty Conscience panel. Nothing. She tried Commitment Issues next, then Addiction. Still nothing. That narrowed it down a great deal. Feeling confident now, she brought up Unresolved Trauma.

“Bingo,” she said.

“Bingo?” Ed asked, puzzled.

“I’ve located the problem.” She grabbed her stylus and sketched out a quick spider diagram. “Are you sure you want fastest and most effective? Just so you are aware, that may involve an upcharge and perhaps memory loss by your MC.”

“And don’t forget, there can be severe aftereffects later if your character experiences a triggering event,” Abdul piped up from behind her. Keiko opened her mouth to pass that along but apparently Ed had heard him.

“I’m sure. I need this character ready to go as soon as possible! The idea train hasn’t exactly been kind lately. I can’t miss it when it decides to show up!”

“Understood. I’m going to conference in someone from Time Travel. We will drone drop a “childhood best friend’ and a “deus ex machina by a trusted adult” at appropriate points in your character’s development. That should get them out of the headspace they’re currently stuck in. I’m still going to note your file, though, because a healthy dose of Found Family or Voyage of Self Discovery is strongly recommended in these cases.”

“Noted,” Ed said.

“And please update the character profile with any applicable trigger warnings so that when our Butterfly Effect department runs the simulation to approve the Time Travel fix, they don’t overlook any complicating variables.”

“I’ll do that right now. How long will this all take?”

Keiko checked her phone. The green light was on, indicating Time Travel had an operator available. “I’m conferencing them in right now, and assuming all goes well, you should be ready to write in around 45 minutes,” she estimated.

“Fantastic!” Ed enthused. “When we’re done here, do you have a supervisor I can talk to about your superior help today?”

Keiko felt herself blushing. “That’s very kind of you, Ed, now I’m still on the line but let me welcome Cynthia to the conversation…”

*****

Keiko and Abdul were exhausted at the end of their shift. Keiko just put her head down on the desk and contemplated going to sleep right there. Abdul pulled out a few sticks of gum. He’d recently quit smoking and the second he was finished with the phones he would start chewing.

“Guys! Guys! Guys!” Keiko heard Brenda’s voice. Reluctantly she sat up. The other woman was hurrying over.

“You guys will never believe what’s been going on over at Plots, Inc! Their new VP of Character Development came from Angst and Self-Loathing. Before that she was over SickFics-”

“Oh my God–no wonder!” Keiko couldn’t believe it.

“Yep, classic Hurt Without Comfort/Whump Is My Life type! And she’s overseeing all their new main characters!”

Abdul groaned. “Wonderful. Plots, Inc is now the Angst No Comfort Bureau. And you know who is going to get all the fallout from this, right?”

Keiko nodded. “They’d better get it together or we’re going to be spending all our work hours trying to bring everybody’s Dead Doves back to life.”

“I need a vacation,” Abdul muttered. He looked hopefully over at Brenda. “Do you think they might need someone in Pillow Fights or Cuddle Piles for a few weeks?”

Brenda snorted. “Not a chance, man.” She bit her lip and thought it over. “You know, though, they were wanting someone to shadow an exec over in Slice of Life next quarter. Want me to talk to somebody for you?

Abdul snapped his gum. “Yes please. I’ll go back to smoking if I have to play MC therapist all day every day.”

Brenda turned to Keiko. “How about you?”

Keiko smiled, remembering Ed and his character. “Nah, I’m good,” she said. “I love what I do.”

@augustwritingchallenge

#writing is so fucking hard #writing issues #character design #originalcharacter #collab story #customer service #workplace #fluff and humor

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rebelsandtherest · 2 years

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Prodigal: Chapter 2/?

Summary: Two decades on, a reclusive Alfred Jones continues to process the civil war amidst the desolate ranchlands of the Dakotas. A fortuitous turn of fate has landed him a new job with an eccentric but magnetic man.

Warnings: allusion to PTSD Word count: 1766

Tumblr: Chapter 1

Also read on: Ao3 | FF.net (Yes I’m still posting on FF.net don’t @ me I don’t want to hear it, I know I’m old)

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Dear Mattie,

Your wishes for my continued literacy are fulfilled, for even amongst the cattle your dear brother has not gone as completely feral as sources may lead you to believe. I must apologize anyway since my penmanship remains quite terrible even as my fingers heal. They never actually fell off, I'll have you know, but I've been unable to shake the tremor in my writing hand. I do not notice it until I'm trying to press pen to paper. Last time I wrote, I could scarcely sign my own name. I credit your generous gift of the bearskin gloves with warming them back into writing shape.

Truly, I do not know how to thank you enough. I know from looking at them that it must've cost you either a small fortune or substantial personal effort, and in likelihood, both. You are indeed a decent brother, and beyond that perhaps the best brother a man could ask for. Your generosity was witnessed by the innkeeper in town, who collects the local mail and insisted upon seeing the contents of the package. If you ever get it in your head to visit me here, I'm not entirely sure she won't try and trap you in a frontier marriage. I told her you worked for Victoria, and she thought you must be a knight. I've told you this only to cheer you up, and I hope it does not go to your head.

As for the east, my answer remains much the same as last time we spoke in person. I feel neither despair nor great hurt when I now look eastward, but there remains a bone-deep discomfort that I cannot overcome. It itches and burns, like poison ivy or mosquitos, and the city noise—for the entire coast now seems to be one long city, by God!—keeps me up at night. Besides all of this, there is the more practical matter of my government, whom I fear may want to lock me up again as soon as they have their hands on me. It's an awkward enterprise, re-approaching your own people after a whole generation.

I met some truly inspiring people in New York, last I was there, Edison included. However, the prospect of unexpectedly meeting officials who might know my face from the many secret "wanted" memos—I find it insulting they think I don't know about those—that have circulated Washington in the last few decades makes even the streets of New York feel like an open noose.

I apologize for not communicating about my visit so we might see each other. The trip itself was an impulsive idea when news of Edison's plans reached us here on the eve of the actual event. While on the train, I concocted a plan to travel on to visit Ottawa so that I might surprise you, but after just two days in New York my latent discomfort became so intense I found myself in a horrible panic—the sort of illness left in the mind after a war, or so I've been told—and found myself so desperate to escape I gave up my plans. You know me well enough it should not surprise you that I was too embarrassed to tell you at the time. Three years later, I regret my own cowardice because I miss you dearly. I want very much to hug you and also to see if the insidious rumor that you have grown taller than me bears any semblance to reality. I say you've been wearing tall shoes, and using my absence to spread falsehoods while I am unable to prove you wrong!

One day, I will go back east, to you and yes, to my own government. However I do not know when my heart will allow it. I know this is a dissatisfying answer for you. In the meantime, I shall remain here in the Dakotas, and I hope you shan't worry yourself too much on my account.

To reassure you of my well-being, I should share the goings-on of my life of late. I don't believe I've told you how our fish-out-of-water Marquis fired me last year. Suffice to say he is a rich man who cares more about capital than the well-being of his staff. I defended a young boy from the Marquis' ire after a costly accident with one of the bulls, and employed some language for which I'm sure you would scold me in public and compliment me in private. He told me to leave and never to return, and so I have been quite poor overwinter.

I wish you to know, for it should tell you all you need to know about this man, that he and his family evacuate the continent when winter comes.

However, my luck has recently changed, and I've found employment with a man so much the opposite of the Marquis it seems almost a divine joke! He is one of mine by way of New York, and has apparently abandoned his upper class city life and a career in municipal politics to become a rancher. Perhaps this sounds like an American version of the Marquis' own story, but indulge my gossip a little longer. This man—Roosevelt is his name—is unlike any New Yorker I've ever met!

When I first met him, he was on horseback and out in the fields, so I thought he was one of the ranch hands. I approached him asking if he knew where I might find the landowner, and if he was looking for a cowboy to look after his stock. Upon my inquiry, he smiled and laughed, and introduced himself as the landowner himself. Afterward, I was embarrassed I hadn't deduced as much, for he dresses in over-embellished, caricatured versions of what we wear out on the ranges, and does not hold himself atop his mount with a great deal of confidence. (In my defense my expectations of landowners has been tinted by the Marquis and his frilly European sensibilities). Apparently, Roosevelt has only recently learned to ride, and was until just last year, unfamiliar to the style of saddles used here. And yet there he was, out by himself on his land as though he himself were preparing to drive cattle to market, notwithstanding that he would be months too early. The Marquis of the Badlands would never!

He also wears lenses, and is apparently quite blind without them. I mentioned that I benefit from lenses as well, but had lost my only pair some years ago. Well now I've learned he wrote to his man in New York to make me a new pair. I insisted on paying for it myself, but he's bullied me into only paying half.

"Every man alive should be able to see nature in all its detail," is what he told me. "When one can see the details around oneself, it inspires the pursuit of exploration, and the improvement of oneself through new disciplines and exercise. And that is a kind of manliness I think everyone should aspire to. Besides," and after such casual philosophizing, it took me a moment after this to realize he was jesting when he said, "I should like you to be able to see the cattle as you work them. To lose cattle for want of spectacles seems to me the sort of misfortune we ought to leave to children's stories."

He does have children, I've learned—or rather one child. Alice is her name, and she is only just a year and a half old. I did not press him on the matter of abandoning his family for the Badlands, and I'm glad I didn't. I've since learned from the other hands that this poor man gained a daughter but lost his wife as well as his mother all in the span of two days. His sojourn westward seems to be the endeavor of both a vigorous outdoorsman and heartbroken man. Perhaps it is my own recent history that drives me to sympathize with his choice to grieve out here, where solitude and nature abound.

He's hired a few more cowboys after myself, and has so far treated us all fairly. There is little shelter for either him or us at the moment, and we rely on tents and lean-tos, and he awaits the completion of a cabin on the property. To his credit, he stays in a tent rather than at the inn, although I'm confident he could buy every room if he desired. I tell you Mattie, in the last century I'm not sure I've ever met someone so unfamiliar with frontier life and yet so enthused by the very hardships that send the Marquis packing for France each year. He lives each day as though existence itself is some kind of grand challenge to experience as many things as he can before time can get the better of him. It is impossible for any person to be so many things in a single lifetime—even for you and I! But I daresay Roosevelt is going to try anyway, if for no other reason than to keep God on his toes.

I was afraid a few weeks ago I would be driven east out of necessity, unable to maintain anonymity in the broad rumor mill of ranchlands, and perhaps that would have forced me back into the world to which you've asked me to return. Even so, if my news of remaining west disappoints you, I hope you may take solace in the fact I've acquired a tireless philosopher of an employer who may yet badger me toward self-betterment even more doggedly than you.

Perhaps your eyes are crossing by now from the disorganized novella I've just penned you—and in horrible handwriting no less, many apologies should you need to adjust your lenses on my account. My hand is beginning to shake again, so I must end my letter abruptly before all words become illegible. I hope that spring will find you quickly and well, and that you might begin your annual thaw sooner rather than later. You'd mentioned a while ago that Arthur had intentions to send you to New Zealand to escape the cold, and if that indeed came to pass I hope you and our young sister fared well. I dearly hope to see her again her one day. As for this sibling, I cannot rectify my shortcomings in the present, but ask you to hold out hope for me a while longer.

God keep you, with warmest affection (I mean this in the literative as well as the figurative sense),

Alfred

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1. The term “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder” or PTSD was not yet coined, but we all know our boy Alfred has been wrestling with it for a while at this point.

2. Here is where I must confess I am largely inventing the personality of the Marquis to suit his narrative purpose of a foil to Roosevelt, but it is 100% true that he and is family went back to France each winter! In an area of the continent where both your hardiness and your dedication to the land and the town is measured by how many winters you’ve survived, this was, I’m sure, sneered at quite a bit.

3. Teddy Roosevelt, for all his obsession with “manly” pursuits and rugged outdoorsmanship, was actually quite a sickly child. He suffered profound myopia (nearsightedness) at an early age, and the acquisition of corrective lenses affected so much that throughout his life, he was invested in the support of disabled children, as he understood how much difference corrective or assistive aids could change a life. Additionally, Roosevelt was also quite asthmatic, and was bullied mercilessly as a child for his physical/medical challenges. I believe his asthma was more acute in childhood and adolescence, but persisted throughout his life. Lacking the treatments we rely on today, Teddy decided the best way to treat asthma was through exposure therapy, spite, and sheer willpower. Hey, it may not be medically sound advice, but it seems to have worked out well for him.

4. In February 1884, Roosevelt’s first wife, Alice Hathaway Lee, gave birth to their daughter, also named Alice. Unfortunately, the medical symptoms of pregnancy had masked the fact that she was suffering from kidney failure, and she died two days after her daughters birth. In completely unrelated medical circumstances but in the same house, his mother died of typhoid fever less than a day before his wife passed. This date in Roosevelt’s diary is a simple entry: “The light has gone out of my life.”

5. Roosevelt at this time was obsessed with the idea of becoming a cowboy, and while he certainly didn’t impress with his skills and had to be taught nearly everything from how to ride in a western saddle to how to throw a lasso, he nevertheless earned the respect of actual cowboys because he was eager to learn and apply himself to even the more unpleasant rigors of the lifestyle.

#hetalia #historical hetalia #aph america #hws america #aph canada #hws canada #historical figures #my fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction

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maaruin · 2 years

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I don’t think the captain of the Demeter was a good captain

The Captain of Demeter did something heroic at the wheel. But I think he failed at his job as a leader. The Captain’s job is to get the ship to its destination, to ensure the safety of the people aboard, and to prevent the ship from becoming a danger. I will take a look at the different log entries and tell what I think of his leadership.

Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keep accurate note henceforth till we land.

On 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of earth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands . . . two mates, cook, and myself, (captain).

On 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customs officers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p. m.

On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and flagboat of guarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of officers thorough, but quick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into Archipelago.

On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about something. Seemed scared, but would not speak out.

On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady fellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out what was wrong. They only told him there was something, and crossed themselves. Mate lost temper with one of them that day and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel, but all was quiet.

On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of the crew, Petrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it.Took larboard watch eight bells last night, was relieved by Amramoff, but did not go to bunk. Men more downcast than ever. All said they expected something of the kind, but would not say more than there was SOMETHING aboard. Mate getting very impatient with them. Feared some trouble ahead.

So far so good. Petrofsky goes missing but this could have been an accident (even today sometimes people fall overboard, and if this isn’t noticed immediately there is almost nothing that can be done). He also apparently talks to the men about their fear, even if he doesn’t manage to get them to say what they are worried about.

On 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my cabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that he thought there was a strange man aboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had been sheltering behind the deckhouse, as there was a rain storm, when he saw a tall, thin man, who was not like any of the crew, come up the companionway, and go along the deck forward and disappear. He followed cautiously, but when he got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all closed. He was in a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may spread. To allay it, I shall today search the entire ship carefully from stem to stern.

Later in the day I got together the whole crew,and told them, as they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would search from stem to stern. First mate angry, said it was folly, and to yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the men, said he would engage to keep them out of trouble with the handspike. I let him take the helm, while the rest began a thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns. We left no corner unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, there were no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved when search over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but said nothing.

Apparently Olgaran trusts the Captain enough to go to him with this observation. Good. He doesn’t believe it, but he tries to calm the men down with the search. Looking out for crew moral is important. The boxes are nailed shut on the outside with no sign anything left them, so it is understandable that he doesn’t let the men check in them. He also starts writing the log, which turns out a very good choice.

22 July.--Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with sails, no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their dread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for work in bad weather. Passed Gibraltar and out through Straits. All well.

So far so good.

24 July.--There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand short, and entering the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and yet last night another man lost, disappeared. Like the first, he came off his watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear, sent a round robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will do some violence.

Here he goes wrong, I think. Another person disappears. This means these two disappearances are likely the result of murder. Since they searched the entire ship, the most logical assumption is that the murderer is part of the crew. The fact that both disappeared right after the end of their watch supports this. The captain needs to investigate this.

“There seems some doom over this ship.” seems to indicate that he instead thinks that they were very unlucky with two accidents on the same voyage. But even if he thinks that, I think he has a duty to investigate.

Maybe the storm mentioned in the next entry struck before he could do anything. But he doesn’t even mention that he plans to investigate.

28 July.--Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of malestrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out. Hardly know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go on. Second mate volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few hours sleep. Wind abating, seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship is steadier.

At this point the captain should insist on double watches. The second person doesn’t even need to do full duty, just watch the first person. Remember, for all they know there might still a murderer among the crew.

29 July.--Another tragedy. Had single watch tonight, as crew too tired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one except steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough search, but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mate and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign of cause.

Here is the big mistake the Captain makes. What will the “sign of cause” be? Another murder, probably. No, at this point waiting for “sign of cause” is not enough. Question everyone on board if they can account for each other. Do I understand this right that there was a second person with the second mate? A steersman is mentioned, I thought the second mate was steering. Anyways, what did the steersman see? Is he perhaps a suspect? Was he present at the other disappearances? Does he have an alibi during these? If he doesn’t, it is better to lock him up just to be safe.

Arming yourself and waiting is not enough. As captain you need to do more.

Also, you need to keep the ship functional. How many men do you need for this? We know that after three more men disappear they can’t work the sails anymore. If only two had disappeared, would that have been different? What if only one disappeared? If the ship is in danger of becoming unable to maneuver, you can’t wait for a “sign of cause”. I think at this point the ship should be close to the western coast of France. Going into port is an option at this point.

30 July.--Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather fine, all sails set. Retired worn out, slept soundly, awakened by mate telling me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate and two hands left to work ship.

At this point, I can only repeat: try to figure out who is responsible. Here the first mate seems most suspicious.

1 August.--Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped when in the English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in somewhere. Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind. Dare not lower, as could not raise them again. We seem to be drifting to some terrible doom. Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His stronger nature seems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear, working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian, he Roumanian.

So, what does the captain think at that point? Apparently he doesn’t assume that one of the remaining people is the murderer. So what does he think? Nothing, it seems. He just goes on and tries to get somewhere. And if we look back, this has been what he has been doing since he started the log. Things happend and he just tried to go on on the usual journey as best as he could.

There might even be a solution here to no ship being close to signal in the fog: The Demeter probably has a lifeboat (only one). Send it out with two men to go north or south until it reaches the coast. Send the mate with one person in the lifeboat, stay on the ship with the other person. You and the mate are armed, so if the man with one of you should be the murderer, you still have a good chance.

Also, try to figure out why the mate is suddenly so demoralized. Either to encourage him, or to, perhaps, gain vital information.

2 August, midnight.--Woke up from few minutes sleep by hearing a cry, seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on deck, and ran against mate. Tells me he heard cry and ran, but no sign of man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just as he heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, and only God can guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us, and God seems to have deserted us.

Why was there no double watch? The two watches at this point should be: Captain+1 Crew and Mate+1 Crew. I mean, in the past it seems the murderer managed to kill three people who were on watch together, but this time you and the mate are armed.

3 August.--At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel and when I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we ran before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted for the mate. After a few seconds, he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has given way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my ear, as though fearing the very air might hear. "It is here. I know it now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and gave it my knife, but the knife went through It, empty as the air." And as he spoke he took the knife and drove it savagely into space. Then he went on, "But It is here, and I'll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and see. You work the helm." And with a warning look and his finger on his lip, he went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could not leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool chest and lantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark, raving mad, and it's no use my trying to stop him. He can't hurt those big boxes, they are invoiced as clay, and to pull them about is as harmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay and mind the helm, and write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears. Then, if I can't steer to any harbour with the wind that is, I shall cut down sails, and lie by, and signal for help . . .

It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that the mate would come out calmer, for I heard him knocking away at something in the hold, and work is good for him, there came up the hatchway a sudden, startled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck he came as if shot from a gun, a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and his face convulsed with fear. "Save me! Save me!" he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said,"You had better come too, captain, before it is too late. He is there! I know the secret now. The sea will save me from Him, and it is all that is left!" Before I could say a word, or move forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately threw himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman who had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has followed them himself. God help me! How am I to account for all these horrors when I get to port? When I get to port! Will that ever be?

And now, after the mate jumps overboard, the captain immediately jumps to the explanation most convenient for him. Did you think the mate was capable of such murders earlier? How do the very delibrate murders fit with his madness? Did you listen to anything he said?

4 August.--Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce, I know there is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared not go below, I dared not leave the helm, so here all night I stayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw it, Him! God, forgive me, but the mate was right to jump overboard. It was better to die like a man. To die like a sailor in blue water, no man can object. But I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that which He, It, dare not touch. And then, come good wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am growing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in the face again, I may not have time to act . . .If we are wrecked, mayhap this bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand. If not . . . well, then all men shall know that I have been true to my trust. God and the Blessed Virgin and the Saints help a poor ignorant soul trying to do his duty . . .

Tying yourself to the wheel with rosary in hand is a good idea. Putting the log in a bottle is also a good idea. But what is the captain’s plan here? What does he want to accomplish by denying Dracula control of the ship? Does he hope it will at some point sink, and Dracula with it? Does he still want to go to port when the fog clears? Does he have any clear plan. I suppose it is forgivable to not think things through at this state.

But the fact is, Dracula is a danger to everyone, and the captain must know that. The first thing to do because of this is to put up a signal that says: DANGEROUS CARGO, DO NOT APPROACH! A flag for this exists and did exist back then. The next step would be to try and destroy the ship. He is too afraid to go down into the ship to sink it, I suppose, but he could burn it. Sailing ships burn easy, IIRC, and he could grab one of the lanterns and throw it on deck. But well, at this point of the story I can understand him not doing more. The fact that he even comes up with the wheel idea is good enough. However, in many of the earlier entires, he could have done much more. He should have done more. Sure, we know that trying to investigate the crew members for murder wouldn’t solve the problem. But the captain didn’t know that, and that is why I say he failed as a leader. He did not do the best he could in his situation.

(I think it would have served the horror of the story if he did more. If every suspect he detained turns out to be wrong. If after he discusses the idea with the lifeboat, the lifeboat is suddenly missing. Stuff like that.)

#anyways that's just my opinion #dracula daily #log of the demeter #leadership

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

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Thursday 7 May 1840

8 20/..

2 35/..

fine morning R12° at 9 a.m. breakfast over at 9 55/.. A- had a little bowel complain last night and has it this morning A- writing to her sister in the other

[signs]

room occupied by the servants while Nikolai was here – I sat down to write to princess R- dissatisfied what I had written in English began another letter in French – interrupted perpetually – Mr. Chwostoff called about 11 ½ or after and staid till 12 – very civilly came about the carriage – done – had not heard of any bad news from Vladicavkas [Vladikavkaz] – the Russian consul in London or the secretary of embassy can put the seals on baggage for Russia – did not seem to think so highly of Murrays’ geography or to be so anxious to have the work as his wife seemed to insinuate – could get whatever books he wanted – would not have us bring the work for him – knows Bremner – a bachelor gentleman living near New York – never thought of his giving himself the trouble to write – then came Messrs. Spaski and another to interpret for him – he is an employé au service du government – has a good – me fait cadeau de son petit livre sur son ascension du Mont Ararat – I had offered him 4/. en argent – would not on any account take anything – could not leave his employ - .:. could not even if he wished it be of our party to Ararat – might sleep very well at the monastery – he wrote his name as above 1st line in Dative case 2nd like [?] [?] [?], he is I see the Autonomoff mentioned by Dubois – he wrote at my request my name in his book and that is was given by the author – he had asked if I understood Latin – if I could speak Latin – no! I feared not – but could understand his Latin if he spoke slowly on account of the difference of pronunciation and took up my little Horace – that I could understand tolerably but when he began at my request to translate a little of his book into Latin tho’ I began to write after him I soon found that he could not get on well enough – vid. p. 45. line 4. “Adhuc nihil aliud me distraheret – Ararat atque” ........... it would not do – his friend could not translate the sense into French – the French so poor, the Russian so rich impossible to express the ideas – said the English was rich enough – copious enough to every known idea and sentiment – mentioned the anecdote of Colemans’ clever translation (Terence) of statur à me – (I am on my legs) – what in Russian? Spaski gave it (I stand) and could get no farther – I asked his employ and address – could learn nothing of the former – nothing of the latter but name and Tiflis – but he is an intelligent sort man – Inquire at the Orloffs’ tonight – then had

SH:7/ML/E/24/00099

Hein – the carriage come – examine it – Mr. Stadler came to us, and helped to interpret – ordered a leather contrivance for supporting the doors to be 4/. silver – Hein examined the servants kibitka – will thoroughly repair and make it fit for travelling to St. P- or farther – nex axle tree, wheels repaired and well tired, and all little necessary jobs, and carriage taken care of till our return for 36/. silver then came up to be paid – offered the sum in assignats – no! would wait to be paid in silver – declined writing on his new estimation of servants kibitka his price en assignats aware that he made the paper too cheap – would have taken a new bill made payable in Silver – but declined the bills Mr. Marc gave me – then some time afterwards had Mademoiselle Scallon – in high spirits – her husband the general arrived – would have called this morning but would not come till he had been presented, and would be so chez les Orloffs tonight – then once more at my letter to princess R- and finished it as A- came at 4 and read it to her to read me her long, crossed, 55 minutes long letter to her sister which she A- read aloud just after dinner after hers before I had finished me [mine] – dinner at 5 – then till now 7 5/.. wrote all but the 2 first lines of today – dressed – the Orloffs’ carriage came about 8 50/.. – off immediately to their ball – A- did not go – a little bowel complain but might have gone if she had much wished it Madame and Mademoiselle Golovin, princess Dadian and her sister Madame g- near whom I sat almost all the evening, at least the most agreeable part of it – princess Orbelianoff and one dame in Georgian costume née Orbelianoff (princess Dadians’ mother was an Orbelianoff) and several other Georgian ladies in European costume, and nearly all? la société except the Chwostoff – I came away before supper and home at 12 25/.. Madame G- to let us have her carriage at 12 tomorrow to make our take leave calls – and we are afterwards to dine with her at 3 – very nice ball – Madame Orloff very pretty and seems a great favourite with them all – well she may be liked for her house appears to be second only to Madame Golovins’ in point of agrémens – R12 ½° at 2 tonight

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psychemenin-blog · 11 months

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PT II (Is that right?) A flight interrupted this writing process and with it came a flurry of things I find fun and fascinating around deliberate art. And of all things, "living with yourself" arrives on my suggested netflix, and not just for the infallable paul rudd, but the concept is exactly of my concern.

I'm going to name my things out loud I think have been holding me back. I am watching people left and right get married and experience that "pick me" energy. And I start to story tell that I am not experiencing that because I'm unworthy of it, or that my standards are too accepting that I don't expect that to happen for me, but then snidely, I do. I want everything both ways, I want to be able to complain about everything. I want the "dream" to distract me from myself which is my self; my own mirror and shadow issues which include the fact that I'm not playing every day at work. I'm not playing every day in life. The dread of work, avoiding the mundanity of work, it's all so exhausting. All work and no play makes me not energetic enough to plunge holes through beautiful historic building doors.

I am so loved, I felt so loved today coming home to my family. That's totally enough for me because that's living the literal dream I'd always think about. I get doubts because I want again that "pick me" energy but I have my whole life to live regardless of my marital status.

Shadows What am I doing to tell the stories I want to tell? I want to be a paid , working director. I want to be in a position where I can purchase script rights and make the damn thing with a backing army of people who have skin in the game with me.

So much of myself has grown and healed. And yet, so much of me has a habit of standing on my own neck, limiting my dreams, and compromising myself. Telling myself that's the expectation.

I get so stir crazy when I'm not learning and growing.

If my role isn't growing or there's mundanity I get uninspired to give my best or I'm dissatisfied or unhappy. I can say that in my 1x1 with my boss tomorrow, and I can add that which I do not want anymore.

Imagining I got a chance to review a fellow coworker, the person "his subtext is sexist, condescending, and arrogant. He's not a pleasure to work with. I will still pull my best from workign relationships with him, but I do not aspire for more of it." If I'm so lucky to be asked my own opinion about my codouchebagworkers perfofrmance. I'm so curious.

Soi I'm tired and I'm looking for a conclusion I likely can't find. This will take an ecit to make anything meaningful or - I don't think it should be a place forthe corey no delete blue pages strategy. I think I made a few stakes in the ground aimlessly, like, starting a course, which I still would love to do I just have a hard time feeling inspired to. Do I have an excuse for everything? That's old negative self talk. It's legitimate that the world gets so exhausting when you ahve your wings buckled in together by your own doing.

This is just like my spread this moon cycle. I have myself blindfolded but my hands aren't untied. I ahve options, I have strength, I am powerful. I am just tired because this job feels meaningless to me and gradually gets worse the longer douche is a part of the team and spends time talking about himself. If I get an exit interview I'm definitely mentioning how that hire swap left a good thing bad and a bad taste in my mouth. exhibited character unlike what I signed up for, and invited in a teammate I disapprove of.

GIF by sophi-aubrey

That's it for today. National write your story day. Ironic. I'll see how we do here consistantly. It feels good to thought vom. Thanks for stopping by.

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orangeglade · 2 years

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How to learn to understand male logic

If a man is annoyed by a woman's behavior, he usually exclaims: “What can you take from a woman!”, meaning by this that only men can have real logic and reasonable thinking. Jokes and stories are written about female logic, but it is customary to keep silent about male logic. Meanwhile, the behavior of men is very often so unpredictable and illogical that any woman exclaims: “You can’t understand men with the mind!” Men should have known for a long time that the "weaker sex" no longer exists for the simple reason that the "stronger sex" has many more weaknesses. Let's look at examples of what these weaknesses consist of and what male logic is.

Men ask a woman to save money so that there is enough money to pay, and they themselves go and buy beer and cigarettes with the last money. At the same time, they also wonder why they didn’t have enough money.

They complain that their wife buys cosmetics that are too expensive, while they themselves spend three times more on car repairs.

It is men who believe that in a year of cohabitation in a civil marriage, it is impossible to recognize each other in order to sign in the registry office. But a couple of weeks of dating is quite a sufficient period.

How man thinks

Men want his beloved to look the most charming and attractive, but as soon as she dresses up and gathers somewhere with her girlfriend, they immediately exclaim with displeasure: “What are you dressed up like that for?”.

Only they can offer: “Go to a cafe today with your friends” and at the same time think: “Then I can come off with my friends for the weekend!”.

A man invites a woman to a restaurant, and he, opening his mouth, stares at the local beauties. As soon as a woman glances at a man from a nearby table, the mysteries of male logic and reasoning about female shamelessness immediately begin to appear.

The woman tries to call him for hours, but he is terribly busy and cannot answer. If she does not answer him on the phone at least once, due to the fact that she is busy, then on the same evening, explanations for such “unacceptable” behavior will be required.

Best of all, male logic manifests itself when he is most vulnerable. For example, if a man's temperature rises to 38 degrees due to an ordinary acute respiratory disease, then he thinks like this:

- I feel bad, if I die tomorrow, I should lie in bed or it's time to write a will.

- I feel bad, but I won’t go to the doctor, suddenly the treatment will make me even worse.

- I feel bad, I have to go buy a beer or smoke to calm down.

- I feel bad, please hold my hand and bring me everything to bed, while not forgetting to say that I am strong and brave.

And what observant men!

They open the linen closet and ask, "Do you know where my sweatpants are?"

Men do not like to do only one thing, for example, they like to watch TV and read the newspaper at the same time. Here is your missus lying on the sofa and reading a newspaper, there is news on TV. You finish things in the kitchen, intercept the remote control from him and try to switch to a melodrama. Because of the newspaper, dissatisfied exclamations and arguments begin to rush that he watched an interesting program. נערות ליווי באילת Do not try to insist that you also need to relax and get distracted, in response you will hear only indignation and an offer to think about who is the boss in the house.

If a man gets a promotion at work, then he showed his abilities. If a woman was promoted to a managerial position, it is because she slept with the boss.

If a man is single at the age of 30, then he appreciates freedom. If a woman is not married at the age of 30, then her “train has already left”.

If a married man has a mistress, then it's his wife's fault, she didn't give him what he needed. If the wife has a lover, then she is “***d!”.

If a wife does not prepare food for her husband, does not do laundry, does not keep the house clean, then she is clumsy and lazy in the highest degree. If she cooks, does laundry and cleans at home, then a man does not need a housewife, he goes to another.

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randomshyperson · 3 years

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Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your lost - Part I “I will grieve”.

Serie Masterlist here || Part II|| Read on AO3

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, hurtful behaviors, domestic wanda.

Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, death.

Author’s notes: Hello readers! I'm finally back to posting something, but I disappeared for a good reason, I was writing three new series. And here is the first of them. I really enjoyed this work and it's something I've been trying to write since I watched WandaVision, and only now I've managed to put it into words. I am not finished yet, but there is only one chapter left, so your reading will not be affected. Pay attention to the warnings, and good reading!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be tagged)

@mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch

//-//

Chapter One - I’ll grieve.

You wished you could go back to sleep as soon as you opened your eyes. The sound of your alarm buzzed loudly throughout the room, and after putting it on snooze mode at least four times, you finally got annoyed enough to grab it and throw it across the room. But the sound continued.

Letting out a grumble of dissatisfaction, you pushed the comforter off you, and sat up in your bed. Your room was a mess, but you just skipped through the clothes on the floor to reach the phone, turning off the alarm through the new crack you made in the screen.

"Honey, are you up?" you heard your mother's distant voice calling you through the door, probably from the living room or the kitchen. "Don't forget your therapy today."

You sighed impatiently, running your hands through your hair. The damn group therapy.

Grumbling lightly, you forced yourself to take a shower, not wanting "poor hygiene" to end up on your progress report card.

A while later, when you were finished, you went into the kitchen. Your mother was using her laptop on the counter, and just waved at you.

"Are you going to take me?" You asked her with your hands in your pockets. Your mother took her eyes off the screen to evaluate the sweatshirt you were wearing, and you rolled your eyes at her disapproving expression.

"You know, you could try driv-"

"Mom" You cut her off in earnest, your heart racing momentarily. You don't drive. An she knows. Your mother sighs, putting her hands up in a sign of surrender.

"It was just a suggestion dear." She retorts as she stands up, reaching for her car key on the key rack exiting the kitchen. "But I'm busy with the store, you'll need to take the subway next time."

"Thanks for the support." You grumble as you step out in front and your mother lets out a wry chuckle.

You frown and let out a dissatisfied exclamation as you step outside feeling the sun's rays on your face.

"You're not a vampire, cut the drama." Mocks your mother by pushing you lightly to get you out of the way.

You grumble as you walk to the car. And when you are sitting on the seat, your mother is starting the vehicle and she asks:

"Are you sure you're not going to eat anything?"

Looking out the window, you just mumble that you're not hungry, and she shakes her head in disapproval before you back the car up. You don't speak any more on the way.

//-//

Your mother dropped you off in the parking lot of a gymnasium where the therapy group would be meeting. You sighed as you got out, and thanked her for the ride and the money she gave you to eat, even though you probably weren't going to use.

Resisting the urge to run away, you forced your feet to walk toward the place.

There were a few people at the door, but you didn't smile at any of them, entering the place with your head down and your hands in your pockets.

And then a woman greeted you, and put a little sticker with your name on your shirt when you gave her your papers.

Then she signaled the way you should go, and you ended up on the gymnasium court, where there was a wheel of chairs, and a table with food and drink, and several people scattered around, who you thought were part of your therapy group.

Sighing impatiently you made your way to the bleachers of the venue, hoping to be alone until the session started and you could leave.

Fortunately it wasn't long before the leader signaled for everyone to sit in the circle, and you sighed as you stood up. You ended up with one of the chairs on the far left opposite the therapist, which could be bad since he would see you clearly.

"Thank you very much for coming." Said the therapist smiling gently as his gaze roved over everyone in the circle. You kept your gaze on your shoes. He made a noise with his throat. "Who would like to start today?"

The silence lasted for a few seconds, but then someone was speaking. You forced yourself to come back to reality and pay attention.

"[...] and this is my fourth week around here." Said a woman in a leather jacket. You noticed the army lanyard around her neck. She was talking about an accident when you got distracted again. Lightly poking your eye with your finger, you tried to focus again, letting out a low sigh. And then the therapist was talking again.

"We have new faces today." He said and you felt your heart speed up. You absolutely did not want to talk in front of strangers. "Why don't you share with us, miss?"

You raised your gaze to meet that of the therapist, smiling gently at you. The rest of the group looked at you as well. Taking a deep breath, you began to wiggle your fingers on your leg.

"I don't... I've never been in a group." You say clumsily. "What should I say?"

"Whatever you wish to say." He answers with a smile. You swallow the urge to tell him you didn't want to talk at all. Realizing your lack of response, he is quick to add. "Why don't you tell us why you are here?."

You let out a dry laugh.

"I really didn't have much choice." You retort wryly. The therapist looks slightly surprised, but makes no mention of interrupting you. You let out a sigh before clarifying. "My psychiatrist, she...she didn't approve of my social ratings. She wanted me to talk to other people. People who... went through the same things I did." You count staring at the floor. When you look up again, the group still waits for you to continue, and you sigh, running your hands through your hair. "I haven't... I... I haven't talked to other people outside of my family in six months. Not since..."

You move your head, sniffling slightly as you straighten your posture. The therapist clears his throat.

"You just need to share whatever you are ready to tell us." He says gently, you nod slightly feeling extremely vulnerable. "But remember that this is a safe space. There is nothing to fear here."

And then he is talking about methods of easing the guilt, and dealing with the pain and you were distracted again. You would like to go back to bed. It must have taken a while, but the session is finally over.

The group dispersed around the room, and you went toward the therapist's desk to have him sign your schedule. He smiled as you approached.

"Miss Y/N/L, I was happy to hear that you would be joining us today." He said greeting you with a handshake. You nodded, taking the paper from your pocket. He chuckled, but accepted it. "You know, I'd like you to try to have a partner in the group, it's recommended for cases like yours."

"What do you mean cases like me?" You ask snidely, but he doesn't care.

"Doctor Harkness gave me your chart." He explained as he signed the paper you gave him while you frowned. "Extreme Social Anxiety in the first few months of treatment. Tendency to complete isolation, introverted..."

"Yeah I know my problems, buddy." You interrupt him with irritation. "You don't have to list them for me."

The therapist gives a lopsided chuckle, and holds out the signed paper to you. But he adds with a serious look:

"I'm here to help you, Y/N." He says. "Don't forget that."

You don't respond and take the paper, turning toward the exit.

//-//

Your week passes slowly and tortuously. Which is surprising because you barely get out of bed. And then it is group therapy day again, and you are making a new crack at your cell phone screen.

Your mother greets you with a pat on the back as you enter the kitchen, and she is walking past you toward her own room.

You know you have to take the subway today, and you are trying not to think about it too much. As you are walking out the door, your eyes pass quickly over your car key, and you think you have a flash of memory, but you shake your head quickly, pushing the thought away. And then you walk forward.

And you are late for the session, because you can't take the bus to the station, since your feet simply didn't obey you. But that's okay, you don't really care.

You weren't the only one who was late. When you went to enter the door, a red-haired woman bumped into you, also running to get in. She smiled slightly as she apologized, and you just made room for her to enter first.

"Sorry Stephen." She said to the therapist as soon as you two entered the gymnasium, "I had an emergency with the kids."

The man just shook his head with a smile, and waved for you both to sit down.

"And why were you late today, miss Y/L/N?" He asked you. You shrugged your shoulders.

"I didn't wanna come." You retorted and the group giggled, and the sudden sound startled you slightly, but you just sat with your arms crossed.

"Do you want to try again?" He retorted with light humor in his voice. And you bit the inside of your cheeks. And then you looked down at the floor.

"I couldn't get on the bus." You confessed next. Stephen looked at you tenderly, though, and you didn't like the feeling of your chest heaving slightly.

"And why do you think that happened?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable.

"I don't know. I... There were too many people." You said embarrassed. And then you started twiddling your fingers, feeling all eyes on you. "I just... I knew I'd have to say hello to the driver, and the conductor. And then I would pass strangers in the hallway, and one of them would sit next to me. And I just... I couldn't."

Stephen nodded slightly in agreement.

"It's okay, Y/N. " He stated. "No one is judging you here."

You let out a dry laugh, and Stephen blinks in surprise, which spurs you to explode.

"Everyone is judging me, Doc." You say through gritted teeth, swinging your leg. "It's as if I can hear the gears in people's brains forming opinions about me." You state with a sigh. "Like my mother for example. She...she...acts like I'm past the time of mourning." You explain with tears in your eyes. "Like there's a limit, and I'm extending her goodwill. Because it's been six months, and she doesn't want me to be sad anymore. But guess what? I don't know how to move on!" You state angrily. "I can't! If I don't miss her, what's left for me? If I don't... God, I can't do this."

And you stand up, wiping your tears away, and walk out of the gymnasium, heading for the restrooms. You feel your heart racing, and it's hard to breathe.

As you rest your hands on the sink, your brain starts to wander back to the day of the accident again. You choke, because it feels like you're sinking again. You see the water rising through the metal of the car. Your hands on the steering wheel, and then on the seat belt. You shake your head, pushing the images away, and rush to turn on the faucet in front of you and pour the water on your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. And then there is someone entering.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asks and you nod lightly, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you stare at him through the reflection of the mirror. "I gave a break to the group, wouldn't you like to walk with me?"

"I'm not good company right now." You grumble but he smiles, nodding slightly as if to repeat the invitation. You take a deep breath before turning around.

You walk silently and slowly to the outside of the gymnasium, and then he is speaking again.

"You were very brave today." He comments, and you let out a dry laugh. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I panicked today." You say. " It doesn't sound very brave to me."

Stephen smiles guiding you through the gymnasium entrance toward the parking lot.

"You talked about a trauma to a group of people." He says. "That takes a lot of courage, even if you don't believe it."

"I don't believe in anything." You grumble, but Stephen doesn't mind your hostility. He stays with his friendly posture.

"I would like you to accept my request from before." He said after a moment. "About a group partner."

You let out a sigh.

"I don't even know what that means." You retort with slight impatience as you reach the edge of the parking lot. You notice the garden a few feet ahead of you.

"It's like a therapy buddy." He explains with a smile. "We encourage socializing here. That's why Agatha recommended this group to you."

"Oh, of course you do. Agatha is a bitch." You wryly wipe your hands across your face. Stephen laughs lightly. "How does that work anyway? Do I have to hold someone's hand? Exchange friendship bracelets?"

"No, it's much better." He says with a chuckle. "You talk to that person. You exchange experiences with them. You learn to trust somebody else again."

"My god, it looks like a fucking Disney movie." You retort with irritation and Stephen lets out a laugh. And then you let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Okay, I'll do it. I have nothing to lose, and it seems that neither you nor Agatha will leave me alone if I don't agree."

"We want you to feel better. Don't take this as a punishment." He says, guiding you back to the gym. You nod slightly, thinking that it really does feel like punishment anyway.

//-//

You see Agatha the same week. Your appointments have been switched to monthly meetings instead of weeks as they were at the beginning of treatment, and while you appreciate the familiarity of seeing her, you can't help but feel irritated with her.

"Someone's grumpy." She comments as soon as you sit down on the couch in the room, to which you roll your eyes.

"You are always so very tender, Agatha." You mock as you cross your legs, hoping the time will pass soon.

Agatha laughs lightly, finishing tidying up a few things on her desk. And then she gets up and sits down in the armchair a few feet in front of the sofa where you are, carrying a small notebook in her hands.

"So, why don't you tell me how your your first two sessions in group therapy went?"

You let out a dry laugh.

"Like Stephen didn't tell you everything." You sneer and Agatha just smiles, waiting for you to speak. You let out an impatient sigh, before stating wryly. "It was amazing, doc. It only took two sessions for me to have a panic attack, so thank you for that."

"Why do you think that happened?"

You squeezed your eyes.

"I have no idea." You retorted. "I'm not the doctor here." Agatha laughs lightly, and then opens her notebook and starts writing something. You sigh impatiently. “Really, you're going to start that again?”

"If you don't talk, I write." She states simply, and you roll your eyes, shifting on the couch uncomfortably.

"Agatha, I just... I couldn't get on a bus, okay?" you tell her, and she closes her notebook to look at you attentively. You take a deep breath. "There were a lot of people. I don't mind walking anyway. It helps me think."

"You don't mind walking eight blocks?" She asks with a slight irony. "That's pretty athletic of you."

"It's weird that you know my address off the top of your head." You play lightly, and she just laughs, straightening her posture.

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to tell me?"

"Why don't you ask me what you want to ask?"

Agatha blinks slightly in surprise, and then she shakes her head slightly, opening her notebook again. You sigh.

"Okay, sorry." You say, and she looks at you for a moment before closing the object again. I... I thought I was drowning again.”

"Are your nightmares back?" She asks seriously, and you deny it with your head.

"I feel too anxious to sleep." You tell. "And then I black out from exhaustion in the night or in the morning. I don't dream anymore."

"Have you been taking your medication?"

You sigh.

"Of course I have." You say. "I don't... I'm having trouble keeping my mind still. Like the first few months, you know. Everything seems so noisy now."

Agatha nods slightly, becoming thoughtful for a few moments.

"I know it may sound strange to hear that, but that means you're getting better." She declares and you frown in surprise, then let out a dry laugh.

"How is my peak anxiety a good thing?"

She opens the book again, but before you can ask what you said wrong, she is reading.

"The first day you were here, you said you felt like you were empty." She narrated and you swallowed dryly. "During your first two months, you continued to describe that you felt like an empty shell. And that you no longer had any dreams, thoughts, or opinions. Without your wife, you said you were no longer here."

You felt your eyes fill with water at the mention of her. But you swallowed your emotions. Agatha turned a page, and read for a few seconds, and then looked at you.

"With your history of anxiety, your mind was remarkably quiet after the passing of your wife." She says. "But now that you're on medication, and therapeutic treatment, plus you're socializing even superficially with the world again, you're starting to feel things again. That's progress."

You look away from her, nodding slightly, trying to believe her words, and trying not to be so terrified at the thought of learning to live again. Without Nat.

You choke slightly, holding back a sob, and then Agatha hands you a box of tissues, but you refuse with a nod, wiping away the tears that have slightly escaped.

"What do you want to talk about now?" She asks after a moment. You take a deep breath, still trying to calm yourself.

"Last week I took a cold bath." You count. "It was snowing."

Agatha blinks in surprise at the information and then lets out a giggle.

"You want me to write it in the book don't you?"

You laugh, wiping away the last of the insistent tears. You just hope Agatha could help you.

//-//

You hate coffee. But you barely slept last night, and now you need to stay awake during the group meeting, so instead of walking to the chair in the corner like you used to, you detour your way to the food and beverage table as soon as you arrive at the gym.

There are a few members around, but you don't look at them, just sidestepping as you extend your arm to the coffee bottle. You pour some, and as you touch the cup, you notice. It's cold.

"Hey sorry about that." Said a girl you thought was named Val or something, as soon as she saw you touching the cup. "We mixed up the shifts yesterday and nobody made new coffee."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the cup and throwing it in the trash. Then you forced a wry smile on the girl and walked outside.

It was cold, but you are boiling with rage. It was just a damn cup of coffee, you thought as you closed your eyes and tried to reduce your anger. Just coffee.

You stumbled with fright when Stephen called out to you.

"We'll get started in a minute." He said looking at you curiously. You just nodded, following him after a few seconds.

You bit the inside of your cheek when you noticed the same coffee girl as before, now sitting where you usually sat. The universe was testing you today.

You just sighed, twiddling your fingers inside your pocket, and walked over to one of the free chairs.

After Stephen gave the briefing, he asked if everyone was all right, and the group lied in unison. You were almost asleep when he called your name.

"I would like to choose your partner today." He says and you feel your heart racing as you straighten your posture. "But I want to know if you have any preferences."

You blink in confusion, and roll your eyes.

"I don't know anyone here, but I'm sure they will all hate me equally, doc." You tried to joke, but Stephen only looked at you with concern.

"No one does or will hate you." He says and you swallow dryly, looking away as you mumble that it was just a joke. Stephen pauses momentarily before continuing. "You know that everyone here has their own experiences of loss and they are unique in their own way, even if they have similarities." He begins and you just wish he would speak soon who your partner is at once. "Usually we don't put new members together, but with the release of one of our members, the number ended up getting odd." He explains. "Anyway, I'm sure you and Mrs. Maximoff will get along very well together."

You frowned slightly at the whole explanation. Then you looked around the group, and realized that this Maximoff woman was the late redhead from the previous session who looked at you curiously. You looked away from her to Stephen.

"Thank you, doc." You said with a slight irony and Stephen just nodded smiling.

"Partners are grieving companions ladies." He says. "We will assess your progress at each session, and then switch partners once the necessary improvement has been achieved."

You grumbled in understanding, and looked away to your lap. When Stephen began to ask about the stories, your mind wandered to the departure time.

And when the session was over you wished you could go to sleep. But Stephen made a slight movement of his head in Maximoff's direction, and you understood that you should talk to her.

Ignoring the urge to show Stephen the middle finger, you just sighed as you got up from your chair and lazily walked over to the woman at the exit. She was talking to a man, and you were even more anxious to address not one, but two strangers.

"Hi." You greeted awkwardly, and both of them turned to you with mild curiosity.

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" Said the man with a smile as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bucky. James Barnes actually, but everyone calls me Bucky." He said and you shook his hand, smiling awkwardly. Then he quickly pointed at the woman. "And this is Wanda Maximoff, your grief partner."

"Hi." Wanda said shyly as she offered her hand to greet you. You accepted as clumsily as she did.

"Sorry, I don't know how this works." You say. "Should we exchange numbers or something? Or is that just a therapy thing?"

Bucky gives a little chuckle.

"Oh believe me, they'll know if you're not making it work." He counters. "My first partner was Sam Wilson and we wanted to jump on each other's necks whenever we saw each other. And then Stephen asked us to move in together." He says and you blink in surprise. "We're married now, but that's not the point. I guess I'm getting off topic..."

"Bucky." Wanda interrupts with a smile, and he smiles half-heartedly as well. You frown, annoyed by Bucky's story. You didn't want to marry anyone. "I guess we'll make it work, I hope you don't mind having the company of two tiny restless creatures on our walks."

You look at her with confusion and then you understand, smiling shyly.

"No, it's okay." You say. "I like children."

"Really?" She asks in surprise.

You nod slightly. "Unlike adults, they tell the truth."

Wanda seemed to be thoughtful, but then Bucky lets out an exclamation.

"As group guide, I have to pass the to-do list to you ladies." He says pulling a small notebook from the back pocket of his pants. He pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to Wanda. "Partners need to develop these habits of socializing and coping with grief together. And yes, there is a test."

You sigh impatiently, tucking a loose string behind your ear.

"That sounds fun." You mock lightly making them smile.

"Anyway, good luck to you two." He says tenderly. "And Wanda, call me if you need help with Tommy. I know a good therapist."

You frown slightly, not understanding what he is referring to, but you prefer to stay out of matters that are none of your business. And then Bucky kisses Wanda on the cheek in farewell and waves to you smiling before leaving. You switch foot weights when you are alone with Wanda. Talking to other people is not exactly your strong suit these past few months.

"So..." You start clumsily when she turns to you.

"So." She repeats equally embarrassed. You then clear your throat and rush to pull your cell phone out of your pocket and hand it to her.

"Give me your number." You say. "That way we can arrange...whatever this is."

Wanda smiles weakly as she accepts the device, and you ignore the curious look when she notices the cracks in the screen. A moment later she hands the cell phone back to you.

"I gotta go." She says. "I need to pick up my kids from school."

You nod slightly and force a smile to say goodbye, and Wanda copies your movement before leaving.

You stare at your cell phone next, noticing the slight anxiety in your stomach as you read the contact "Wanda Maximoff" on the screen.

//-//

By the weekend, you are miserable. Just like the first few months.

You spilled some tea under your bed, and when you went to clean it up, you ended up taking the objects that were lying there. And then you found a crumpled piece of paper.

It was your farewell speech. The words you wrote down to speak on the day of the funeral. The paper you pulled out of your pocket when you got home from the ceremony and probably fell under the bed when you collapsed on the floor from crying so hard.

Suddenly your chest tightened and you couldn't breathe. But you didn't want your mother to worry, so you concentrated on remembering the exercises your therapist had taught you.

And when the room started to get too small, you left.

But because it was cold and rainy, you had just taken a hot shower and had decided to brew tea before you finished putting on a sweater, you had bent down to pick up your socks, and the liquid fell on the floor.

You went outside without your shoes, and your mother let out a worried exclamation when she saw you standing outside, staring at nothing.

"Honey?" She asked walking out the door after seeing you through the kitchen window. "Honey, what is it?"

You didn't answer. Your face was wet. Your mother's hands wrapped around your shoulders, and she gently pushed you inside, worried that you would end up getting hypothermia.

"I'm fine." You gasped as she led you inside, but she just shook her head. "I'm fine."

"No, honey." She retorted making you frown. "You're not."

"Mom."

"Sit down."

And then there were blankets around you, and socks on your feet. And your mother was in the kitchen, on the phone, but everything seemed stuffy. You began to be absent again. Thousands of memories flashing through your eyes.

An image of yourself on that living room floor, laughing while your girlfriend had her arms wrapped around you. Your mother was pouring a glass of wine for each of you, and you were happy to tell her about your engagement.

Then an image of you running across the room, trying to dodge the tickles your father tickled you while you laughed.

Then a puppy in your hands on the floor. You looked at it fondly, laughing at how cute it looked.

Looking down, you saw a hand on your thigh. It was your wife's, the ring on her finger. She smiled at you. You were happy because that was the day you told your mother about the house purchase.

You gasped slightly when you felt someone's hand on your shoulder suddenly.

"I need you to tell me three things you can see." It was Agatha. God, you should have been out of reaction long enough for her to get here. Wiping away your tears, you took a deep breath, trying to reason straight.

"I... I..." You started, but your brain didn't seem to obey you. You took another deep breath. You could see the carpet, so you told her so.

"Two more." Agatha asked tenderly, her hand caressing your back from top to bottom.

"The... table." You replied crying. "I can see the table."

"That's right, honey." She said. "Just one more now. Tell me what else?"

"My feet." You add breathlessly. "I can see my feet."

"Now breathe with me, okay?" She asks. "Like I taught you."

The exercises help you to calm down again. You apologize for scaring your mother, and for making Agatha drive to your house, but neither of them is upset with you. You feel exhausted, but the doctor wants to talk to you after she accepts the cup of coffee your mother offers her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" She asks as you sit on the covered porch, fluffy pillows around you.

You lower your gaze to the floor, sniffling lightly.

"I found my grief speech." You count. "Under my bed. The next minute I was outside."

Agatha sighs.

"You ready to talk about the accident."

You raise your eyes quickly, frowning, because it wasn't a question.

"W-what?"

She takes a deep breath, crossing her legs.

"It's suffocating you." She clarifies. "You need to talk or these attacks will happen again."

"I-I don't..."

"It won't be today." She interrupts with a tender smile. "Tonight you need to sleep. But we won't prolong this any longer. You need to talk about it, even if it’s only to scream."

Clenching your jaw, you hold back your tears as Agatha takes one last look at you before getting up. She murmurs that she will see you on Monday, but you don't look at her.

//-//

You don't sleep well on Sunday. And it's definitely because you can't stop thinking about your appointment.

And it goes well for the first twenty minutes. Agatha doesn't pressure you, and agrees to hear about your week, without mentioning the incident on Thursday.

There is a pause after you have told her about the dog barking noise in the early morning and then you know it is time to speak up.

"I was driving." You say softly suddenly, ignoring the feeling that your throat wants to close up. Agatha has her hands folded in her lap as she listens to you. "She...she was sleeping in the passenger seat." You swallow dryly, trying to count and not get caught up in the memory again, your heart racing. Talking is almost like going back there. "I looked at her for a moment and I got distracted... and then... we just..."

You only realize that you are crying because tears fall on your hand. You blink, sniffling. Taking a deep breath, you continue.

"We fell into the water, and Nat...she just...I couldn't get her belt off." You gasp breathlessly. "The water just...kept coming up around us. And she looked at me, and... she just shook her head like she knew what was going to happen." You tell between sobs. Agatha's eyes water, but she doesn't interrupt. "I just...she pushed me. She pushed my hands away and she told me she would follow me. And god... my dumb brain believed her!" You confess angrily. "She told me she was right behind me! And I swam out and when I came up she wasn't with me."

You shut up, not being able to tell anymore through the sobs. You can't even see the office clearly because of the tears.

It takes a moment for you to speak again, your head down.

"When I swam back, the car was completely covered with water everywhere" You recount. "I...I was going to dive again.... I wanted to get her out of there. But the people who saw the accident jumped in after us. And they pulled me out of the water. And I kept thinking that if I hadn't been distracted, she...she would be...."

"No." Agatha interrupts by offering you a tissue. "Natasha had a stomach injury, don't you remember?" She counters and you gasp, the words echoing in your brain. "That's why you couldn't remove the belt."

And then you were remembering clearly now.

Soft music echoed in the car as you hummed the tune and drove to your friends' house. Your wife mumbled softly beside you, making you smile as you watched the sleeping figure. The red hair in front of her face.

"Hey sleepyhead." You called softly, looking away from the track for a moment. "We're almost there."

Nat muttered in agreement. You bit your lip, thinking she looked beautiful. And then you heard a noise, and a white light in the window. You barely had time to frown when the impact threw your car off the road.

Your body tensed immediately as you sat up, looking around with desperation. The car was sinking fast and you turned to Nat.

A wound on her forehead was bleeding, and she was clearly disoriented as you touched her hands. You hurried to unbuckle her belt, but it was jammed tightly in her waist, and you gasped in shock at the wound.

"N-no." You grumbled, trying to move the metal, but Nat gasped in pain, pushing your hands away. You could barely breathe in desperation. Your feet were freezing, because the water was already at your ankles. "Babe, move please. We have to get out."

Nat advanced toward you, taking off your belt. You tried to touch her, but she pushed your hands away again, intending to guide you out.

" Sweetheart, go! Open the door! " she commanded and you shook your head, the water on your knees. Nat forced a smile, the tears in her eyes made your stomach turn. "Don't worry love. I'm right behind you."

As you opened the door, the water moved all the way into the car, and you held your breath Nat repeated the words "I'm right behind you" one more time. And then you swam out.

When you reached the surface, you were alone.

Sobbing, you couldn't say anything else to Agatha, and she proceeded to stroke your back, trying to soothe you with words of affirmation.

"I need you to remember some things honey." She says tenderly. "You couldn't have helped Natasha. She got stuck. You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened." Agatha whispers to you, and you sob. "Remember the investigation, okay? The police said that the driver of the truck was drunk and hit your car after he fell asleep. It wasn't your fault." Agatha says trying to remind you. You gasp, countless memories flooding your head at once. "Say that for me, will you?" She asks and you gasp. "Tell me it wasn't your fault."

You sob, burying your face in your hands. It takes a moment, but you repeat the words.

"It wasn't my fault." You whisper breathlessly. "It...it wasn't my fault."

When you leave therapy that day, you feel different.

You think that it is the healing process that is beginning to work. You still have a long way to go, but you have the feeling that a weight has been lifted off your back, because you have started to believe your own words. You could not have saved Natasha.

There is still a deep sadness in you, but you still buy your favorite drink on the way home, and try to stay in the living room for a few hours before going to your room when you are inside.

#wanda maximoff #wandaxreader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda imagine #wanda imagines #sorry for your lost #wandaxyou

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marianne-zemo · 3 years

Text

First race

So, I guess I'm doing it, this is the first fanfiction I've written in four years and my second time writing smut so please, bear that in mind, it might be awful 😅 Also, English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes. GIF not mine!

Warnings: smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), slight degradation, choking (light but still) unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it kids!), probably bad writing, Niki being a little mean and a little ooc, cursing. Reader insert, no use of Y/N. (Also, I know nothing about racing so I'm sorry if the description of the race sucks 😅)

I think that's all, let me know if I missed something!

Standing near the entrance of the stadium, you were craning your neck, trying to find your friend in the crowd of people who came to watch the race. You weren't particularly thrilled at the idea of having to sit there for god knows how long watching the cars go by at top speed but your friend's been persistent and you've run out of excuses so you reluctantly agreed.

"Hey, there you are!" you've heard your friend's voice on your left so you turned around quickly, trying not to spill the drinks on your t-shirt. "Hey, yeah, I thought you were already up there", you said while pointing your unoccupied hand towards the seats. "Here, I bought some drinks."

"Well, I was trying to get to the trailers to see the racers but the security guard kicked me out." Your friend replied with a sour look on her face and reached for one of the cups. "Thanks for that, so, shall we?"

You nodded and started making your way through the mass of people blocking the stairs. The second you sat down you've heard one of the commentators announce that the race will begin shortly. You took out your phone to check the emails when you noticed the shirt your friend has put on. It was blue with yellow stripes and in the middle, there was an image of a young man in a racing suit. You looked at your friend and raised your eyebrow in a silent question. She blushed and quickly explained that she bought the shirt from one of the guys standing on the parking lot near the track.

"Do you even know who this guy is or did you just buy it to look like you support anyone down there?" She looked at you surprised.

"Did you do any kind of research before coming here with me?" She asked with disbelief. You just shook your head. "I told you, I know nothing about racing, I came because you asked me to."

She just sighed and quickly started explaining while watching the cars drive in their positions. "The man on my shirt is James Hunt, it's the one getting in the pole position right now," she said while pointing at the mostly blue car in the front. "He drives for McLaren and he's something of a novelty in racing. He won last year's Grand Prix so now he has a couple of points on Lauda and huge chances of winning this season as well."

She pointed at Lauda's red car just as the gun announced the beginning of the race. "Now, Niki Lauda races for Ferrari and he's a great driver but he had an accident last year and a lot of people say that this is the only reason why Hunt won that season. He's also a giant asshole, you should see some of the interviews, he changes publicists more often than James changes women." Your friend snickered and you both turned your attention to one of the screens around the stadium in time to see a black car spinning out of the track on the third bend with smoke coming from under the mask of the vehicle.

"So, Hunt is a womanizer?" You asked while the commentator explained who had to end the race and likely reasons for the smoking engine. "Yeah, he's young and handsome so fans are obviously tripping over themselves to get his attention and he gives it happily. He also invites a lot of them to the parties at his house, and, if you want to believe the rumors, more often than not at least one person gets to have a private tour around his bedroom."

Your friend explained with a small smirk and it was then that you've noticed the heels and a rather short for this kind of weather skirt that she chose to wear. "Mhm, so the way I see it, you invited me to watch the race just to ditch me, later on, to try and get an invitation to said party, yeah?"

She blushed and pretended to watch the screen while fiddling with her bracelet. "I mean, you could always come with me, a party is a party plus there are free drinks and food," she glanced at you with hope with her eyes.

"I make no promises but maybe if he wins-" you got cut off by the loud cheering that echoed around the track. Both of you looked at the screen and you were able to see Hunt's car passing the red Ferrari and beginning its third and last lap. You've spent the rest of the race listening to the commentators and throwing your comments here and there when something particularly unexpected happened.

Suddenly the whole stadium stood up screaming and cheering when the McLaren and Ferrari cars appeared on the screen, coming out of the last bend and into the home stretch before the finishing line. From the distance you couldn't make out who was leading, they were going neck and neck but then Hunt's engine whirled louder and he crossed the line a second before Lauda. The next couple of minutes were a blur, people cheering and running to the platform to meet the winner while the racers were on their cooling-off lap. You've lost your friend somewhere in the crowd but since you've decided not to go to the party, you wandered around the track, stopping next to the Ferrari, admiring its design and how well taken care of it looked.

"And what, pray tell, are you doing?" You quickly turned around and came face to face with Niki Lauda. His racing suit was slightly open, letting you see the silver medal hanging around his neck. Now, without his helmet, you were able to see where did the 'ratty' part of his nickname come from, although surprisingly enough you found him rather attractive. His eyes were a nice shade of brown and his slightly curly hair framed his face in a way that made him look almost like a little cupid. Pouty and dissatisfied but still adorable.

"I- I was just admiring your car, you take good care of it," you replied, your voice coming out somewhat shaky but you managed not to stumble backward despite his intimidating stare.

"Shouldn't you be with the rest of those screaming idiots, trying to get into Hunt's bed?" He asked, nodding his head in the direction of his opponent laughing and signing his autograph on one of the girl's cleavage.

"Hey, watch it! My friend is there," you said with indignation, slightly raising your voice. "And you don't need to be such an asshole, could've just told me to leave. Manners don't hurt you know?"

He raised his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your little outburst and you heard him mumble something under his nose before you could walk away.

"What was that?" You asked, expecting to hear yet another insult, this time thrown your way, however, you were surprised when he slightly louder repeated "I asked if you'd like to go for a ride, I assure you, it drives as good as it looks."

You glanced at him with disbelief noticing a slight blush on his face and, judging by the way he was avoiding your eyes, you knew you heard him correctly. You thought about this for a moment and after realizing that this is once in a lifetime opportunity, you shrugged your arms before answering him. "If you're serious, then yeah why not. But where am I supposed to sit?"

Lauda was already in the car holding up another helmet for you to put on and he smirked softly while pointing on his lap. "Well, there's a lot of space here," however, noticing your clear embarrassment he added softly "no need to be shy liebling, it's alright if you've changed your mind."

You shook your head slightly, putting on the helmet and sitting on his lap before you could change your mind. There's no way you were backing off now. It was a tight fit, the vehicle clearly not designed for more than one person but you pulled it off somehow and seconds later you've felt the engine whirl to life as Niki turned the key in the ignition.

He started slow, not wanting to scare you right away but after the first bend, you felt him press harder on the gas, speeding up and not losing the speed even on the sharp turns. The way he was driving, confident, and focused made you feel safe and you found yourself giggling with joy with every bend he took. You were still smiling when he finally parked in his trailer and took off both yours and his helmet.

"So, did you like it?" He asked with a small smile when he noticed the way your eyes sparkled with glee."Yeah, I did, thank you, Niki," you replied softly, reaching your hand to brush his locks away from his face. Something changed in his eyes at the small gesture and he pressed his cheek in your palm making you gasp and you focused on the way he quickly licked his lips, shifting beneath you. Before you could talk yourself out of this you leaned down to softly press your lips against his and he responded immediately, one of his hands going to the back of your neck while the other explored your side and the gentle curve of your breasts.

Niki dominated the kiss, making you moan and you shifted yourself, now fully straddling his lap and grinding against him. You felt more than heard the loud groan that came out of his throat, "come on, wrap your arms around me," you heard him mumble against your lips and quickly wound your arms around his neck. He stood up, somehow managing to maneuver you both out of the vehicle, and sat you down on the table while sucking hickeys on the side of your throat and making you whine.

He pulled away, admiring his work and you took that exact moment to go down on your knees in front of him and unzip his racing suit. He gave a choked moan once you've managed to pull his boxers enough to take him out and, not giving him a chance to say anything, you quickly took the tip of his cock in your mouth, humming at the slightly bitter taste.

"F- fuck, liebling, your mouth is a sin," you've heard him groan and you made eye contact while trying to take more of him into your mouth, swallowing once he reached the back of your throat. "Mein Gott, fuck!" He gave a small shout at the way you sucked him down and quickly pulled you off his cock and up to press a hard kiss to your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "You're something else schatz, but I need to fuck you."

He quickly got rid of your jeans while you took off your t-shirt and he kneeled in front of the table between your spread legs. Niki pulled your panties down and quickly swiped two fingers through your folds making you tremble with excitement. "Look at that darling, you're soaked. Did having my cock in your mouth make you so wet?"

You whined softly and canted your hips upwards trying to get him to touch you properly. "Niki...please," he chuckled softly and pushed his fingers inside you curling them in a come hitcher motion while his tongue started making circles around your clit causing you to moan loudly and clench around his digits. His answering groan sent vibrations through you and your hand made a home in his hair pressing him harder against your dripping folds. You've been on edge ever since that make out in his vehicle so you can already feel an intense heat spreading inside of you, making you arch your back.

"F-fuck, just like that, please baby - ah - don't stop, God, Niki!" You came with a drawn-out whine of his name, shaking and soaking his hand with your wetness. He got up with a smirk on his thin lips and put the fingers that were inside you seconds ago in your mouth and watched as you sucked on them, moaning at the taste of yourself on his skin.

Niki grabbed the base of his cock and ground against you, lubricating himself with your juices before pushing slowly inside you. You both groaned once he was fully in and he put his mouth around your nipple sucking and biting slowly while letting you get used to his size. "Mov - ah - please move", you whimpered and he slowly started moving his hips back and forth gaining the tempo with every sound you made.

One of his hands made its way to your thigh, squeezing so hard that it was sure to leave bruises but you didn't mind. His cock was hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, making you clench around him which in turn made him growl and fuck you harder. "Fuck, you feel so good around me schatz, so tight, so - fuck - so wet."

You moaned at the praise and grabbed his right hand, putting it around your throat. He looked at you surprised and gave an experimental squeeze groaning when he felt you clench around him. "Dirty girl, you like being choked? Fuck, look at you, moaning like a whore - ah - so desperate for my cock." He taunted while pistoning his hips in and out of you and squeezing your neck tighter as his left thumb made tight circles around your clit bringing you closer to the edge.

"Yes - fuck - I'm your whore Niki, please, 'm yours, just d-don't stop, plea-". He pressed his lips against yours cutting you off and growling in the kiss, "I'm not gonna last much longer Liebling, you feel too good - scheiße - gonna be a good girl for me? Come on, come around me, milk my cock like a good little cum slut".

His words combined with his hand around your throat and his thumb stroking your clit were what made you come. You felt the coil inside you snap and you let out a long moan, your back arched off the table and your legs were shaking around his waist as you let the pleasure consume you. Your heart was beating in your ears and you barely heard the way he groaned out your name, his hips stuttering and you felt his cock twitch inside you before you felt him painting your walls with his come.

Niki rested his head in the crook of your neck, panting harshly while you were coming down from your high. He looked up at you and you were surprised at the soft smile gracing his lips and he straightened himself kissing you gently and slowly pulling out of you. He made quick work of cleaning both of you up and put an arm around your waist, helping you stand. Your legs were still shaking slightly and you leaned into him for support as he pressed a kiss to your forehead looking down at you with adoration.

You felt your face heating up, not expecting to see this gentle side of him and he fished out a small card from the pocket of his suit, giving it to you with a hopeful look in his brown eyes.

"Join me for dinner tomorrow?" He asked, slightly uncertain and you beamed up at him. "I'd like that," you replied and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before making your way out of the garage. You turned around one last time catching him checking out your ass and laughed at his satisfied smirk, not even slightly embarrassed at being caught. You left the track, the card with his number in your hand and a huge grin on your face. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

#niki lauda x reader #daniel brühl x reader #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl fanfiction #niki lauda x you #niki lauda #daniel brühl x you #daniel bruhl x reader #oh god im not ready #can't believe i'm doing this #oh god oh fuck #it's smutty #i already regret this

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slytherinbae88 · 3 years

Text

Boss | T.H

Pairing: mob!Tom x reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of guns, Tom being an overall dick

Word count: 1k+

Summery: You get to your job interview but it wasn't with who you expected, and you make a new friend along the way.

Series masterlist

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“You’re late”

He was here to interview you right now. You thought because of the high crime rate he would have at lease sent an intern to do the interviews today.

“Yes sir, I am so sorry traffic was bad” you replied.

Shit, you forgot the one basic rule Caroline told you about; don’t speak unless told to. And now he was going to do something about that.

“Okay, I’m Tom but you will address me as sir. Take a seat.” Tom said as he motioned his hand towards the chair in front of him.

You weren’t going to lie his stare sent a shiver down your spine. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. You thought to yourself, oh well, yes you were scared but you weren’t going to show it you weren’t going to chicken out of this one.

“Name?” He broke you out of your trance only to look up to put you in another one. He was wearing a grey suit which was currently unbuttoned at the top and you could see his burgundy t/shirt peeking through the top.

He was trying to be formal but with a twinge of comfort and practicality. Caroline seriously needed to tell you more in-tell before signing you up for a job interv-

“I said, name?!” He repeated and you hadn’t even realised you didn’t answer.

“Y/n,- sir” you replied a little embarrassed to have to make him say it twice. If anything he could pull out a gun and shoot you right here and now.

It was all a little overwhelming if you were honest.

“Okay, let’s get started shall we?” Tom said a little less frustrated after he finally got your name and write something down on his clipboard. You weren’t sure if it was a bad thing or a good thing.

“Yes, sir” you answered swiftly eager to get started with the interview.

“Caroline has told me all about you...” he said drifting off as he finished his sentence. When he saw your face fall he said “ all good things, all good things” you were slightly reassured that your roommate had told him good things about you. Well that’s what you thought at least.

“Right, why do you think you will be a good assistant?” Tom said loud and proud. It was as if he wanted the rest of the building to know he was interviewing you.

Tom on the other hand did not give a shit about who he hired as long as they could get him a croissant and a tea in the morning then plan out his day so that he would know what to do and what day he has off work.

Generally it would be Harrison’s job to interview people but he had been upstairs trying to bargain with James, the arch nemesis of ‘Holland & Osterfield industries’ to stop him from blackmailing all of the new interns on to going and working for him.

James had wanted Tom dead since his dad first handed the company down to him so that he could retire. This meant Tom took over the mob and Harrison took over his dads half of the company.

“ I think I could possibly bring a lot to the table here Mr Holla- sir. I am quiet and observant- by observant I mean I will see if you have say a tea and then remember you like tea not like observant were I eavesdrop or anything like that I will totally respect your privacy Mr Holland sir” now yo we’re just rambling and you were starting to sound a little weak if you were honest with yourself so you just stopped talking.

“ alright I suppose I’ll get back to you as I have something to do and can’t be bothered to be here anymore. I’ll email you or Harrison will goodbye Miss y/l/n” Tom politely excused you from the desk you were sat at.

Texting Caroline to come back to pick you up and she didn’t respond so you decided to start walking home, probably another hook up, you thought as you strolled peacefully down the pathway.

******

You were still about a mile away from your campus when you heard a horn honking BEEP BEEP so you looked left to see Harrison in his car.

“Hello, darling Tom told me about your interview” he said with a smirk.

Oh shit he told him about the rambling and how I didn’t address him properly and had to change it. Crap crap crap. You mentally sloped yourself for how it went.

“ he told me you didn’t get in any sort of car on your way out, I’m here to escort you home” he said politely waiting for you to respond.

How did Tom know you weren’t getting in a car, we’re they silently planning on getting Harrison to get you in his car then take you to the woods and kill you? Well you only live once.

“Thank you, for the ride Sir, I honk it might rain and I am really not looking forward to getting soa-“ he interrupted you.

“Don’t call me ‘sir’ makes me feel old Harrison is just fine” he told you heart fully.

“But Mr Holland sa-“ he interrupted you again, damn he sure does like to interrupt people a lot.

“Ohhh, he’s a cold hearted dick. You’ll get used to him so just call me Harrison yeah?”

“Okay Harrison” and with that you offered to buy him a drink or something but his simple response was ‘ oh it’s fine if I wanted a drink darling I would have just bought the shop’ and you both laughed like it was normal for a man in his early twenties to be able to buy a coffee house.

He brought you back to your apartment and to be honest you weren’t ready to go home you having quite the fun with Harrison.

“Well, I guess this is me” you said dissatisfied with having to go.

“I’ll see you Monday y/n, yeah?” Harrison questioned, but you didn’t quite know the answer you didn’t get a chance to read your emails, because Tom said he would email you, so you in were an awkward situation.

“Hum, I’m not sure, Mr Holland hasn’t emailed me yet.” You answered thinking that, that was the appropriate answer.

“I don’t think you understand, he doesn’t hire, I do and I think you would be a great addition to our team.” He told you. A little dumbfounded you had no idea how to not be excited.

“Uh, thank you! I-I mean thanks that’s amazing thank you Mr Oste- Harrison.” You replied still remembering that you were on a first name basis with him.

“Okay y/n I’ll ask again, I’ll see you Monday yeah?” He asked the same question as he did before.

“Yes, Harrison I will see you Monday” you said as you exited his car and got into you apartment building, going to the elevator. You got to your floor, opening the door and slumping down on your sofa.

This is going to be a rollercoaster.

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Taglist:

@icant-hangout-imdrumming @thenoddingbunny-blog @my-love-of-books @theamazingtomholland @thebadassbitchqueen @gypsystuf @osterfieldshollandgirl @alwayssandy @lolooo22 @thehumanistsdiary @joselyn001 @xinsonyax @kassey @fabs2 @piscesparker @ilovec-dizzle @mathletemadison

#peter parker #tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #series #boss

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