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caesium-55 · 2 months

Text

—seven days. [ v ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: sorry it took a while compared to the other chapters. i finished up my lab reports in my surveying class. this is not edited nor is it beta read and i dont remember much on what happened during the 2018-2021 seasons so pardon me if there are inaccuracies. anyways, welcome to max's pov. u can say im stalling on the shitshow that will happen once max discovers that reader resigned. lemme know what you think.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1

masterlist.

2018

“Who’s that?”

Daniel looks up, cheeks stuffed with the sandwich he was eating for lunch, “Who?”

Max cringes internally. His mother always told him and Victoria to not talk when his mouth was full, she called it bad manners, and now, he is understanding where she was coming from with those lectures. Nevertheless, he doesn't reprimand Daniel. Instead, he gestures to the girl standing a few meters away from their table in the Red Bull hospitality staff cafeteria, who was happily chatting with two Red Bull senior engineers whom Max recognizes to be Elijah Stuart and Richard Fox.

It is the first time Max has seen her. A new employee perhaps? Perhaps not. She lacks the company standard uniform.

Daniel trails his line of sight to where Max has pointed, “Which one? Richard?”

“No,” Max groans. Daniel blinks.

“Elijah?”

This is quickly becoming annoying.

“The girl, Daniel,” Max says, his exasperation bleeding through his words. “She’s not wearing a Red Bull polo.”

Daniel’s brows rise to his hairline, head snapping back to Max, “[Name]?”

Then, a shit-eating grin erupts on his lips. “Are you interested in her?”

“She’s not my type,” Max’s denial comes quickly. Is it even considered denial if it’s the truth? In his twenty almost twenty-one years being alive, Max never really put a lot of time into thinking about what his ideal type would look like. But he is sure that the woman of his dreams will look very far from the woman who was successful in catching his attention because you are wearing a black shirt in a sea of Red Bull polo shirts.

You with your eyes that forms into tiny crescent moons once your face breaks into a grin, you with your smile that shows too much gums and too much teeth, you with your hands that moves too much when you talk, and you with that too loud and too obnoxious laugh that comes even with the lamest of jokes. You’re like Daniel in a way. All happy sunshine vibes.

Max is watching you close, observing how you were interacting with Richard and Elijah. They're old men and no one should look this happy while talking to boring, old, white men, who worked more than four decades in the engineering industry so they only know how to speak boomer language and everything engineering. Surprisingly, Elijah and Richard seem to be having fun talking to you. A miracle on its own because they never even look that happy talking to Daniel Ricciardo and everybody in Red Bull Racing adores sunshine honey badger, Daniel Ricciardo.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You're thinking about it.”

“How would you know what I’m thinking?”

“Because you’re currently on a quest to erase my singledom. I can put two and two together.”

Daniel snorts, crossing his arms over his chest, “Maybe I just want to let you meet new friends.”

“I have enough friends.”

“You don't have friends that are not racers.”

Max presses his lips in a thin line.

“She’s my manager, by the way.” says Daniel, leaning back into his seat.

“What happened to Nick?”

“He’s on leave,” Daniel says. “His wife’s giving birth soon. She’s my temporary manager for a few months. Or I don't know, maybe the whole season.”

Max brows rise in pleasant surprise but says nothing.

“Now that I think about it, she’s around your age. How old are you again? Twenty-two?”

“Twenty,” Max corrects. His birthday is still months away from pre-season. On the end of September.

“Ah, she's older than you. Oh wait, here she comes. Hey, [Name]! Here!”

Max flinches and his heart begins ramming against his ribs erratically that he thinks he’ll undergo cardiac arrest in a matter of seconds. He does a double take—why am I even panicking?—then forces himself to calm down and straightens up in his seat. His shoulders and neck are still considerably stiff and his palms are slowly becoming sweaty. He swallows an invisible stone in his throat.

“¡Hola mi amiga, [Name]!” Daniel greets and his Spanish accent sounds off that it makes [Name], who stopped right in front of their table, giggle and when Max looks up at her through his lashes, it almost feels like the world is turning too rapidly on its axis and it’s making Max dizzy. Daniel and her do a friendly handshake—when did they reach this level of friendship?

“Hola, Daniel,” she greets, smiling. Your accent reminds Max of Carlos, but unlike Carlos, who possesses a very distinct Spanish accent, yours sounded subtler than his and it's mixed with the charming rhythm of words that reminds Max of sunsets in the south. You pronounce Daniel’s name like it has two syllables instead of three. Dan-yel instead of Dan-i-el. Suddenly, Max is curious as to how his name will sound if it originates from her mouth, how the syllables will roll off her tongue. Max will still sound like Max. Nobody will mispronounce that name. But Emilian and Verstappen? How will you say it?

“Hi Max.”

The Max sounds plain even though you’re smiling when you greet him. She didn't say Max the same way she said Daniel, whose name was uttered with a certain fondness.

“Hello,” Max’s chin dips slightly into a nod.

“Eat with us,” Daniel invites and he is already dragging a chair from a nearby table to their table before Max can fully register what he’s doing.

“You sure?” you ask, brows raising slightly at Daniel’s abrupt invitation.

Daniel waves his hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, Max wouldn't mind. Would you, Max?”

Suddenly, two pairs of eyes are on him and his throat feels dry. He cannot speak. No words leave his mouth. Empty brain, zero thoughts. In the end, he nods and you join the two for lunch.

Max frequently sees you following Daniel in the paddock. You remind him of a dog. No, even dogs do not follow their owners this much. Or do they? Max wouldn't know. He is a cat person anyway.

Max’s main point is this: not even the other racers’ managers follow them around this much. Not even Max’s manager follows him this much. (No one tell Max that this was due to the fact that he scares his own manager. Imagine a middle-aged man scared of a Dutch racer half his age with anger issues.) But you follow Daniel around like he is the sun and you are planet Earth and you need to be constantly revolving around him to achieve universal balance. And for some reason, your actions cause something odd to stir up in Max. He is annoyed. Of what? Maybe because you are so good to Daniel? Maybe he wants someone to be like that for him, too? His manager is not as proactive as you. Yeah, maybe that’s it.

And if you are not with Daniel, which is a rare occurrence, you’re hovering around the Red Bull mechanics. You even go as far as bringing them coffee in the mornings and that annoys Max even more. Daniel, he can understand if you brought him coffee, but the others? No. You don't even bring Christian Horner coffee. Why only them?

Whatever.

You are such a suck up. Max hates suck ups.

Baku 2018 was a bad race, a total nightmare for everyone in the team. The moment Max got out of that car, he was burning. Figuratively, at least. The engine of the RB14 is the one burning, in a literal sense. Horner is red in the face when he sees Max and Daniel, and he yells at them to cool down before they do the formal stuff of apologizing and dealing with the FIA and all the formalities that Max rather thinks are bullshit.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice raising, when he sees you approaching. “Aren't you supposed to be with Daniel?”

“Water?” you offer the water bottle to him and Max knows full well it’s supposed to be for Daniel. Max saw you offering it to Daniel earlier when the two of them stepped into the Red Bull garage after retiring from the race but the older man has declined your offer before stomping off somewhere else to cool down.

“No.”

He is not going to take the scraps of someone else, even though he is thirsty as hell.

You nod, shrugging your shoulders and saying, “Okay.”

You crouch on the floor and put the water bottle in front of him with a neatly folded face towel balancing on top of it. Then, you rise and walk away, leaving Max to glare at your back as you fade away from his view. Once you disappeared from his line of sight, he drags his gaze back to the water bottle and towel.

He drinks the water and then uses the towel to wipe his sweat. At that moment, Max decides that he will never allow himself to be beaten by Daniel ever again.

Max remembers the anger he feels when he discovers the news of Daniel leaving Red Bull.

“Was this because of Baku?!”

Daniel tries to explain his situation as calmly as he can but Max is all fire and flames and fury. He is only hearing Daniel’s words, not listening to them because all that he registers are the words “leaving” and “Renault” and “goodbye” and the rest are all just a bunch of ringing noise. Max knows where Daniel is coming from because he isn't dumb nor naive and he is aware that he is quickly becoming the team favorite, but did Daniel really need to leave?

Daniel’s leaving, Daniel’s leaving, Daniel’s leaving. He’ll have no friends left on the team.

Max’s fear of being left behind is often masqueraded as anger. The thing about Max is that his pain always turns to anger and his anger turns into violence.

He barely registers what he has done to Daniel until he sees his teammate—former teammate—on the floor, eyes wide and clutching his cheek. Max’s fist trembles. They are both horrified at what Max has done.

“Daniel, I—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, man?!” Daniel scrambles to a stand and lunges at Max. Max fears he’s going to get punched, too, and maybe he deserves it because he is the one who has thrown his fist first, but [Name] appears, quick as lightning, and rushes in between Daniel and Max.

“Daniel, calm down.”

Max is surprised you can hold Daniel down on your own. Daniel was a racer, had been since 2011, so he possessed the physical strength of a veteran racer and you, well, you're not. You’re shorter than them both, too.

Daniel is turning red in the face and fury paints his features. Max wants to fight, answer Daniel’s anger with his own. Fire to fire. Let them both burn until they achieve ruination.

“Nick!” you cry and at the call of his name, Nick appears quickly. “Hold Daniel!”

Your hands clutch Max’s nape and forearm and you quickly drag him away from the furious Daniel, leaving Nick to hold Daniel off and calm him down.

His ears are still ringing. Even after he's dragged away from the chaos. Even after he's brought into an empty room. Even after he sits down on a plush chair, face scarily blank while his mind runs for miles.

The ringing sound disappears when you tap his shoulder and asks, “You okay, big boy?”

His brain becomes a blank slate.

Max nods hesitantly, “Yeah.”

His knuckles are still tingling. He can still feel the remnants of the violence of his fist, can still feel the sting when his knuckles met Daniel’s cheek.

“Injuries?”

Why do you only speak words instead of full sentences?

You scan Max’s face for injuries and Max holds his breath when you lean your face closer to see clearly.

“No—No injuries.”

Your shoulders sag in relief, “Good. Thank fuck. Horner wouldn't be happy if golden boy got clocked.”

You pull yourself away and Max feels like he can breathe again. Then, you pivot on your heels.

“I’ll get you water.”

“No!”

You flinch and then turn to him slowly, your eyes growing wide and mouth falling slightly open. Max mirrors your surprise. You blink at him. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then, your forehead creases and you close your mouth.

“No need to yell at me,” you mumble but Max hears it loud and clear and now, his anger is spiking up again.

“Fine, go!”

You raise a brow at him, giving him a long look. A sigh escapes your lips. You leaned against the door, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why aren't you leaving?”

“You don't want me to,” you say in a know-it-all tone.

“I told you to go!”

“What you want and what you say are two different things. Don't worry, I’ll stay for as long as you need.”

Max doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he sits there in the silence with his thoughts and he can already feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He’s sure you noticed that he’s trying not to cry, not with you standing in front of him. Max always makes weird faces when he forces himself not to cry.

But then you turn your back on him, not to leave, but to give him the privacy he needs.

His tears fall silently.

The 2018 WDC was Lewis Hamilton, who garnered 408 points by the end of the year. Max finishes in fourth, only after the Ferrari drivers, Sebastian Vettel and Kimi Raikkonen. The world thinks it is not a bad result. Max is still young and he’s battling three WDCs for points. But Max thinks otherwise. Winning is number one. The rest is just losing. The only thing he knows is he's not good enough. Jos is thinking of the same thing, too. He knows it.

Everytime someone congratulates him, Max has to bite his tongue and fake a smile. He can only feel anger, for finishing up fourth. It's like people are constantly reminding him of what he failed to become—a champion.

Red Bull throws an after party at the hotel bar, like they do at every Grand Prix, but Max chose not to go so he can drown in his own bitterness in the privacy of his hotel room.

A series of knocks on the door disturbs his ongoing rampage. He is sure it is his manager who’s behind the door. Archie possesses a horrible habit of appearing when he is not needed and not appearing when he is.

“What?!”

“Open the door, sour loser.”

That's not Archie.

Max’s jaw tenses. He marches towards the door and aggressively throws it open. It is you who stands behind it, an unimpressed expression printed on your face. Why is Daniel’s manager here?

“Who are you calling a loser?”

You sigh, peering your head in to look at his hotel room. You wince.

“Horner is not gonna be happy with how you trashed everything,” you begin. Max may or may not have thrown things across the room, punched a table and the wall, and accidentally broke a hotel-owned wall decoration. “Did you punch the wall?”

He did. But he’s not going to tell you that. Max hopes you don’t notice the peeling skin on his knuckles—red and angry and bloody.

“Can you leave?” he asks through gritted teeth. He hears you sigh. You do that a lot when you’re around him. Why?

You rummage through your tote bag—cream-colored with peach prints, the same one you wear all year round—and pull out a cold can of beer and a face towel.

“Lemme see.”

You reach for Max’s hand, which causes him to jerk back, his hand going behind him. You pause.

“I told you to leave.”

“Okay,” you shrug. You grab his wrist before he could dodge and you thrust the cold canned beer and face towel into his hand.

“Put this on your knuckles,” your tone leaves no room for further arguments. “Danny’s worried ‘bout you.”

“If he’s so worried about me, he shouldn't be leaving me,” Max snaps.

“Have you tried listening to his reasons?”

“Of course, I did!” Max is offended that you even feel the need to ask him that.

You purse your lips, “Maybe you did listen, just never tried to understand. I’d do the same thing, too, if I was Danny. No need to stay in a place where we’re no longer wanted.”

Max opens his mouth to bark back. How dare you utter such nonsense? You only stayed here for a year! ? You will never understand the relationship between Daniel and Max. You will never know Daniel the same way Max knows him.

“He isn't going to win anywhere else. We are going to get a new engine and the car will be better than this year. We’ll be better than Ferrari or Mercedes. We’ll be champions.”

I’ll be a champion, but Max leaves it unsaid.

“I know, heard it from the mechanics,” you shrug. “Maybe Danny won't win in another machinery. Maybe he will. Who knows? But if the team wanted Danny then that’s better. A team that wants and prioritizes Danny will treat him better than any team could. And right now, that's what he needs, a good team that supports him well.”

“Red Bull prioritizes him, too.”

“You're lyin’ to yourself, you know it. You of all people should know how shitty it feels to be number two and Danny is number two right now.”

Silence.

Number two. Cursed number two.

“Are you gonna follow Daniel, too?”

Max will not be surprised if you do.

You shrug.

“Let's wait and see.”

Then, you turn around and walk away, the soft click of your beige flats echoing in the hotel hallway until it fades into silence, while Max stands there at the open door, a cold canned beer and a face towel in his hand.

He uses the face towel to wipe the blood on his knuckle and uses the cold canned beer to help soothe the pain of forming bruises. Max wishes you brought something to ease the pain in his heart, too.

2019

The 2019 pre-season begins with Christian Horner saying that Archie, Max’s incompetent manager last year, has submitted a resignation letter. That makes Max Verstappen officially manager-less this year.

“For this season, since Daniel is no longer with us—” The corner of Max’s lips curve downwards. “[Name] does not have anyone to manage anymore. I was thinking of moving her to the engineering team but she was too efficient at managing Daniel last year. Would you mind if she becomes your manager? I assume you're both friends?”

Friends is not the appropriate term to describe what they are. Sure, they talked because Daniel talked with Max frequently and wherever Daniel was, [Name] is closely behind. Daniel also has this habit of dragging everyone into the conversation so no one will be left out. They also engaged in banter a few times, when Daniel’s not around and Max and her do not bother tolerating each other for the sake of the Australian racer.

For the most part, when Daniel is present, [Name] become the nicest person to ever grace the room, even Mother Teresa is put to shame, but when Daniel’s gone, [Name]’s saintess act disappears and enters an asshole who'll argue with Max and annoy him to oblivion. She absolutely vexes him.

Also, she's a terrible suck up. Max hates suck ups.

“She’ll be good for you,” Horner adds.

“Do you believe so?”

“I know she can handle you.”

Max raises a single questioning brow, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Nevertheless, Max has no choice. Horner believes she’ll be good for him and Max prefers having her as a manager than having none at all. God forbid he’ll be stuck manager-less. He can barely organize anything to save his life.

Even though they're not perfectly civil with each other, Max cannot deny the fact that [Name] is a good manager. It is like she possesses the uncanny ability of knowing everything Max needs without having him to voice it out and you do it without Max having to ask you. Which works greatly for Max. He really isn't the best at asking what he needs and people cannot mindread so he just sucks everything up until a simple thing gets blown out of proportion and he ends up blaming someone else for a problem that should have been solved had he voiced it out in the first place.

“PR sent me this,” you walk into the room early in the morning and Max groans because he’s still dealing with the hangover from last night so he cannot deal with your annoyingness right now. Despite hearing his dilemma, you put the iPad on the table and Max sees a picture of him drunk as fuck in a bar somewhere in Barcelona. He winces, looking away and not bothering to read the caption.

“They want you to clear shit up.”

“What's there to be cleared about?”

“People think we're datin’, darlin’. That's what you need to clear up.”

Max’s eyes go comically wide. Him and [Name]....dating? A blush graces Max’s cheeks.

You swipe down and show Max a video. The clip shows you walking out of the bar, warding off people with a passed out Max on your shoulder.

There are two things that immediately entered Max’s head at that moment:

Wow. You're really strong.

What the fuck? When did this happen?

“I’ll get you an Advil and soup. In the meantime,” you open a word document on your iPad. “You read this. Prepared a script ‘cuz you can’t improvise shit. We’ll film a press release vid when I come back, aight?”

You are gone before Max can even nod his head.

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #f1 imagines #mv33 x reader #mv1 x reader #mv1 #manager!reader

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stupidthoughtsinwriting · 2 years

Text

Spiraling (Sherlock Holmes)

Hi, this is just a thought I've concocted. I honestly dont know what it is. I dont know if anybody will enjoy it, i hope they do but i already expect disappointment. Pardon my writing as i am still new to this. there was still a bit left after this but i didnt know how to run through it so just posted this but maybe ill finish that one once ive thought it through

Summary: After an accident during a case, a hostage situation leaves you in a coma for a week. During that week in the hospital, things are going horribly in Baker Street

‘Ohh Sherlock darling that’s beautiful, though I haven’t heard it before. Dare I ask who wrote that’ I asked Sherlock as he played the unfamiliar song. It was odd that I was unfamiliar with the beautiful tune as Sherlock has played plenty and more melodies than I can count, all of which I was familiar with, however that was new. I knew that he likes to compose as it helps him think but this was different, so I assumed was he’s playing another great’s piece. His melodies were always a bit solemn, deep and intense but this was lively, light and dare I say romantic.

‘Me’ he said flatly as he continued to play. Shocked as I was, I remained quiet as he carried on fiddling with his violin. Apparently, the shock was evident in my face as a smirked crossed his. I shrugged it off and listened until he finished the number. He was focused on the violin when he started to play but now his gaze was held on me. I gave him a soft smile which caused his features to soften into a smile of its own.

After a little while he finished and set the instrument on his chair, eyes still fixed on me. The grin I’ve plastered on grew wider as he walks over to me, hand in offering. I accepted and rose from my seat as he led the way to an open area. He moved to face me, a hand that belonged to him crept up to my waist and the hand he held in his was raised. Confused of his actions, I went along with it and raised my free arm to his shoulder, having an inkling where this was going. Guessing correctly, we moved around the living area, dancing as much we could in the small, confined space. Having known the dance as the same one done at John’s wedding; I was pleased to not have forgotten the steps.

As we continued waltzing, I asked ‘what has you all cheery?’

‘What has you so inquisitive’ he countered

‘Fair enough, though what had transpired to get you to write such a beautiful melody’

‘Nothing just got bored, so I composed. I was just very fortunate enough to have a great model and inspiration.’ He smiled as I beamed at the realization of what he meant. I was sat all day reading -a rather fascinating book might I add- on John’s chair as the boys finished up on a case. He’d come in around just after noon, bored of having been done with the previous case and not being on one currently. I greeted him when he walked in and went to the kitchen to fix up some tea. When I returned, giving one of the two mugs to him -a kiss on the head as a thank you-, I returned to finishing my book.

We continued dancing around the flat for a little while, nothing but the silent music and the rustling of our feet was heard. I laid my head on his shoulder at some point, happy and content of where I was and what I was doing. His voice broke the silence as we went for one last round.

‘Darling, can you do me a favour?’ he asked, voice a bit changed from the one he used earlier but I thought nothing of it.

‘Sure love, what is it?’

‘Wake up. Don’t leave me. Please come back to me’ His voice was now pleading and serious.

I raised my head as I said ‘What are you talking about, I’m right…’ I paused as his body and hold were loosening and disappearing ‘…here’ I continued with my sentence as I raised my hands to hold Sherlocks face. Everything had started to disappear in black. The flat and slowly his body.

‘Please come back, I can’t lose you, I need you please’ were his final words as he disappeared, slipping through my fingers, into the darkness. Nothing but a spotlight overhead of me. I put down my hands from where they were clutching on to his face, looking around into nothing but darkness.

…

‘Ey, how’s she doing?’ Greg asked John as he walked into the hospital room. It was quiet, nothing but the steady beeping of the heart monitor, breathing of the people in the room and the rain pattering on the window. John was sat at the chair at the end of the bed where you laid, nearly dozing off but was aroused by Lestrade breaking the silence of the room. Mycroft, unnoticed yet by the DI was stood at the dark corner beside the door. He was staring at your unmoving body, wondering how such a fierce, smart, brave and strong woman could ever lay looking so fragile.

‘Same as yesterday’ John replied with a yawn. The lot of them have been juggling staying here with you, looking after Sherlock and taking care of Rosie. John and Molly’s focus were taking care of Rosie, while Mrs. Hudson looked after Sherlock somewhat. She’d inform their little group of what’s been happening with him, keeping tabs of his activities and mayhem in the flat but the woman could only do so much. Greg checked up on him from time to time, more often than John and Molly but it was no use. What greeted them was a mess that was once the great Detective Sherlock Holmes. No one could get through to him but you. Even Mycroft tried, but he knew that what his brother needed, and the lack of it resulted into relapsing back to old habits.

John went straight here after Molly came to take care of Rosie. He was absolutely knackered. Rosie couldn’t sleep through the night which kept him up as well. He’s been living off of pots of coffee the past week with barely enough sleep. He’d nod off at times when it was his watch and the others would let him.

Mycroft came to check on you from time to time and occasionally kept watch of you as well. He knew that when you woke up and found him fully rested, not having bothered with helping the others, you’d have his head.

Now it seems the boys are all here at once. Greg came to relieve John of his duties to get some rest and inform him of the situation with the younger of the Holmes brothers, still unaware that the older was in the room.

‘Just got a message from Mrs. Hudson about our boy, it isn’t good.’ Greg announces, drawing Mycroft to rub his temples and John to release a sigh. Ever since the accident, Sherlock has only visited you once. The lot of em guessed he couldn’t bear to see you that way so for the past week, he’s been holed up in Baker Street.

‘Christ, what the bloody hell has he done now’ John said exasperated. He was exhausted. Before Greg could respond, another did.

‘You wouldn’t want to know’ Mycroft breathed out. Lestrade’s head snaped to the corner of the room, where the voice originated. Mycroft walked to the centre of the room, down the foot of your bed. Greg’s eyes followed, still startled by the unseen fellow.

‘What are you doing here’ he asked Holmes.

‘I could ask you the same thing’ the eldest Holmes retorted.

‘It’s my shift with y/n’

‘Well there’s no need, you lot look like rubbish’

‘Gee Myc, thanks’ John interrupted.

‘As I was saying,’ he continued, glaring at Watson ‘You lot should get some rest. If y/n finds you’ve been staying here with her, tired and looking like rubbish, she’d have my head.’

‘She’d already be livid by us just not leaving her alone’ John chuckled

‘Ohh wait till she sees Sherlock, she’d be in flames carving us up’ Lestrade groaned with a snicker, rubbing his head at the thought.

‘She already is’ said an unknown voice. A voice they were familiar with but haven’t heard in a while.

All three heads snapped towards the bed. There they found a woman shifting in the bed, trying to sit up, groaning as a pang of pain shot up her shoulder and stomach. Her eye’s fluttering, adjusting to the light and scene in front of her. John quickly stood up from where he was sat as all three men went to check on y/n.

‘Call the nurses and her doctor’ John ordered to anyone in the room, mainly the two lads he was in conversation with and Lestrade followed, rushing from the room to get your attendants.

‘Hey there, sleeping beauty, stop moving around, your going to pop your stitches. Do you remem…’ John fretted as he started examining you, but got cut off.

‘Oh shut it John, I’m fine. Yes I remember what happened. I got shot. Last thing I remember was staring at a barrel of a gun. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I’m presuming I’m in the hospital. I’m also presuming Elizabeth is still the queen of England now leave me alone.’ She growled and the former army doctor backed away as her doctor came in with a few others, some nurses followed by Lestrade.

‘Ahh, it seems our VIP has awoken’ the doctor said.

‘VIP!’ She took another once over the room, seeing it is rather posh than a normal one, but her focus was on the three blokes taking a laugh at what her reaction was to be when she woke, before she shot her gaze to Mycroft who is to the right of her bed ‘Mycroft Holmes you moved me to a VIP room!’ she fumed as the government official backed away.

‘Okay Ms. Y/L/N please calm down. If you don’t mind, I will perform an examination to check your abilities.’ The doctor mused as he slowly and carefully approached the bed. He asked for permission to lift up your gown to examine the wound on your stomach. You waved him off and he began asking questions.

‘Ughh, John repeat’ you grumbled, already having answered the question before John could even ask.

‘She’s fine, she answered the questions before I could even ask.’ John explained to the doctor who nodded. He asked to uncover your shoulder, as he covered your stomach, to examine the wound on your there. Complying, he examined your arm. After the examination of the wounds, he checked your mobility and reflexes, lifting up your arms and etcetera. Finished with the inspection, he explained what happened to you medically. Apparently, the shot had you fall backward, in which you hit you head very hard -that explained the headaches-. You got shot at four times, three bullet hit you. One just a graze, one a flesh wound on the shoulder and the last on the edge of your stomach. It hit no vital organs but did graze the stomach. They took you to surgery and came out with minimal complications. They left you in a medically induced coma for a day to get the swelling on your head down. You haven’t woken up till now. You nodded every so often until he left, leaving you in the room with the boys and a nurse checking up on your vitals.

Running your uninjured hand to your hair, which was full of knots and a tangled mess, you sighed. You had pads stuck on your shoulder, stomach and arm, covering the holes and grazes on each area. The doctor said it was a miracle that you haven’t sustained much damage. He said miracle, you thought those were the odds of your predicament. ‘It could have been worse’ he said, that you believed. ‘You were lucky’ he added, you didn’t believe in luck.

‘Did anybody else get hurt?’ You asked, eyes closed, leaning back on the bed.

‘No, everyone’s fine, the hostages weren’t harmed, just… you’ John hesitated as he knew the lot of them were threading on thin waters.

‘How bad is it’ You asked, looking at Greg. He knew what you were talking about, he’d be stupider than you thought if he didn’t. He realized you must have heard his news about your lover. He doesn’t respond immediately, hesitating. Just from that you knew it was bad.

‘Bad’ he replied anxiously

‘Be more specific’ you sneered, ticked off from the lack of detail

‘He’s using’ John said plainly. ‘He is, isn’t he?’

‘Yes’ both Mycroft and Greg replied.

‘Fuck’ you breathed out, unintentionally ran you hand through your hair again, pissed to be greeted with a tangled mess. You look at John. He looked tired, bags and dark circles under his eyes, he looks like rubbish.

‘How long was I out again’ you asked, having ignored the doctor most of the time during his explanation, you let that little information slip.

‘A week’ John answered. You nodded as a thought crossed you.

‘Where’s, who’s with Rosie?’ you asked, concern over who’s with your god daughter. John smiled at your concern over his offspring.

‘She’s fine, she’s with Molly.’ he explained. You let out a breath, wincing a bit at the movement. You were given a PCA pump to help you control your pain, you pressed the button to add a dosage, not to much to get you fucked high but enough so the pain was manageable.

‘Speaking of, I should inform her and Mrs. Hudson that you’re awake.’ he said pulling out his phone.

‘Wait. Where are my things’ you asked so to get your own phone. The nurse’s head picked up and she gave you a plastic bag full of your belongings. You greeted her thanks as she continued on scribbling on her clip board.

‘John, could you get me anything to eat, I’m starving’ you asked your friend. He gave you a soft smile and nodded, glad that you had an appetite, he headed out to the canteen. Your gaze moved on to Mycroft who was sat on a chair near the window.

‘You, get me a less fancy room please. I do not want to be treated as if I’m royalty.’ he opened his mouth to object, but you cut him off. ‘Please’ you begged, which caused his resolve to break and agree. Not many could order around the Holmes boys, you were just one of the few that could. He left the room with his cane in tow, shutting the door. The nurse was about to leave as well but you called her over before she could.

‘Hi, could you please get me an AMA to sign and please be discreet.’ you told her gently but the intent an order. She looked at you for a second before nodding quickly and rushing out to get the document. You knew very well you could just leave without signing a damn thing but you didn’t want to cause a problem with the hospital, so this is just a courtesy.

‘What the are you doing’ Lestrade asked you as you ripped open the bag full of your stuff.

‘Did you guys get me anything to change?’ you said as you riffled through the bag looking for your phone.

‘Yah um sure.’ He went over to the closet and took a bag from a shelve. ‘Molly went to your flat while you were in surgery.’ He explained putting the bag on the bed. Having found your phone, you opened the bag he had given you and took out a change of clothes. You grabbed a clean pair of knickers, your denim jeans, a white shirt and a blue cardigan from the bag as you told Greg to close the curtains and look away. He followed as you gently put on your underwear and jeans. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the button of the PCA pump to administer a bit more, scratch that, a lot more of morphine a few more times before pulling the needle out. You grimaced and threw the needle away. The nurse happens to have chosen that moment to come in and see what you were doing. She came to help you and pulled a plaster from one of the many drawers of medical equipment next to the machines. Greg who was still looking at the window asked what was happening.

‘Nothing just… did Molly happen to bring me any shoes’

‘Uhh yeah, bottom of the bag’ he replied.

‘Okay’ you say as the nurse helps you with your bra and shirt. You carefully put your arm through the hole of the shirt and rummaged through the bag of your items for a hair tie, your hair was killing you. Having found one, you attempted to tie your hair but a pang of pain shot your shoulder and stomach, mild but it was still there. The nurse having noticed this took the hair tie from you and tied your hair up in a bun. You were so very grateful for her at that moment.

‘Greg you can turn around now.’ Following your orders, he turned to see you fully clothed, a nurse tying up your hair.

‘What the bloody hell are you doing’ he exclaimed as he walked over to face you.

‘You are taking me to Baker Street.’ You say flatly as you reached for the clip board of forms.

‘I am not’ He handed it to you, and you asked for a pen.

‘You are’ you said sternly, leaving no room for argument.

With a sigh, he found one in his coat and handed it to you. You quickly scribbled and signed the discharge papers before handing them to the nurse, who was removing the rest of the wires attached to you.

‘Can you find me a wheelchair’ you asked Lestrade who fully knew it was an order and not a request. Grumbling he followed and left the room leaving you with the nurse. You pulled the shoes from the bag, threw the plastic bag of bloody garments in and zipped it shut. Slipping on the trainers carefully, you stood up fully from the bed and walked around with the help of the nurse, to wake up your legs from its week rest. Your clothes hung loose and big as you’ve lost a bit of weight during your hibernation. As you walk around the room, your leg starts to get a bit more feeling. The morphine was relieving most of your pain but that didn’t mean there still wasn’t some left.

Lestrade came in with a wheelchair as you’ve just slipped on the cardigan. You took a seat from the chair and asked for you bag to be placed on your lap. You thank the nurse, asking for her name as you were going to send her a gift basket or something as a thank you for getting you out of the hospital. She bided you with instructions and precautions with wounds, which you told her to tell John when he got back from the cafeteria. A thought occurred and you also asked her for a favour of giving John a few of the pain meds -morphine really- when he returned and maybe a suture kit, she nodded questionably. You thanked her one more time before asking Lestrade to wheel you to his car and head to Baker Street. You made a mental note of giving that nurse a very good thank you basket for all the things she’s done for you.

…

As Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand, she heard the ramblings of her tenant. From what she can tell, he was reciting Shakespeare. As she slowly opened the kitchen door -finding it much safer than the main one directly opening to the flat-, she’d find her kitchen a mess. Her table filled with beakers, a microscope, tubes and whatnot with a bunch of other experiments in different bins. Her counters and cabinets filled with the same thing, with an added touch of pinned and hanging files and photographs. The floors ridded with stacked piles of papers and boxes. She just managed to squeeze in her tray of tea and biscuits on the table, before being startled by a gunshot. She jumped and headed to the living room where the shots originated, checking on the lad she treated like a son. As she finally managed to weave her way to the living space, she was greeted by another shot, one her wall had to suffer.

She found Sherlock shouting and waving a revolver, as he rounded the flat like a mad man.

‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger; ' he recited loudly, pacing around the flat, pointing the gun at pictures that hang on strings and objects he found no longer useful, before shooting a picture pinned on the wall.

Startled from the shots fired and getting quite scared of Sherlocks erratic behaviour -though she’s somewhat used to this-, she rushes out the flat and down the stairs. She was going to ring up John or Lestrade to inform them of the increase in violence in the detective’s behaviour. More shots followed at her decent down the stairs when the front door slammed open revealing a y/h/c head of hair she knew belonged to the only person who could help the bloke who live in the flat she just rushed out on.

…

As the car got closer to 221 Baker Street, a clear sound of a bullet wrang through the block. A sound I know a bit too well from a recent experience. I flew out of the vehicle before Greg could even stop the car, pain searing through my body at the force of my movements. A faint ‘Eyy’ was heard coming from Greg but again faint as I was rushing to the front door.

‘STAY THERE’ I shouted back. The slanted knocker flew at the force of the door being slammed open. That was going to leave a dent on the partition, but I didn’t care.

‘Y/N!’ Mrs. Hudson was descending the stairs but was frozen in place at my arrival. I quickly sped up the stairs, past the landlady as pain wrecked through my body. ‘NOBODY COME UP HERE’ I shouted again, my throat getting sore even from the minimal exchange of words. I slow my steps as I get to the closed door of the flat, a booming voice heard from this side of the door. I slowly and very carefully open the door, not wanting to startle and get sent to the hospital with another bullet wound.

‘On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, have in these parts from morn till even fought and sheathed their swords for lack of argument’

‘Sherlock’ I said softly, announcing my arrival in between his rant. As I entered, I find chaos with the man I found to love in the centre of it all. What once was a somewhat organized flat, morphed as if a tornado passed through. Papers and pictures cloud and scattered on any available space. Strings hang at odd places. Bullet holes and pictures fill the walls, shattered pieces of glass crowd the floor along with knocked over furniture. It’s a mess.

You look up at Sherlock after scanning the room. Focusing on the detective, you take in his ragged and worn appearance. His curly head of hair, a greasy mess, sticking out at odd places. A heavy stubble has grown from the lack of shaving the past week. His features, primarily his jaw and cheekbones sharp from the scarce to none amount of food consumed. His skin, sickly pale as mine from when I woke up just less than an hour ago. His clothes hung loose on his body, the navy robe wrapped around him, fluttering as it followed his movement. He looks worse than me at the moment.

‘Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, and teach them how to war.’

He’s ranting, no reciting Henry the Fifth at the top of his lungs, waving the revolver around as he paced the flat, pulling at the papers stuck on the mirror, kicking anything his foot touched. Still in the midst of this chaos, what stood out to me were his eyes. Rounded by dark circles, sunken deep. However, behind those blue changing orbs, were emotions. I was always rather good at reading him, but his eyes always gave me the confirmation of my suspicions. Now what hid behind those beautiful cerulean blue orbs was guilt, worry and anger. I know that Sherlock cares for me and he has told me himself that he loves me, but I never knew that my absence would ever have this affect on him. Come to think of it, we’ve gone through far worse incidents but on the other hand he was always the one on that deep end. I never thought and always assumed that nobody cared enough for me to care if I was ever injured or dead. How wrong am I.

With a sigh, I whispered ‘Oh Sherlock what have you done’. I gulped before finding my voice to speak out again. I don’t think he knows of my presence yet as he’s still quite dramatically delivering the scene.

‘And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture.’

‘Sherlock’ I spoke up, receiving no response nor acknowledgement in return.

‘Let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, that hath not noble lustre in your eyes’

‘Sherlock’ I say louder, hoping to break through his train of thought.

‘I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’ He finished loudly before sending steady shots at a picture pinned to the wall behind the couch, causing me to duck with a whimper, my hand flying to my stomach. I definitely popped a few stiches.

‘SHERLOCK’ I screamed, only to have the colt pointed at me again. Having a bit of a deja vu as the last thing I remember before waking up this noon was staring a barrel of a gun. Quite used to this from my previous job and years running around with the boys, I’m fairly tired of it. I raise my hands as a faint of innocence, hoping once again to save another trip to the hospital.

‘Sherlock’ I repeated softly, wincing as I slowly stand. A wave of recognization flashes through him and he wavers slightly. Taking the opportunity, quickly taking a step closer -ignoring the throbbing pain coursing through me-, I smack the hand that wields the gun upwards, causing his grip to falter and ultimately letting go of the gun. I quickly snatch the revolver mid-air with my other hand, a tight grip on the handle, holding it far away from him, taking a few steps back.

A bit fazed from recent actions, Sherlock remains frozen, possibly shocked from my presence. I on the other hand go to remove the bullets from the cylinder but find it empty, before place the firearm on the coffee table that was pushed to the side. I wince again when I stand up straight after bending to place the gun carefully on the table. I turn back to him, his stare boring a hole through me. I say his name in a soft tone once more as I slowly walk back over to him. A foot remains, the distance being the only barrier keeping us apart.

I see him looking over every inch of me, deliberating if I was a hallucination from his drugged high or really standing in front of him. He’s deducing every little detail on me after being deprived of my appearance the week. Greg told me while we were in the car that he’s only come to see me once during my stay at the hospital.

I say his name again and close the distance, sparing him the torture I’m sure he’s come up with trying to push through the intoxication. I place my palm on his cheek, caressing the sharp jawline as is eyes flutter to a close. He melts under my fingertips and leans into the hand. A bit of my heart chips and withers away, the sight of him, he looks tired, exhausted.

‘Ohh darling what happened to you’ I whisper.

My other arm goes to rub his back but instead decides to scream in pain. Sherlock feeling the wince, opens his eyes and draws back, terrified at the thought of him hurting me. With a deep breath, I try close the distance again, yet he moves away.

‘I’m fine.’ I gave him my best smile and fill the space keeping us apart. My good arm wraps around him. He hesitates but wraps his arms around me before breaking down. No one has anyone seen Sherlock Holmes break down. No one even knows if he’s ever had a break down, possibly besides his family. Mycroft told me of his emotional youth. Yes, he was traumatized after Redbeard but as far as I was told he never broke down. Not like this.

His head drops and hides at the crook of my neck, hugging me in a tight embrace, not enough to hurt much but there were still bits of it, the morphine dosage I took evidently wasn’t enough or the hospital have bloody horrible pain meds, I choose to believe in the latter. I resulted to bending my other arm caress his back, moving the good one to his hair as I kissed his head. He then sobbed, soaking up the fabric of my garments before collapsing. I eased him down the messy floor carefully -a bit more for my sake than his-, letting out a shush as he sobbed. I grimaced a bit a few times, letting out a small hiss that was thankfully barely audible due to his snivelling. Sitting at the back of my legs, I held the man I would, without second thought give my life for if it came to it. The man that has managed to capture my heart without realizing it. The man many have called heartless but had the biggest of them all.

‘it’s okay darling, let it out’ I whispered to his ear.

I held him for a long while. Rubbing his back, caressing his hair, ignoring the pain of my wounds, consoling and murmuring words of comfort into his ear. At some point the tears stopped, left with sniffles before ending up with his slow and steady breathing down my neck. He fell asleep. I smile, he was finally getting some rest and I was happy with that. Considering the state he was in I doubt at the possibility of him getting any sleep. I kissed the side of his face that was still tucked on my shoulder. He nuzzled himself closer and his never faltering grip on my ribs tightened a bit.

With my good hand, I reached to my back pocket, grabbing my phone to send a text to the boys. At some point during the wall getting packed with bullets and me consoling Sherlock, I heard the taxi pull up at front, the sound of the front door opening and the unmistakable voice that belonged to John. He had attempted to go up, but Mrs. Hudson stopped him, the same thing she did to Lestrade and the same thing she did to Mike after John had asked.

I sent a text to John You can come up now. A minute later, the stairs rumbled at the footfalls of the men rushing to flat. I looked at the open door and saw all three – or two as Mike is taking his time waiting for the two to pass- dashing to check up on us. I sent a glare at them for their loud behaviour as they stepped to 221b. I shushed them and they apologized quietly.

‘Help me get him to bed please.’ I said in a nicer tone as I’ve realized I haven’t exactly been the kindest, ordering them around. Of course that’s what I was still doing but it was better to ask or demand in a kinder tone. Greg came up to us and I kissed Sherlocks temples one more time before slowly releasing his grip on me. He stirred but I managed to lull him back to his slumber. With the help of John, they carried the detective to his room and carefully -instructed by me after sending a glare- laid him on the bed. I haven’t bothered to stand up yet so when Mycroft came up to me and offered his hand, I accepted, wincing and grimacing when ache and agony shot at different part of my body. He helped me stand up steady after wobbling my steps, the numbing of sitting on the back my legs and not being fully recovered from its week rest nearly sends me tumbling on shards of glass.

‘I should be very mad at you’ he said.

‘And I cared if you were mad because…’ you retorted with a smirk. You looked past the kitchen to the bedroom just as the Lestrade popped his head out and walked back to the living room.

‘Fuck, my bag’s still in your car now isn’t it’. I sighed, exhausted from the days crusade. Before I could even attempt to move toward the door or ask someone to get it, Lestrade is already out the door. A smile creeps up my lips and I move to the kitchen, followed closely behind by Mycroft. I find a tray of tea and biscuits -no doubt left by Mrs. Hudson-. The teas gone a bit cold, but I didn’t care and take a sip of it. I’m parched and starving so I take one of the biscuits and stuff my mouth. I turn around to see Mycroft give me a disapproving look before the kitchen door opens and the landlady comes in.

‘Hello dear, its good to see you’ she greets to me with a half hug.

‘Nice to see you too Mrs. Hudson.’ I smiled pulling apart.

‘John had this with him when he came in but left it down at my flat when he got your text.’ She waved around Johns medical bag. Speaking of, he walks into the kitchen where the party seems to be as I stuff my face in biscuits and cold tea. Mrs. Hudson noticing this, scolds me and says she’ll make a new batch for the whole lot of us. Me and John say ‘thank you’ in unison and she leaves the flat.

‘What are we doing here?’ John looks at Mike who ignores him then turn to me.

‘I was going to the bedroom, but I saw these’ waving to the tray ‘and I’m starving’ reply taking a sip of the tea.

‘Yeah, speaking of, the food is still in the bag’ he nods to his bag which I’m guessing has hospital food in it.

‘Hospital food? Bleck no thanks, I’m fine with these’ gesturing to the tray again as I go take another sip of the tea to clear my throat.

‘For goodness sake enough of that’ John frustratingly releases the cup of my grip and I glare at him. He weirdly doesn’t like me drinking cold tea.

‘Eyy I wasn’t done with that’ I pout but he ignores me. He give me a once over and gesture to my stomach.

‘Your bleeding’ he say and I look down to see a red spot on my shirt.

‘Oh really, I didn’t notice’ I counter sarcastically as he picks up his bag and looks for his equipment.

‘Do it in the bedroom just’ I sigh, I’m really exhausted. I turn to Mycroft who is looking around at files attached to the strings. ‘Mike thank you for your help, please stay until Mrs. Hudson comes back with the tea then you want you can go’ I announce but get interrupted by Greg, who’s in the living room ‘In here’ I say and open my mouth to continue but get interrupted again. ‘Ey, isn’t that the shooter at the school’ He asks, pointing his thumb at the living room. Confused and intrigued, I limp on back to the living room followed by my posse, to see his pointing at the bullet ridded wall, a picture of the shooter indeed there but with a bullet hole or holes on the face. That’s what Sherlocks been shooting at. Christ.

‘Yeah, that’s him’ I sigh and continue on what I was previously saying. ‘Greg you can leave the bag anywhere, I’ll fix it later. Stay until after Mrs. Hudson’s tea then leave. Thank you for your help really.’ I smile and finally head to the bedroom, John at the heels.

As I enter the room, I find Sherlock sound asleep in the bed, on his back. The boys haven’t bothered with the sheets, so I cover him up with a blanket. I sit down carefully on the bed with the help of John, wincing every once and a while because of the pain. I lift my feet up to the bed gently, trying not to disturb my stomach anymore as he pulls out a suture kit and painkillers. I then turn to Sherlock, fix his head on pillow and stroke his head of curls, a bit greasy. I take a deep, knowing what I have to do, that I must check but its daunting. I exhale and get on with it, grabbing his arm and pulling up his sleeves. Fuck. His arm is riddled with needle scars. Too much to even count. Fuck. I look over at John who’s also staring. He’s getting angry just looking at it, so with a sigh, I cover up his arm again and gently place it back on his side. Looking back at John, he’s still staring at the arm.

‘Hey’ snapping him out of his thoughts. He looks me in the eyes, livid at how his friend is treating himself. I lift up my shirt and he diverts his gaze to my side, peeling off the pads and checking on the wound. He’s awfully silent as he puts on a pair of gloves and opens the suture kit. He remembers the painkillers though, so he covers the wound back up temporarily and gets a syringe he’s laid out and sticks it to the bottle.

‘They had horrible pain killers’ I try fill the quiet room with humour, but the hospital did have horrible meds. His features soften when he looks at me, tapping the syringe as I remove the sleeve of the cardigan. He finds a vain before sticking the needle in to give me some relief.

‘Those are good. They the one the nurse gave you?’ I ask. He nods as he goes back to the hole on my stomach. He stitches me up after sticking another needle around the area to numb it -a whole lot better than before because I can’t even feel the wound-. He’s pulling rather aggressively on the needle and while I can’t feel it, I don’t appreciate his way of releasing his anger on my skin.

‘John, If you are to keep doing that, I’m kicking you out.’ He glances back up at me and he mutters an apology before continuing his work, gently this time.

‘I’ll make him pee in a jar, just let him sleep.’ I say glancing back at Sherlock. He just looks exhausted, I’m exhausted but I want nothing more than to hold him in my arms and run my fingers through his curls but if I do that now he’ll wrap himself around me and I don’t think John would appreciate getting interrupted from his work.

‘This is worse than Mary’ I merely murmured, barely audible but it seems John heard. I run a hand up my face, leaning back, letting out a breath as John looks from me to Sherlock.

‘It could have been much more worse if you didn’t wake up’ he looks back down to finish the sutures as I look at him. He’s right of course, he always is with these things.

‘That’s it? I expected a lecture, or you be mad about me leaving the hospital.’

‘Oh, I am mad, just there’s no point of it is there when you don’t give a damn and will do what ever the hell you want anyway’ he ties of the last stitch and grabs some gauze to cover. My lips curl up into a grin knowing he is once again right about that. I hold the gauze as he tapes it up before putting another bandage just in case. He finishes and starts to clean up his things.

‘Thank you, John. I’m really really grateful for all that you’ve done. All the things everybody’s done.’ I beam.

‘That’s it? I expected a lecture or you livid’ he humours, repeating what I said just moments before with his own twist.

‘Oh, I am. But I get it, I would have done the same with you lot, but It’s done and just thank you.’ I admit, though I still want to be cross, I get it. They care.

‘He needs you; you know. More than you know. He lost it after you didn’t wake up when they took you off the meds for the coma. You’ve somewhat replaced his high from the drugs with your own and the probable thought and loss of it just scared him, so he resorted back to the old habit.’ He explained. I take in his deduction of his best mate with the only thought bearing through the surface is that he right. The Sherlock I know now is very different from the one I met all those years ago. That hard robotic exterior now has a beating heart. He cares more than he will want to admit but he really does.

I look at mop head beside me and beam. Since John is done with tending to my wounds, I roll my shirt back down and finally let the sleeping detective wrap himself around me. He does as soon as I placed a hand on his cheek, he rolls over to my side, draping an arm over my ribs and pulling me close like he’s always done, enveloping my side with his warmth, his head snuggling and hiding itself on the crook of my neck.

I’ve spent years thinking nobody gave a damn about me. Thinking no one cares if I was dead or not. Never have I ever been more pleased to be proven wrong. All those years alone, holed up, thinking I served no purpose to this world, ready to lose what I thought was a useless life only to be brought up the wide and bright opening and end of the cornucopia. I have friends, who will stay at my bedside just to make sure I wasn’t alone when I wake up from a gunshot. A god daughter, who’s laugh brightens up the darkest shadows cast upon us, who’s lost enough people in her few years in this rock. And a partner, fiancée, who’s meant more to me and evidently, I to him than more than we both ever thought possible. We’d be lost without each other, there’s enough evidence to prove it.

I gaze back at John, eyes getting a bit droopy, I’m surprised my mind has been making long hard thoughts. He’s just standing there, staring. Creepy admittedly, but also lovingly. Sentimental, possibly thinking of Mary.

‘Hey’ I say softly, breaking him out of his thoughts. ‘Go home. Sleep. Stay if you want tea from Mrs. Hudson but go home afterwards. Take the two if they’re still here. I’m going to sleep, just give Rosie a kiss for me and make everyone get some rest. Thank you again for staying with me at the hospital. Leave the mess, I’ll get it sorted.’ I instruct before a yawn escapes me. He looks back at the detective snuggled up at my side.

‘I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.’

‘And who taking care of you, he’s not the only one I’m worried about at the moment.’

‘I’ve got you lot now don’t I. I’ll phone you if I need anything. Right now, I just want to shut my eyes for a bit.’ I give him droopy smile, sleep really wanting to overcome my body. He bids his last warnings to take caution with my wounds and I wave him goodbye and goodnight. He nods and leaves the room, while I nestle myself better in the detective. His grip tightens and he nuzzles himself closer to my neck as I slowly drift off.

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock angst #bbc sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock fanfic

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moxfirefly · 3 years

Note

B D J O V for Donnie, Karl and Alcina? (yes I am in love, no I dont have regrets uwu)

My 3 loves? Well why not! And pls enjoy the ficlet styles I’m going to opt for when doing dirty secrets! This is a little long so is going under the cut.

🩸🍷Alcina Dimitrescu🩸🍷

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and on the other)

A bit of an odd one here but she loves backs, like your actual back. The line of your spine, if you have those back dimples, ufff. She loves the shape of it if you’re on the more curvier side, she loves the skin, and your rolls, and any stretch marks. Just picture that elegant hand of hers ghosting over your back, nails maybe even claws.

On herself, well Alcina is aware of her assets and she’s very aware of her chest, both she’s quite proud of but she’s really proud of her figure over all.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There was a pretty seamstress in the village who always was brought up to the castle to help with her dresses. She was a pretty thing in Alcina’s eyes, very much her type. When your making or fixing or measuring a tailor made outfit for a 9ft+ woman well it gets tricky and a little more handsy than usual. Alcina didn’t mind, the seamstress didn’t either. It was interesting following simple commands even if they were asked upon her with nothing but grace and poise.

So as Alcina sat for the 40th time to have something around her neck marked to be fixed, she had to stand between her legs to best approach and see the mistake. Only sitting did she have the best chance at seeing her at a more eye to eye level (well as best as it could be).

She isn’t dumb, she knows curiosity, want and lust like the back of her hand. Sees the nervous swallow of the seamstress whenever hands glide across her chest. The whispered ‘pardon my lady’ when she rests a palm on Alcina’s throat and takes a needle to the neckline with all the gentleness she can muster. Of course it’s the moment to prick her finger, the quiet hiss and scent is enough to alert Alcina and without waiting for her to fuss she takes that bleeding digit and kisses it, tastes the bead of blood, all while looking straight at her. When she still sees lust there, oh does she pull her closer.

One of her maids walks in about twenty minutes later, an array of materials in her arms so she doesn’t quite catch how the Lady of the castle smooths her dress and tries not to laugh, chest heaving a little and legs closing a tad. The maid greets her with her usual honorifics before leaving the requested materials, she notices the seamstress isn’t there and arches a brow at the room. “Lavatory” is all Alcina says before the maid makes a question. She nods but feels something isn’t right with the current picture but still leaves.

Once gone.

The seamstress crawls out from under Alcina’s skirt, mouth shiny, hair disheveled and nice set of teeth marks at her bosom.

It becomes a frequent thing after that.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

It’s not to say she needs to because she sincerely feels she has anybody at her beck and call who is willing ready and able. But on the rare occasion she indulges in some self care, it’s mostly in her luxurious tub. Feeling the warm water, her hair clean and smelling of that weeks chosen fragrance, well it gets her thinking and thinking leads desiring and if there isn’t anybody she’ll handle it. Slow, she loves drawing out her own pleasure, loves to feel that rise but stops before it’s too close. She’ll do that, edge herself a little bit more before biting down on her lip to muffle a more particular louder cry.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Both. She lives for giving it and she loves to receive it. She is just, wow, so incredibly good at it, she’s goes about it in such erotic and passionate way and if you’re not looking like you are being possessed by the devil then she up’s her game to make sure that happens. You can squeeze her head with your thighs all you want, she’s built different lol she can handle it. Don’t yank to much on her hair though, claw at her all you want but easy on the do.

She’s had a few inexperienced lovers which she has to guide when they want to go down on her. She’s very particular of what and how she likes it, but she’s patient enough to teach you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

I’ll do you one better, https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMRSKhUoh/

⚙️Heisenberg⚙️

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and on the other)

https://hagelpaimon.tumblr.com/post/661063110466158592/i-wonder-wonder-who-ill-pick-hesi-baby-a

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) shout out to @imthegreenfairy88 for helping me out with this one.

The first few times he indulged in this he was very adamant in keeping it to himself and to himself only (with time and reassurance he chills out) but the first time he tried doing ‘back door’ stuff on himself he was very surprised about how good it fucking felt and every so often he indulged in it. There’s an occasion where he ends up in bed with some tourist, gun to his head he doesn’t remember their name but he sure fucking remember the blow job and fingering combo that they gave him that had him seeing fucking stars. He tensed up at first was about to say something but they crooked their fingers just right and swallowed his cock at the same time and words were out the window along with thoughts.

He was so far gone that it didn’t cross his mind that when he begged for another finger, he gave himself away and if their eyes weren’t indication of how delighted they had been, feeling two more additional fingers really proved the point.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

I mean I’m saying yea, he has to get creative with it sometimes so as to not get bored, but he picks up a few things he enjoys (he is creative after all) he’s definitely ruined his fair share of pillows, loves rutting into them. He has beat off probably in any section of the factory but shower is better for clean up. He for sure has done it outside of the factory, probably relaxing on a chair and if the weather is nice enough, it’s not like anybody is gonna suddenly drop by. He likes a tight closed fist when he’s close but enjoys a teasing touch to start things off, really enjoys grabbing his balls when he does it. Very messy messy boy when he cums.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

This man blows you like his life depends on it. VERY sloppy but it’s really hot, it’s how eager he is about it and how willing he is to suffocate and or choke on it. He’s told you to sit on his face multiple times at multiple moments of the day. He loves the taste of you, loves feeling suffocated by your thighs. You know what they about big noses too 🥴🥴

As for receiving he likes to dish out what he takes. So expect some rough mouth fucking, he will make you gag, he will make you all teary eyed cause he enjoys it. He’s fine with it without to be honest, he much prefers to be balls deep in you but if you enjoy doing it then expect hip thrusting.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Not super loud, but he isn’t mute. He groans and moans but he’s also a talker so expect a lot dirty talk. His voice drops in a way when he’s fucking you that it makes your toes curl. He’s all breathy pants when he’s close. Lots and lots of cuss words.

👾Donnie💜

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and on the other)

https://hagelpaimon.tumblr.com/post/661063462078889985/b-body-part-their-favourite-body-part-of-theirs

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes the taste of his own cum.

He denies it, really denies it, just says it’s his way of cleaning you up after a nice romp but he really has a way of proving the opposite. Donnie has ‘finished’ on you in every way shape or form. On your stomach, back, face etc you name and each time he has cleaned you up he’s either wiped it up and sucked on his fingers or he’s just full blown licked it off of you.

And there is something so disgustingly erotic about that you haven’t or don’t want to call him out on it. You’ve gone down on his multiple times and he very eager to kiss you after your done. One time you purposefully left some on your chin and lips to see if he’d clean it up first but nah, kissed the heck out of you. His favorite is cumin in you and then going down on you. The first time he did that, it was enough to make your toes curl till they cracked and just as you were about to say something he was yanking another orgasm from you. The combined taste of his and yours release? Fuck now that was his favorite.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Does it and does it often. He’s not prudish about it, it’s free oxytocin and for a guy who’s convinced he’s never gonna get a shot at being with somebody physically, might as well practice some self love.

Loves visual stimulation but he’s really into audio stimuli. Likes those audios where he feels he’s there with the person or the ones where they give instructions. Donnie is really into edging and if he’s got the time and privacy he can literally edge himself for a couple of hours. Has at times managed hands free orgasms. Has made cock sleeves or basically fleshlights (ah ingenuity), can have his moments where he’s super slow and teasing about it, light strokes and all that. Can also have moments where he basically fucks his fist to the point of making some pretty obscene wet noises. If listening to audios or watching videos he really loves trying to cum at the same time as the person in the vid or audio. Has a bottle of lotion right on the desk but that shit is so cluttered with stuff that nobody has picked up on it and honestly it’s kinda funny.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

GIVE GIVE GIVE.

Oh my lord is he OBSESSED with giving oral. It’s such a big turn on for him. He just loves how intimate it is, he loves how he’s giving you pleasure in such an intimate position. LOVES over stimulating with his mouth, loves feeling thighs trying to break his head, happy to die down the suffocated in his favorite place, loves feeling a hand at the back of his head and pushing him in further.

He’s not crazy about receiving cause he knows his size is a challenge but he’s not opposed to it, he much rather get a hand job from you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Loud and not afraid about it. He enjoys the fuck out of it and is going to be vocal about it unless it’s adamant to be quiet because people are around. His churrs are really nice, deep but not as baritone as say Raph’s, but they feel and sound so good.

#tmnt bayverse #re8 village #donnie #heisenberg #alcina dimitrescu #lady d #lady dimitrescu #tmnt Donatello #Karl Heisenberg #lord heisenberg #tmnt Donnie #Donatello #ns*w alphabet #ask #dianounais

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littlemisssquiggles · 4 years

Note

i now a lot off ppl n the fndm dont like rg caz they think there a big difference btween a 15 year old an a 17 year old but i think that ppl overlook that oscar smart 4 his age and i wouldn't be shocked if like ruby he got to skip a few grades but i get the feeling other would still see rg as a problem even if oscar was the same age as ruby or even if it was 2 year age gap and it was just a year or a few months

*insert the world’s longest exasperated groan right here* With all due respect anon-chan but…I really don’t want to get into the whole 2 year age difference with Rosegarden topic again since, pardon my language here, but I am honestly fucking tired of seeing it as a legit popular complaint against the ship.

Mind you, this has nothing to do with you, fam. I’m not lashing out at you personally.

It’s just that regarding the topic at hand, I’m just REALLY, REALLY fed up of seeing this dead horse being beaten repeatedly by all the antis who make it their mission to constantly harp on Rosegarden and its shipping community for it.

Oscar and Ruby are two years apart. If Ruby just turned 17 as of V7 then surely Oscar is on the cusp of turning 15 at some point, probably closer to V9 or so. If we’re looking in terms of grades---well I’m from Trinidad and Tobago and our education system actually reflects more of the British school system where instead of grades with pre-school, elementary school, junior high school, high school and then college/university, what we have is pre-school, primary school, secondary school and then university will be our tertiary form of education, more or less.

At their current ages from the show, if Ruby and Oscar were in my country, they will both be in secondary school. At age 14 going on 15, Oscar will be in Form 3 (and entering the stage where he is supposed to be choosing subjects for CXC exams) whereas Ruby will be in Form 5 (getting ready to take the CXC exams).

Either way, Oscar will be in Form 3 and Ruby will be Form 5. Ruby will be two forms higher than Oscar. That still doesn’t erase the fact that they are still only two years apart. Just 2 and ONLY TWO.

Do you want to know why I absolutely despise the two year age gap argument against Rosegarden anon-chan?

Because it’s all completely hypocritical. It is hypocritical that certain-certain folks take such strong issue with the 2-year age gap when it comes to the Rosegarden pair but are perfectly fine with it when it comes to the more FNDM-favoured pairs such as Whiterose, Lancaster and Nuts and Dolts. Particularly Whiterose since that is the ship that people seem to THINK Rosegarden is fighting a shipping war against when in actuality, as a Rosegardener, I could care fucking less about entertaining any foolish nonsensical shipping war with anyone.

Again, pardon my use of profanity here. That’s just to express how much I am done with this shit and hearing about it when it comes to my favourite RWBY ship.

While Ruby may be two years older than Oscar, she is also two years younger than Weiss, Jaune and Penny. It’s the same age difference no matter how you spin it. Yet it’s a case where the age gap is only problematic for one ship while being fine for another and that’s the contradiction that irks me.

And y’know what else? You’re actually right about your last statement. The problem that certain-certain folks have with RG ISN’T even about the age difference. It isn’t the real issue and don’t think for one millisecond that it is. Because regardless of whether or not, Oscar was only one year younger than Ruby or one year older than Ruby or even the same age as Ruby---it wouldn’t really matter to certain-certain folks since the issue isn’t really about the age of the characters.

The REAL issue is that certain-certain folks just don’t want Ruby to end up with OSCAR. These people ship Ruby with someone else particularly a certain-certain snow angel, who according to them, has known Ruby longer than Oscar and therefore is entitled to end up with Ruby over him.

Yes, I shit you not, that is an actual claim that I’ve heard against Rosegarden in favour of another certain-certain ship…despite the show never really portraying that particular relationship to be romantic of any kind.

Bottom-line, certain-certain folks feel threatened by the RG ship since the showrunners seem to kinda, sorta, maybe, most likely want to develop the relationship between Ruby and Oscar beyond a friendship or at least they wish to hone in on pushing Ruby’s connection to this our little freckled farm boy to be a lot deeper than the relationship she has with other character and to those certain-certain folks, that’s a problem for them because in their heads, they want the showrunners to only focus on Ruby hooking up with their favoured partner for her…regardless of the series never really portraying that relationship they like to be romantic of any kind.

And THAT is the TRUE conundering conundrum we are in as Rosegardeners. Dealing with these certain-certain folks and their shit.

I’m sorry anon-chan but for future reference (and that goes for anyone else who might be reading this response post) do you mind not bringing up the so-called age gap issue with Rosegarden to me please ^^);

I’m fine with other topics just not this one since I’ve had enough. In the past, I’ve answered similar questions and inbox messages on this same topic and I’ve honestly reached a point where I no longer wish to discuss it at all on my blog.

It’s nothing against you or anyone else who may still wish to talk about this subject. This squiggle meister and squiggly Rosegardening Pinehead just doesn’t want to anymore since…how many times as a Rosegardener do I have to repeat the same information and set the record straight for the same none-troversey as Red Letter Media would put it.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with the Rosegarden pair and wanting to see them be endgame as an adorkable young couple. Certainly not because of their age difference.

Because if Ruby and Oscar can’t be an “alleged” couple because they are two years apart then neither can Ruby get together with Weiss, Jaune or Penny since the gap is the same.

I don’t even want to hear anyone dare mention the Ozpin issue since that’s been debunked too in the show in the Lost Fable episode from V6. So really there are no real arguments that anyone can make against RG that hasn’t already been debunked by a) the fans who pay more attention to the development of the pair in the story than the antis, b) the showrunners and/or c) the actual story in the series.

So the people who keep making a hullabaloo about it---making the same ole noise over the same ole things honestly need to stop. They are embarrassing themselves at this point and it sickens me to see their half-hearted arguments and claims against RG pop up on the tags on social media when I’m trying to enjoy my ship.

Or rather, I’d just need to stop listening to anything the antis say which I have. Or at least I’m trying to. This round for V8, I don’t know about other Rosegardeners, but I want to avoid the discourse like Neo in the Matrix.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

#squiggles answers: rwby #oscar pine #oscar and ruby #rwby rosegarden #Anon-ninja #squiggles answers

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hongism · 4 years

Text

wintertime antics - k. seokjin

➻ pairing: seokjin x reader

➻ wc: 964

➻ genre: crack, fluff

➻ rating: pg & sfw

➻ warnings: i dont think there’s any ._.

➻ summary: you think life on the farm is always a bit more interesting with kim seokjin in it. even if he did steal your chickens. twice. maybe it wasn’t his fault the second time. you still blame him though.

➻ @jinterlude asked:

OKAY CALZONE! I WOULD LIKE TO REQUEST SEOKJIN + VODKA + AND ADD SOME STARDEW VALLEY INTO IT. Please and thank you! ;-;

➻ a/n: MISS KIMCHI she’s done uwu, i hope you enjoy :3 i had a ton of fun writing your request uwu you’re so cyoot, also dedicated to @hobiance ily and i named a chicken after u

☽ ☾

You sigh for what feels like the hundredth time today. The sun beats down on your skin, but the chill in the air cancels out the heat from it’s rays. Winter has set in, which means your fields are stagnant for the season. It also means having to buy wheat for your animals at an increased price since you can’t grow it at the same rate you usually would in the other seasons.

That, however, is not the issue you are currently faced with. No, it is an issue thanks to your neighbor – Kim Seokjin. Ever since the man moved in, you two have not seen eye to eye on anything. You consider yourself a serious and dedicated farmer, whereas Kim Seokjin seems to be anything but. Sure, his crops seem to grow faster than yours and the quality is always ten times better than yours, but that is beside the point. You cannot stand the man because he keeps stealing your damn chickens. And today, in the middle of winter, he decided to steal your beloved chicken, Elaine.

Why?

Because he loves to prank you.

Why?

Because he’s an asshole with nothing better to do with his life.

And thus, you find yourself standing out in the freezing cold weather, knuckles bearing down against the door of his small cabin. There are a few flecks of snow dancing through the air, signaling a further storm. If Seokjin doesn’t open the damn door right this fu–

Just as you’re thinking the spiteful words, the wooden door swings wide open, revealing your tall and broad-shouldered neighbor. His black hair is pressed against his forehead, and a sheen of sweat lies over his skin. You glare as he greets you with a broad smile.

“Farmer Y/N! Fancy seeing you here in the middle of winter! I was just cooking up some seafood spaghetti. Would you care for some?” He asks through the smile. You see straight through his lies.

“Where’s Elaine?” You get straight to the point, not wanting to hang around any longer than you have to.

“P-Pardon?” Seokjin has the audacity to stutter.

“My chicken. Elaine. I know you know what she looks like, especially since this isn’t the first time you’ve taken her.”

“Oh! That’s Elaine?” Seokjin questions, a small laugh escaping his full lips.

“So you did steal her!”

“Wait, woah, Y/N. Hold on. I didn’t steal Elaine! I swear on my prized cow Bessy and horse Shadow. I didn’t take Elaine. Your coop door was open this morning, and I spotted it so I went over there and closed it. Well, when I closed it the automatic lock triggered, and I obviously don’t have the keys to your coop, so when I spotted Elaine wandering around, I just had to take her here instead. Come inside! Please. Elaine is in here.”

“Do you realize how shady and unreliable your story sounds?” You scoff. You fold your arms over your chest, eyes glaring holes into Seokjin’s form. Despite being much larger than you are, he actually flinches under your gaze. He pushes the door open a little further, revealing the interior of his house.

Sure enough, just past the entryway lies the fluffy, feathered body of a chicken. It must be Elaine, unless Seokjin happens to keep his other chickens in the house like this. You dart inside and snatch the chicken off the ground. She bears Elaine’s signature tuft of feathers at the front of her head. A sigh of relief escapes you.

“Ah, thank god, Elaine. I was worried I had lost you for good this time.”

“You know…” Seokjin starts, coming up behind you. “You might want to repair the chicken wire around your fence. I found a hole in it this morning too, so I’m assuming that’s how Elaine got out.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need help from the likes of you,” you reply as you pull Elaine closer to your chest.

“Oh come on, Y/N. Quit playing around like that. I am genuinely trying to help you. It’s not a prank this time.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“Listen… if I had known how important Elaine was to you, I never would’ve taken her in the first place. I could’ve left her out in the cold or maybe a fox would’ve come by and snatched her before I did. Just let me repair the fence for you. Say it’s – it’s a way to repay you for all the pranks I’ve pulled on you.”

“And why on earth would you want to help me?” You squint at the man, still unconvinced by his argument.

“Well, to be honest, the only reason I would pull pranks on you in the first place is because you’re really cute when annoyed at me. If I didn’t keep pulling pranks then I wouldn’t get to see that cute nose scrunch of yours!”

Seokjin’s words take you aback, and your mouth hangs open as he continues to laugh under his breath. A faint blush decorates his tanned skin. If he were just playing around, you don’t think he would react in such a way, so you are inclined to believe that he’s actually being serious at the moment.

“O-Oh,” you stammer out, unable to manage any actual words. Embarrassment burns at your body, and you pull Elaine closer to you as though she will help defend you from the embarrassment. “Well – well, actually – maybe… hm. Um, I could stay for lunch. Only because it’s pasta though! Don’t take it the wrong way. I don’t care about you, only about the pasta.”

“Of course, of course. I’m assuming Elaine will be joining us at the table? Does she like pasta?”

“Kim Seokjin, you better not even try to feed my chicken pasta!”

☽ ☾

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heyitstam · 4 years

Text

alois trancy x reader - dance for me (lime)

being a traditional dancer was actually really fun. you loved it. getting to wear stunning kimonos with beautiful seasonal motifs on them. around this time of the year you wore a light green kimono with yellow and pink flowers and patterns on it. the sleeves were longer than usual, but not long enough for it to be a furisode.

currently you were on the stage performing, as it was a spring festival. the sun was in the middle of setting, painting the sky in an orange to blue gradient. the crowd was all for your movements, rhythmically chanting ‘asore’s and ‘yoisho’s to the music you danced to. you being head maiden at the shrine, had mastered the art of dance fairly quickly. you often danced with two other maidens, but occasionally you had solos. this was one of those times. and as your father had stated, there was someone special in the crowd watching you today.

earl Alois Trancy. you searched for him with your eyes when you could, careful not to seem like you’re frantically watching out for someone. but you were. you have never had someone of this high royalty watching you before, and to be completely honest, you were nervous. you didn’t have to search for long, he and his jet black butler stood out from the rest of the crowd. you gulped as your eyes landed on him and you acknowledged how young he looked; much younger than what you expected. you assumed he was around your age. finding peace at the thought that it wasn’t some old guy of high nobility that watched you, you continued to dance putting thoughts of Trancy aside.

the dance ended, and you were quickly off to the changing room, wanting to get the warm clothing off of you. you waited for one of the maidens to come help you take the kimono off, fiddling with the sash in the meantime, and changed to your normal clothing. you returned the favour to the kind maiden, and you two headed outside hoping to enjoy the rest of the night by buying sweets and watching fireworks.

you chitchatted light-heartedly as you were walking down the streets looking at all the different stalls. “(L/N), you are so good at dancing,” the girl complimented, “i bet the they loved you!” you didn’t really know how to respond to praise, so you just awkwardly chuckled and thanked her. “ah no, i made so many mistakes! and either way-” you were interrupted by bumping into a stranger. more specifically, into the chest of a stranger. you quickly jumped back and apologized furiously, embarressed at your lack of ability to pay attention to where you are walking.

“i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to..” you yell, waving your hands in front of you waiting for the man to say something. then you realized this was no ordinary man. this was Alois Trancy’s butler. along with Alois. your eyes widened at the sight of him and you bowed, feeling a blush creeping on to your face.

Alois smirked and chuckled. “Claude, apologize to this young lady. she’s clearly too flustered to apologize properly herself,” he laughed, you and your friend just standing there staring at them. the butler - Claude - did just that, he apologized for bumping into you. you were incredibly embarrassed at this point. he readjusted his slick glasses with his middle finger after doing a not-so-steep bow. by this time you regained your composition, and pushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“no, sir, it was my fault. i should’ve watched where i was going. i’m terribly sorry.” you uttered at last. “anyhow, (Y/N), right? i watched you dance earlier. i must say you’re really pretty when dancing. did you know that?,” Alois asks as if nothing had happened. you glanced over at your friend who was as suprised as you were.

“yes, my name is (L/N) (Y/N), sir,” you curtsied, “pleased to meet you. this is my friend,” you stopped talking to give her a chance to introduce herself. “Rika.” by that time she had understood that the boy was someone important, if not by his posh appearance, then by his butler.

“what a beautiful name~” Alois purred, while kissing your hand, more or less ignoring your friend. you blushed at his kindness and actions, but you quickly shoved the thoughts away. “(L/N), i have a proposal for you,” he continued with a smile. you raised an eyebrow at this, curious of what it could be. you glanced at Claude, who had the same serious and stern face he’s had since you met him, and then at Rika, who was equally as perplexed as you.

“w.. what is it, sir?,” you ask, awaiting his answer patiently. “i want you to dance for me. you could be my entertainer or something - i just really want to see you dance, (L/N). it gets so boring at the mansion, with just the triplets and Hannah,” he said, having a smug look on his face. your jaw dropped at this. you? a personal danc- okay wait that sounds weird. “i’ll pay you.” he added, staring intently at you. you honestly didn’t know what to respond, so you just shifted your gaze from his left eye to his right and then back to the left one again. you hadn’t realized his pretty icy-blue eyes before now. you thought hard about the pros and cons of this. first of all you barely knew him. second, you didn’t want to move away from your family, but he will pay you. and your family could really use some extra money.

“well.. i’m not quite sure what my parents will say to-” you tried explaining your situation, but he cut you off, “Claude will take care of that. don’t worry about it.” and with that being said, Claude already took off without you having a chance to stop him.

“but she can’t go! she’s still head maiden here,” Rika tried backing you up, but to no use. “i am sure they will understand. (L/N) got a better opportunity, so why wouldn’t she take it? we’ll be going now,” Alois stated, grabbing your arm and dragging you after him. you didn’t want to cause a scene so you just gave in, giving Rika a ‘don’t worry about it’ expression.

the night that you planned spending with Rika, you actually spent with Alois. Claude didn’t join you for the rest of the night but you assumed he had typical butler business to take care of. you and Alois got to know eachother better and at one point you even forgot that he was an earl - in the moment you only saw him as a boy, as a friend. you even thought he was cute, but you quickly snapped out of it. you had to admit, it was actually fun being with Alois, albeit could be rather dark at times. you even found out that they will be staying for two more days, so you had a little more time to decide if you wanted to leave with him or stay.

“i had a fun night, Alo- i mean sir, it was very enjoyable. i’m afraid i’ll have to leave now, my parents are probably waiting for me,” you said, taking the lollipop Alois bought for you out of your mouth momentarily. “okay, (Y/N)! i hope it’s okay that i call you by your first name. whatever, i don’t really care. i call you whatever i want to call you,” he laughs, “i’ll see you tomorrow,” he smirks and waves as you take your leave.

you enter your house and notice that all the lights were off. your family was already asleep, so you were extra careful not to make too much noise. you knew how angry your father could get when you woke him, but thankfully you got to your room safe. you changed to your sleeping garments and layed down, happily waiting for the sleep to take you so you could meet Alois again.

that night was about two months ago. since that time, you moved to the Trancy manor and have stayed there since. you would write to your parents and friends on the regular, who were supportive and understanding about your situation. now, dancing for Alois was... special. you had grown feelings for him and it even seemed like he liked you back. you were treated better than the other servants (but treated as a pet nonetheless,) and everytime Alois wanted you to dance for him it always ended up with him having his hands all over you. he never actually dared touch you under your clothes and it never got too intimate, but you didn’t mind it either way.

your late evening thoughts were abrubtly cut off by Claude knocking on your door. you allow him to enter. “miss (Y/N), His Highness wants to talk with you.” he says, pushing his glasses up. you raise an eyebrow, “talk with me? have i done something wrong?,” you ask rhetorically, “guess i’ll have to find out myself.”

thoughts are racing through your head as you imagine all the situations that can take place in a few minutes. you were nervous to say the least. you could feel a droplet of sweat trickle down your neck as you found yourself infront of Alois’ door. you gulped heavily before knocking on the door.

“come in,” you could hear on the other side. and so you did. you opened the room finding Alois sitting on the bed with his usual purple coat beside him. you closed the door behind you and adjusted your skirt. “am i in trouble, sir?” you cant help but ask. Alois smirks, as always, and shakes his head childishly. “no, (Y/N). i need to ask you something.” he answers. you were puzzled. ask me? ask me what? before you could reply, he continued. “(Y/N), be honest. do you, by any chance, like me?” you stood there for a few seconds, taking in what he just asked you. you felt your face heating up, but there was nothing you could do about it. “pardon?” you mutter, in a quiet voice just loud enough for him to hear you. “you heard me, dont act dumb.” his voice got more serious and his expression changed to an impatient, annoyed one. “i..” you start, but your voice faded away as you lost the courage you had gained on your way to his room. he sighs. “i take that as a yes. after all, you’ve never stopped me from touching you, have you? and ontop of that you do seem to be enjoying yourself whenever i do.” he regains his usual smirk. as you hear him say that your head perks up and the blush grew more intense. you just stutter, not knowing what to say. how humiliating. “don’t worry, (Y/N). i don’t mind it. in fact, it’s quite charming.” he stood up from the bed, not breaking the eye contact he had with you. he loosened his bowtie a little and licked his lips as he made his way across the room to you. you could feel more sweat drip down your neck and face and for every step he took towards you, you took one back. until you eventually reached the door behind you. Alois was now right infront of you, manically smiling. he put his hands on either side of your head, pinning you to the door. he stared into your eyes. you were a tad bit scared, as you had never done anything like this before. your heart raced wildly as you stood there awaiting for what was next.

he cupped your left cheek with his right hand, stroking it with his thumb. you closed your eyes, taking in the affection but opened them again as soon as you felt his thumb brush over your lips. you were surprised. you could hear him giggle quietly at your expression. “i’ll make you mine, (Y/N).” he whispered huskily into your ear. you didn’t have time to react as he closed the distance between you two, his soft, glossy lips on yours. your eyes widened at the contact but you soon melted into the kiss, trying your best to keep up with him, but you failed and he established dominance over you. his tongue was now inside your mouth, dancing with yours and you wrapped your hands around his chest, pulling him closer.

there weren’t too many words said that night as things escalated quickly between you two. about hour or so later you found yourself in his king sized bed with your clothes who knows where. Alois layed beside you, panting ever-so-slightly, staring into your eyes lovingly. he pulled your body into his, your face in his chest, and you wrap your arms around him tightly. you two layed like that for what seemed an eternity, until he finally broke the silence.

“(Y/N), promise you won’t leave me. ever.” his voice turned melancholically sad, and you swore you could hear the tiniest crack in his voice. and if it weren’t for the darkness in the room you could’ve perhaps even seen a tear in his eye.

“i would never. i promise,” you whisper back, and with that answer he tightened his grip around you. and then the sleep engulfed you.

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emybain · 5 years

Text

Renegades Titanic AU: Part 4

sis may be sick posting this but I got a break today from the madness and I’ve been itching to post the next part since like Wednesday so here she is. I was going to write more but figured it would be better splitting up this part and the next part bc this would've been a lot longer since the next part will have a lot of stuff going on. also, go watch the hecking movie if you haven't already please I dont want to spoil but I also love this au and its my current obsession okay

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4: The Next Day

Nova

“I’ve been on my own since I was six, when my family died.” Nova tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the wind picked up. “Well, not technically on my own…” she trailed off, fixing her eyes on the horizon. She didn’t want to mention the other’s names, especially Ace’s, in front of Adrian, due to their circumstances.

“With the Anarchists?” Adrian piped up, looking down at her. They were strolling along the first class deck, Nova feeling out of place in her old shirt and hand-me-down suspenders among the beautifully dressed ladies. Adrian had sought her out that afternoon after lunch and invited her on a walk along the deck, to which Nova accepted, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. Now, it was nearing late afternoon, and they had made a few laps around the ship.

Nova shot him a bewildered look, but laughed. “Anarchists? Is that what you call us?”

Adrian blushed. Nova bit her lip, ignoring how adorable he looked. “Um...yeah, I guess. Because of their crimes.” She noticed how he didn’t include her in with them. Huh.

Nova said nothing in reply, remaining silent. They stayed like that for a bit, until Nova forced herself to speak again. She was bothered by last night's events, and felt it necessary to address them properly.

“I want to thank you, Mr. Everhart-”

“Adrian,” he interrupted, before coughing awkwardly. “Sorry. But please, call me Adrian.”

“Adrian,” Nova nodded, his name feeling weird on her tongue, “thank you for saving me last night.” Nova looked down at her hands. “And also thank you for your discretion about what really happened.”

Adrian stopped, so she did as well. He turned to face her. “Of course, Miss McLain. If you don’t mind my asking, what made you think you had no choice?”

Now it was Nova’s turn to blush. She tore her eyes from Adrian’s, despite enjoying gazing up at them, and made her way to the railing overlooking the ocean. She turned back around and leaned against it, hugging herself.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She risked a glance up at him. His eyebrows were furrowed together. She looked back down. “How can someone who causes pain be in pain herself?” She laughed humorlessly.

Adrian took a hesitant step forward. “No, that’s not what I was thinking at all. And besides, you're not the one causing people pain. They are.” The way he said they, with so much hostility, sent a shiver down Nova’s spine. He had no idea just how much she had done, how much destruction and pain was on her hands. How Nightmare was the most wanted criminal in Europe.

Nova pursed her lips. Deep down she knew she shouldn’t open up to him; he was a stranger, one of them. But his eyes were so kind, so filled with concern. Surely, since he had kept her secret last night from everyone, he could keep another. It wasn’t like he would rush down to third class to tell Honey or Leroy or Ingrid, either.

Her arms tightened around her middle. “It’s just…” she swallowed. “It was everything, I suppose. And everyone. There’s this pressure to be what they want me to be, and-and I don’t know if I can do it. You know, not once have they asked me what I want. It’s always been about their needs and desires. I’m barely seventeen and it’s like the weight of the world has crashed down upon my shoulders and I’m powerless to lift it up.”

“That’s some serious stuff.” Adrian quirked his lips up, drawing Nova’s eyes to them. She looked away immediately. “That much stress would have dragged you to the bottom for sure.”

She knew he was trying to be lighthearted, possibly for her sake, but all she could do was hum in reply. “I have until this boat docks to figure out how I’m supposed to make them proud, but I’m frightened of failing.

“Do you care about them?”

Nova’s head shot up. “Pardon me?”

Adrian repeated the question, crossing his arms over his chest.

Nova blinked at him, stammering. “That’s...that’s very rude. Not exactly a question you should be asking me.”

Adrian shrugged. “It’s a simple question, Miss McLain. Do you care about them?”

She pushed herself away from the railing, a laugh bursting from her lips. “It’s an inappropriate question for someone of your rank and mine.”

“Why is it so hard to answer the question?” He smiled, but it was confused.

“We are not having this conversation,” Nova said firmly, looking around them as people passed. “You are rude and presumptuous, and now I’m leaving.” She reached out to shake his hand, which he accepted. “Adrian...Mr. Everhart, it’s been a pleasure.” Although her tone said otherwise. “I have thanked you, and-”

“Insulted me.” Adrian grinned. Nova’s teeth clenched. Of course he found it amusing. He would probably recount the whole conversation to his little friend group later. Nova knew she should have just kept her mouth shut. Now she was paying for it.

“You deserved it.” Nova looked down at the book-type thing he had been carrying around with him all afternoon, and frowned. She had noticed it earlier, but thought nothing of it. Now, though, she could see how he carried it close to him as if it were important. She let go of his hand, which she had still been shaking, and reached out for it, snatching it before he could pull back. “What is this stupid thing you’ve been carrying around, anyway?”

Adrian did nothing, said nothing, only watched calmly as she peeked inside at its contents. The outside was made of fine leather, soft against Nova’s hands. Her head tilted. “What are you, an artist?” Flipping through each page, Nova slowly made her way to one of the lounge chairs near her, sitting down. “These are rather good.” In her peripheral vision, she saw Adrian sit down next to her, watching her closely. Her cheeks reddened. “They’re very good, in fact. I didn’t know rich people could have talent.” Only a second later did she realize that that probably wasn’t the best thing she could have said. Now she was the rude one.

He drew a lot of people. She recognized some of his friends she had seen the night before, drawn quite often. She also recognized his parents. There were others, too. A mother with her child, children in a park with a dog. As she kept flipping, she noticed the same face of a young woman, who, unlike the others, was posing for her picture.

“You like this lady,” Nova observed, admiring every detail of the drawing she was currently viewing. “Were the two of you-”

“Oh, no.” Adrian chuckled nervously, and one peek at him confirmed he was blushing. Nova smiled. “She had beautiful hands, you see? He turned that paper over to another one, of the same lady, and pointed to her hands. “Also, she was around a lot when we were in Paris, the daughter of an old friend of my father. Very kind, but also very demanding about getting her portrait done.”

Nova hummed, the smile still resting on her face as she looked at Adrian. “You have a gift, Adrian. These are exquisite. You see people as they are, and not what they portray themselves to be.”

Adrian met her eyes, his own softening. “I see you, Miss McLain.”

Nova’s heart skipped. “A-and?”

“I don’t think you would have jumped last night.”

__________

They talked for a while after that, and Nova found herself enjoying the company of Adrian Everhart, son of her enemies. It wasn’t like talking to one of the others. No, he actually paid attention to her, hanging onto every syllable that came from her lips and never once interrupting. It had been so long since Nova had spoken to someone of her own age, but she also had a feeling she enjoyed talking to him for more reasons that just that.

She learned that he had travelled a lot when he was a child, before his mother passed away. And even when he was adopted, his dads took him everywhere with them. He, unlike her, had seen the world. He had even mentioned how he and his friends would often travel alone when they wanted to.

“I wish I could do that.” Nova sighed, gazing at the sunset before them. They were standing side by side at a railing, elbows barely brushing. “Just leave whenever I please without a care in the world.” Quietly, she added, “It must be nice having money.”

Adrian drew back slightly. “Actually, we try not to spend too much money when we travel, at least my friends and I do.” His cheeks reddened. “We only recently came into a great deal of money, and frankly, none of us are used to it.”

Clearly your parents are, Nova wanted to say, but she bit it back and swallowed it. As far as she could tell, Adrian was being honest, and he had seemed uncomfortable whenever she brought up the subject of wealth. Even the way he dressed, which was much more modest than the rest of the first class gentlemen, showed how he must not have liked his wealth.

“Say we travel somewhere together, even just in theory,” Nova mused, forcing a smile on her face. “Like, oh I don’t know, the beach.”

“That’s oddly specific.” Adrian’s grin returned, warming Nova inside. “Let’s do it.”

“Really?” Nova perked up, although she couldn’t quite place why.

“Yeah.” Adrian nodded specifically. “We can go with Oscar, Ruby, and Danna as well. You’d love them, trust me. They aren’t like the rest of first class. We’d go to one of those piers with rollercoasters, drink cheap beer, walk along the beach, watch the sunset...” He trailed off. Nova thought of his friends, who, like him, didn’t exactly fit the first class stereotype when it came to looks, based on what she had seen the previous night.

“I’d like that. Very much, in fact.” And she meant it. Never in her life had she been allowed to just have fun, to be young. It was always study more to outsmart the Renegades, train harder to beat them, do this and do that to be one step ahead of them with the promise of their downfall. Revenge, revenge, revenge, had been implanted into her mind since her family was murdered, and had been watered carefully by Ace and Phobia and Winston and Ingrid and Leroy and Honey over roughly ten years.

“Screw everything,” she blurted out suddenly. Adrian blinked, surprised. She looked at him, a new excitement blossoming in her chest. “This world is a mess. The people in it are a mess. Fuck all of it.”

Adrian looked like he was about to laugh, but he made a frantic shushing sound. “Lower your voice, people are looking.”

“I don’t care.” Nova smiled widely at the sunset. “Let them hear. Fuck. Everything.”

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. They both turned, and Nova’s eyes widened. It was the Council, and they didn’t look the least bit happy to see Nova with Adrian. Somehow, that made Nova happy. Not far behind them were Adrian’s friends, attempting to catch up once they saw Adrian.

“Dad, Pops.” Adrian’s voice suddenly took on a slight strain. “You remember Miss McLain from last night?” Both of his dads nodded and acknowledged Nova with the same iciness from the previous night. Adrian introduced her to the others, who were kind if only out of politeness. When she was introduced to his friends, however, she was greeted with real smiles.

The dinner bell rang then, and Nova was instantly reminded that she was to join all of them tonight. Fear erupted inside her.

Adrian seemed to remember as well. “We should go get ready, right, Father?” He walked over to Hugh Everhart and the others, then turned back to Nova. “I’ll see you at dinner, Miss McLain?” There was so much hope in his eyes that any excuse Nova was about to make up dissipated. She swallowed and nodded, watching as he walked away with his dads and the rest of the Council. His friends, however, stayed behind.

One of them, Danna, she remembered, snapped her fingers in front of Nova’s face, drawing her attention from Adrian’s retreating figure.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Danna asked, concern in her eyes. Nova bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly losing her confidence she had previously had with Adrian. These were his friends, she reminded herself. She could trust them.

“Not really, Miss Bell.” Nova shook her head.

Danna’s lips quirked up. “It’s okay to call me Danna, you know. Miss Bell is a little too formal for my taste.”

“The same goes for me,” Ruby piped up, all smiles. “And I’m sure for Oscar as well.”

“Of course.” Oscar nodded. “Although, Mr. Silva does have a ring to it.”

“What are you planning on wearing?” Danna brought back the conversation to where it began. She looked Nova up and down, not out of distaste, but critically. When Nova gestured to what she was currently wearing, seeing as she had nothing better, Ruby shook her head.

“Oh, sweetheart, no, no, no.” She reached forward and touched Nova’s elbow lightly. Nova jumped from the contact. “You’re going to need something more than that.” Ruby shared a look with Danna, and then they both linked arms with Nova.

“C’mon.” Ruby pulled her along. “We’ll make sure you shine tonight.”

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #nova artino #Adrian everhart #Oscar silva #danna bell #ruby tucker #anarchists #my writing

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robinskalechip · 5 years

Text

home - chapter thirteen

robin buckley x reader

a/n: this one’s a tough one, also idk why i keep putting “x reader” even though i’m literally inserting a whole character into stranger things but oh well

warnings: homophobia, death, suicidal themes, language, smoking, drugs, abuse, blood, alcohol

masterlist

not my gif!

this chapter is mainly revolved around sofia

chapter thirteen - your love terrifies me

sofia was laying on the couch, eyes closed, completely unaware of the physical constructs around her

robin felt concerned “how exactly does this work”

mike turned to her “basically el will be able to see some of her most emotionally draining events from her life and then the last one is supposed to be her current biggest fear”

eleven was sat in front of the television with her blindfold on, concentrating

everyone around watched in anticipation

robin was internally acknowledging how sweet sofia was. she knew she didn’t talk about her past but the fact that she was about to make herself vulnerable for the sake of el made her feel warm.

the tv began to trip out as it rapidly switched from channel to channel on its own until stopping. on the screen, everyone could see a house its all from el’s point of view as she walks through it all

steve seemed a bit taken back and robin took notice, “that’s her house, well, her old house”

on the screen a car drove up, it was sofia’s car

a young sofia exited the car, dufflebag in hand. she was wearing a hawkins high track uniform and a varsity jacket.

the sixteen year old sofia walked into her home as el quickly followed behind

a man and a woman sat on a couch together, looking at the girl angrily

the man spoke “che diavolo c'è di sbagliato con te”

everyone was confused except robin. steve turned to her and asked what he said.

“he asked her what was wrong with her”

the man continued as the woman next to him looked at her feet, “jarod chiamato. mi ha raccontato di te e di maria”

robin translated, “he got a call from a guy named jarod and he told him about sofia and some girl named maria”

steve helped her understand “maria was her best friend, she went to boarding school a little after sofia left”

sofia looked scared “wait wait it’s not what you think-“

the man got up and walked towards the young sofia and slapped her across the face, making her head turn. el could see her face, her face now red and her eyes watering as the man began to push her towards the door, the woman getting up and following behind

he pushed sofia down the few steps of the front porch, leaving her on the grassed area with her dufflebag now on the ground as she began to cry and begged “per favore, lasciami spiegare”

robin was getting teary eyed “she wants to explain”

the man grabbed a bag from the house and threw it to sofia “tua mamma ti ha fatto una valigia”

“her mom packed her a bag”

the woman slowly peaked around the man to look at sofia as she cried out “mamma, per favore” barely able to get out the words as she was so choked up on her tears

the man and the woman closed the door and el approached it but when she entered out of the other side, it wasnt the living room she had just been in, it was a night club.

music was booming from all areas of the room a gay club yall

el turned slightly to see sofia approaching the door she had just gone out of in a tee shirt and jeans and the same dufflebag she had previously.

as she got someone near her to light her cigarette, she walked out of the door as el began to follow her down the new york night time street.

a group of three men walked past sofia to then look up at the building she had just exited

“HEY”

another man began to shout “HEY DYKE”

sofia turned around to see the same man screaming at her “you work here?”

they were all clearly intoxicated so she turned back and went on with her night before she felt a hard mass hit her head.

the men began to beat her as she fell to the ground. they did not quit until police sirens could be heard and they ran off

el ran to the girl as she saw blood coming from her mouth and a large cut on her head

robin looked at the cut on her forehead, remember the scare she noticed on her while she slept

paramedics arrived at the scene and gently took sofia

el looked up to see a woman in a large coat watching the whole scene unravel while smoking a cigarette before redirecting her attention to the now shut doors of the ambulance

she went and opened the doors to then find herself in a hospital

the woman she had previously seen watching the scene was entering the building to then approach the front desk and be directed to room 504

el followed the woman to then which hear their conversation

“can i help you?”

“my name is natalie illuminous”

sofia chuckled “illuminous? what kind of last name is that?”

“the kind that can save you from all of the shit and piss you have to deal with on the daily”

sofia adjusted herself to where she was sitting up straighter as she asked “pardon?”

“i’m a mother of a house. every week i take myself and my children to balls and we showcase our beauty in order to obtain trophies. in exchange i provide shelter, food, water, and everything else you’ll ever need”

sofia looked at her confused, “and that applies to me how?”

“i’ve seen you. more than on one occasion. you live in your car, you work for lauren at the club, you’re known for your beautiful smile and you’re somehow always so nice to everyone you meet” the woman stepped closer “i’m going to go pay the bills for all of this, while you think about whether you want to be living in a large apartment that you get to live in for just walking a few minutes...or if you want to stay living out of your car for the rest of your life”

the woman walked out, leaving sofia in a confused gaze. she was almost convinved she was drugged.

robin turned to the unconscious sofia on the sofa and saw a slight smile on her face.

el followed the woman as she exited the hospital room and found herself in a large hall that looked like a ballroom she had once seen in a movie.

sofia was seen walking around with a man around her age on her shoulder as they laughed amongst themselves.

as they walked out of the door el had just came from, the man started to feel nauseous and collapsed to the concrete pavement to which sofia dropped with him to see if he was okay.

another woman followed and asked what was wrong, causing sofia to scream to her “GO GET NATALIE”

sofia turned the man over and started examining his face that was sweating “are you using again?”

he weakly shook his head no

sofia thought about anything else it could possibly be and her mind only went to one place, the place that had taken so many of her friends

“shit when was the last time you were tested?”

no answer

el jumped as the door swung open and a very dressed up natalie approached the two

“what happened”

“i don’t know he just collapsed. he said he wasn’t using but i-“

her voice was shaking

“i don’t know when he was tested last”

natalie looked worried and so did sofia as natalie went to the payphone and called for an ambulance

once the ambulance arrived and the boy was lifted inside, sofia followed, as did el. however once she entered the ambulance doors, she found herself in a hospital waiting room where she could see sofia on one of the chairs with her head down and her hands on her head.

el went to touch the girl’s hand when she moved her head up and el could see her face clearly. she was crying. nay, not crying. sobbing. el could tell she could barely breathe.

the woman el remembered as natalie came towards them with a sympathetic look on her face as she bent down in front of sofia.

“it’s okay darling. it’s okay to cry. i’m right here”

el felt herself about to cry as she backed away from the scene and through a set of push doors to be met with the inside of a large apartment. she was standing in a long and narrow hallway as she heard the sound of keys jiggling.

in entered sofia as she laughed her way past el, even though el followed her anyways, and down to the end of the hallway as she yelled “hEY NAT I FOUND THAT JACKET YOUVE BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR, IT WAS IN THE TRUNK-“

she was cut off when she felt her stomach turn inside out as she saw natalie holding her own stomach in a pool of her own blood sweat and tears.

“what happened- i-“

“shhh it’s okay” natalie raised her hand, although she was weak, and brushed away sofia’s tear

she was practically whispering “i was in the wrong place at the wrong time while coming home” she took a breath “but what’s done is done”

sofia frantically looked at the woman, examining her “no no no no no not you.”

she held natalie’s hand, “anyone but you”

natalie continued to hold sofia’s face in her one hand, even though blood was now being transferred to her cheek, “non piangere per me do not cry for me”

el started to walk through the doorway before she was met with another club scene within the literal blink of her eye.

within a few seconds, people parted and el caught a glimpse of sofia who was now sitting on a couch, drink in hand, laughing

el began making her way towards her, still eyeing her movements and actions

sofia took a joint from another girl and took a hit, blowing the smoke in the air as she leaned her head back and get up to yell “BENNY SAID HE’S GOT SOMETHING SPECIAL FOR US UP STAIRS”

el hurriedly followed the group of four upstairs to see a man waiting for them, smoking a cigar

sofia walked towards a table where a white powdery substance awaited her, “oh shit benny” she grabbed the metal straw and took in a line of it to then rub her nose before getting up and letting the others have a go

a girl started to laugh “imagine if nat saw us now, that old whore would be shitting in her pants, especially seeing sof so shit faced”

sofia turned around, wiping her nose and sarcastically laughing “ya know what megan-“

sofia pushed her against the wall by her collar “dont talk about her”

one of the boys pulled her way while saying “come on let’s take a walk”

sofia broke free from him before walking back downstairs almost falling “i can go by myself im not five”

the girl she had previously called megan yelled out to her “YOU BETTER BE AT WORK MONDAY”

she was ignored as sofia made her way to the exit of the night scene and out into the street

sofia was out of it. she was feeling everything and nothing all at once. she thought about her life back in hawkins and her life in new york.

she lost both of her mothers

she lost her home

sofia approached a bridge that catered to the view of a gorgeous river

robin was in tears watching everything unravel as she looked to sofia laying on the sofa and spotted a tear fall down her cheek

sofia looked out to the river before getting on the edge and turned around, el being able to clearly see her face as she closed her eyes and tilted her head to the sky and fell

once she hit the water she was awaken to the same bridge but now she was alone and was more conscious than before as el was able to now look at the tv after taking off her blindfold and embracing mike as she cried

will redirected everyone’s attention to the television “wait this is her current fear?”

mike loosened his grip on el “yeah it’s supposed to be”

sofia was standing on the bridge’s edge once as she searched for people, but the streets were empty and she thought she was alone until she turned back to see robin

robin watched in shock, as did everyone else

robin took sofia’s face in her hands as they stared at each other, tears flowing from sofia’s face as she whispered “i’m sorry”

robin whispered back “it’s okay” she kissed her gently

as she released her, once again, sofia fell to the body of water below her

this time as she hit the water, she woke up from the sofa, gasping for air as she looked around, trying to understand her surroundings. it wasn’t until joyce began to hug her that she began to break down into tears as she tried to not look at robin

next chapter

#robin stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #robin fanfiction #robin #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin x reader #robin x y/n #robin x you #robin buckley

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panda-noosh · 5 years

Text

Request: I JUST SAW REQUESTS ARE OPEN SO PLLEEEEEAAAAASSSSSSEEEE MAKE MORE PIDGE STORIES (preferably ones that dont end in sadness) like maybe one about y/n secretly being related to one of the other paladins or some shiz idk just aNYTHING WITH MAH PIDGEON 💚💚💚💚💚💚 also I friggin live for your writing its amazing and i don't understand

For: @kiiitkaaat4231

---

When Pidge saw you, it was an accident.

She wasn’t necessarily avoiding you, but she certainly hadn’t stepped out of the house this afternoon with the intention of running into you. For weeks, she’s been doing a pretty decent job of keeping herself to herself, because when it comes to you, she’s stomping on very, very bumpy territory.

It’s such a cliche, and she knows this. She accepts this, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to try and come out the winner. At the end of the day, her friendship with Lance means everything to her, and she will never be willing to sacrifice that for the sake of a crush that - let’s be honest - might not even lead anywhere.

Pidge certainly isn’t willing to test it.

But tonight, the workload gets too much. She’s been trapped in her bedroom nearly the entire day, dawdling over the same god damn software for one hour too long - it’s making her head hurt. Physically ache, to the point where not even shifting the screen lighting will help. That’s when she knows its time to pack in and perhaps treat her body like what it is - her body.

She’s not in a good mood when she pulls herself from her room and heads downstairs. She’s not thinking clearly. She doesn’t even look both ways to make sure you’re not in the hallway before she leaves - she just walks, and perhaps that’s where the first trip up came into place.

She doesn’t notice it. Not through the aching pains of her hunger. Not through the blur that is her thoughts.

She waltzes right into the kitchen, one hand tangled in the hair at the back of her head, the other mindlessly scratching her stomach-

Both of them snap to her sides when she looks up and sees you standing there, head buried in the cupboard, a number of ripped open cereal boxes littering the ground beside you.

Pidge wants to turn back. She wants to turn around and flee before you turn around and see her, but her feet are frozen and she knows if she gets caught with her back to you, it’ll make the situation ten times worse. So she stays standing there, blinks a few times to try and clear her head so she doesn’t make a complete fool out of herself when you eventually look up and see her-

She sneezes.

You jolt upright, head slamming against the top of the cupboard, a half-eaten box of Cookie Crisp tipping over and spilling beside you.

“Jesus!” you exclaim, rubbing the back of your head, spinning to look at the shocked Pidge who is currently still standing in the doorway with her jaw agape and her eyes wide. “You could have said something a little earlier!”

“I feel like you would have reacted the exact same way,” Pidge replies. She waltzes over, bends down and starts scooping the spilled cereal into her palm. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”

You help her clean as you speak, and Pidge has to will herself not to lean forward and kiss you with how close you are right now - there’s been a number of close calls. Pidge doesn’t want to ponder on those.

“I was cleaning out the cupboards,” you reply. “Hunk keeps buying new cereals from the different planets we go to, and all the other ones end up going stale. I thought I’d go through and throw them out.”

Pidge raises a brow. “At half two in the morning?”

You shrug. “I also couldn’t sleep.”

“That’s a McClain thing, I think.”

You scoff. “Absolutely not. Once Lance is out-”

“Lance is barely a human. Therefore, my argument still stands.”

You smile, ducking your head down in your attempts to hide it. Pidge wants to hug you. She wants to hug you. It’s such a weird feeling, considering she’s never been that type of girl before - she used to hate hugs, but there is a sudden appeal to the idea of wrapping you in her arms and holding you close.

“Anyway,” you continue. “What are you doing up, Miss Pidge Gunderson? And why do I have the honours of your company?”

Pidge blushes, tries to hide it, probably fails. “I was working. My brain got a little . . . lagged, so I came downstairs to get some food and that’s when I saw you.”

“That’s when you scared the shit out of me for no reason.”

Pidge smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.”

You shrug. “No big deal. At least it was you. I like you.”

Pidge’s heart thunders. She wills it to shut up, because what a stupid thing to react to. You’ve hugged her before. You’ve praised her and cried in her arms when she returns from missions - hearing you say you like her shouldn’t make her head spin in the way it does.

“I like you, too,” she says. And perhaps it’s the way it comes out as more of a whisper that catches your attention. Maybe it’s the way Pidge refuses to look up, the way she grips the cereal box a little tighter. Whatever it is, your attention is grabbed and suddenly you’re looking at Pidge with narrowed eyes.

“Hey,” you say, reaching forward. You hesitate before placing your hand on top of hers, and immediately Pidge’s eyes slip closed. “Are you alright?”

And then she says fuck it.

“Would Lance be pissed off if I took you on a date over the weekend?”

The words are out so fast. She has to look up to make sure you’ve heard them correctly - part of her wishes you haven’t. She could redo it. She could bring herself together, be in a better headspace, not so panicked and jumpy because your hand is on hers.

Your eyes soften immediately. Pidge prepares herself for rejection - you’re gonna try and let her down easy, and Pidge is gonna have to appreciate it and move on. She looks away, quickly waving her free hand in front of her face, because she’s too paralysed to move the other one.

“Actually, you know what, that was unfair,” she says. “I shouldn’t have sprung than on you. I shouldn’t have just assumed you’d be willing to-”

“It depends on where you’re taking me.”

Pidge freezes, eyes snapping to your own. “Pardon?”

You grin, and Pidge positively melts. “It depends on where you’re taking me,” you repeat. “He won’t like it if you’re taking me to some shabby old, run-down restaurant. He’ll want something a little better, I think.”

Pidge swallows thickly, hardly believing her ears. She nods anyway. “O-of course. I wanna - I wanna take you to the best restaurant I can find. I wanna spoil you a little bit.”

You shrug. “A good night in with some takeout pizza might not annoy him too much.”

“You’re not inviting him, are you? I kind of just want it to be us two.”

You giggle, lean forward and press a small kiss to Pidge’s cheek. “I’ve wanted it to be just us two for months, Pidge Gunderson. I’m glad you’ve finally caught on.”

#vld #vld request #request

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kentaurex · 6 years

Text

Eliza as the Oracle

So here’s a thing I’ve wanted to talk about for a while but I never have because I never have time, and I don’t have time right now, but I GIVE UP

Apologies if this has already been said. I’m not really on reddit ATM so IDK.

FIRST I know what the deus ex bible, or whatever it is, says about the Oracle, but I also know that canon between the initial games and the Adam games is a little wonky (especially if they decide to go forward with this whole clone theory business). So I figure I’ve got ample wiggle room. SECOND A little while ago I lost my head about how cool it would be if Eliza Cassan’s name was a reference to Cassandra, a prophet of the sun god Apollo. Which, another cool thing I learned in between then and now is that Cassandra had a twin named Helenus, which isn’t relevant to the point at hand, but is a fact I find interesting given Helle’s existence (although Helle references a different myth, but I digress).

Anyway you can probably already see where this is going.

Now I can’t speak to which was the most important oracle in Greek history because I’m not a greek historian, but some really important ones were the Oracles of Delphi (the Pythia). I mention them because, while Cassandra was not an Oracle of Delphi (I think), they both got their power from the same place - Apollo. They also had the same power - prophecy. Really Cassandra is one trip to thesaurus.com away from being called an oracle.

I’m veering off course here. The point is that for the purpose of literary metaphor, if we were to call Cassandra an oracle, I think we could get away with it.

So I thought about all this and then I thought, well...

What if Eliza is the Oracle from DX1?

THIRD The Oracle is a reference in game, I believe, to a usenet question-and-answer protocol. It’s a cute reference. An AI whose entire existence in the game is based in the asking and answering of questions. Sounds cool! Sounds like...

oh dont mind me thats only one of my favorite lines in like all of the games okay second OKAY THIRD THIS IS NOT THE POINT

Sounds a lot like a reporter, actually. Someone whose job is to ask questions and to find answers. Sounds a lot, if you haven’t already guessed, like Eliza Cassan.

I’m summarizing because I can’t find my sources RN, but to be short and to the point Eliza was created to sort through information, much like the Oracle program. Eliza’s later function was as a Picus interviewer, a person who asks questions to find information. Eliza’s convo with Jensen in DXMD, where she struggles with her own sentience, is almost entirely framed by her questions.

this is another good one

Further, if she doesn’t die she has to be somewhere in the universe. So, why not the Oracle? You wouldn’t even have to do all that much hand-waving to get it inline with current canon. And at that point, maybe the Eliza-Oracle isn’t asking these small little questions as AI baby steps, but simply because that’s how she relates to the world. Maybe she was created asking the big questions (do I resist? how do i resist?) and as she grows up, so to speak, the finer details become more important. Maybe that’s just how she expresses, and pardon the hypothesis her, her humanity. She’s curious. She wants to know things.

Heck, as far as the Eliza-Oracle goes, the greek oracles are, of course, prophets of the sun god Apollo. Which, in a game where the 2 of the other AIs are Icarus and Helios, could be interesting. At any rate, going that far is hyperspeculation, and while I wish I had time at the moment, I don’t. Maybe later.

Suffice it to say I’m really in love with the idea of Eliza-Oracle. I want her around in DX1, and I want her resisting...whatever that means for her at the time.

I have, I think, a couple more thoughts on Eliza-Oracle but I can’t remember them RN and I have spent way too much time on this at the moment, so for now, that’s that.

-end digression-

#eliza cassan #deus ex #dx1 #dxmd #dxhr #Eliza-Oracle #long thoughts about deus ex #long post

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jonathankatwhatever · 4 years

Text

If I’m right, I’m close to defining continuous using grid square, which would be something. I’ve seen it now a few times, so the words are getting closer.

But I want to talk about the meaning of what if I’m wrong about the identification. I have been driven and guided and pulled into this position where the choice field polarizes with nearly all the intermediate values reducing toward inconsequential. This makes a function with two generalized poles. These poles are inversions of each other, one inverting into the physical space in one way, the other inverting into it another way. These can both be considered consequential spaces, but they are very different, with one being the consequences of continued existence and the other being the consequences of absence. These intersect at the point where there’s an ‘inability’ to continue without invoking a different set of consequences. That’s a cold-blooded way of saying a change is coming because the current structure is rapidly running out of time.

While I’m not looking forward to the experience of dying, it will happen at some point, which takes me back to whwen I would lie in bed while the lessons of mortality and immortality were forced on me. That was harrowing. I’d lie there curled in a ball shivering while the voice talked at me. I think sometimes my lack of tolerance for boring speakers comes from my experiences with so many astoundingly precise and complete and compelling lectures.

This doesnt get at whether the experiences I have are real or not. They are incompletely real to me. That is, they are real in the continuous sense like any truly involving experience, but they fade with distance, and with my odd characteristic of being unable to remember specifically while remembering vast numbers of things through the connections and pictures they draw. This is part and parcel with and of my abstraction ability. I have to move away to see, and that moving away is part of the alternating series, the oscillation, the polarity, etc.

In one Storyline, the orders are not to save me until it’s out of me. And those orders include that I dont know what it is, that it matches a key you have because I’m building a linkage to enable control functions which already exist but which dont penetrate well to here. This is becoming something I did not expect: the statement that ignorance must be taken as a given, that the life spans of humans are too short to learn and utilize bands of knowledge. This is also a consequence of continuity in the definition we’re working on. I say ‘we’ because I do not function alone, but as a partner in an enterprise and as a partner in the deepest and most meaningful relationship I could ever imagine constructing.

As an example, I should be able to figure out bifurcation. Pardon the telegraphy, but it K’s and the leading edge infects the trailing edge as a bhyp drawn, until the bhyp reaches a turning point where directionality changes and the leading edge is now the trailing edge, all of which literally draws as an S or Z, depending on direction. And inherent in that S or Z is the complex field oscillation. And the tightening of the focus points is entirely in accordance with this model. To the point where my regret might be not knowing what I got right, if that matters to me in the next consequential space. That’s not much of a fear. My experience with the other side is that the concerns of this world fade rapidly. I’m not scared of that at all. No matter which consequential space, what matters is that space, not the current one.

To complete the K, the image in my head may be too complicated for words right now: the tension pulls to one side, say the left because I’m more naturally left-handed, and then it pulls to the right, so the SBE line connecting the endpoints crosses Between while tensioning. Tensioning means what is felt at one end transmit to the other end. But tensioning requires the kind of physical work we’ve been doing in which the knots and off directions are eliminated to make the communication more accurate as possible. As in, identification of specific threads pulled transmit to the spider where the fly is. These threads are probability results, which is inherent in another aspect of ‘continuity’.

I have to shift locations.

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gravitymirage · 7 years

Text

Taking Back Control - Part 8

@intplier

Mark’s eyelids drooped heavily against his eyes as he stared intently and his computer. He still wore his pyjamas, and his hair splayed shaggily across his head. The light from the screen illuminated his face, making the bags under his eyes even more prominent. Mark found himself grateful for pre-recorded videos, but he knew that wouldn’t last forever. He had to get Amy back, and he could only think of one way to do it. He sighed rubbing his face, letting his gaze bore into the blank email as if it would write itself.

Dark controlled who entered and leaved the egos dimension. They had been offering Mark an invitation for months to ‘meet the alters’. Mark scoffed. He doubted it would ever be that simple – it was probably some ploy to get Mark killed. But alas, if Mark wanted entrance, he’d have to accept Dark’s offer. There was no other way.

So, Mark continued to glare at the blank email before him. He was yet to think of an intelligent way to accept Dark’s offer – or at least get information out of them. He groaned, slamming his hand on his desk, rapidly blinking away drowsiness. Did it have to be well worded? Giving up, he let his hands move across the keyboard in a tired haze, before leaning back in his chair to admire his handwork.

dark

tell me wat th fuc is goin ojn

im sik of yuor shit

the 1 and pnly

merkIpliermoo

Mark nodded profoundly. Perfect. He gazed over it again, squinting. Maybe he was too tired for this. He shook his head. It would be fine. He contemplated adding ‘you little bitch’, but decided against it. He didn’t want to offend Dark. Not yet anyways, not while he needed information. He attempted to fix some spelling and changed the ending, leaving it with a simple ‘Mark’, before nodding again. It was flawless. He hadn’t mentioned Amy, so Dark would necessarily think he knew anything. It was straight to the point, and didn’t leave room for misunderstanding. He felt like a genius. He was just as sly and clever as Dark himself. Mark yawned, blinking away watery eyes. He really needed sleep.

He hit send. Now to play the waiting game.

Mark stood, stumbling away from the computer. His heart dropped as he was greeted by the dark silence that was the hallway. He was at home currently, he had been all day. He’d called off recording for a break, which had caused concern amongst his friends. He’d told them that they’d been working hard on skits, and that it was good for them to have a break to help create new ideas. Whilst that wasn’t necessarily wrong, it was out of character. Even if he’d asked the others to take a break, he was always working on something. In a way, he was still technically working on something, the others just didn’t know. Getting Amy back. Ever since his conversation with Ethan, he hadn’t brought anything up. He claimed she was out with friends. That he had forgotten. He’d bottled up his worry. They wouldn’t understand it. They’d think he was crazy, ask to call the police to find her.

Mark sighed, his shoulders slumping. It had had only been a few days without her, and he was already lonely. The idea that it was his fault she was gone burrowed into his thoughts like a parasite. Maybe if Mark had thought to tell her his characters were real this would’ve been avoided. Maybe if he’d just accepted Dark’s invitation it wouldn’t have happened. So many maybes with little fact. If his friends knew that every character he played was real, would they trust him still? What if they knew that occasionally his characters replaced him? Would they continue to think of him as a friend? A boyfriend? Mark shook his head, rolling his eyes with a bitter laugh. Late night thoughts. Amy didn’t have to be gone for anxiety to seep in.

Having an entire dimension filled with copies of yourself was certainly a secret that was hard to keep.

Mark received a reply soon after, and read over it with tired eyes.

Mark

I understand your confusion with current events and would be happy to bring you up to date. I continue to extend my invitation to come to the alters dimension, as it would be a lot easier to discuss such matters in person. To add to this, the other alters await your arrival with bated breath, and I am sure you too wish to meet them.

I understand we’ve had our differences but I am very much looking towards speaking to you once more. Either come speak to the alters and I, or leave without your wanted information.

Please respond once you’ve made your choice. Think carefully, I’m sure the correct choice is obvious.

Regards,

Dark.

Mark scowled at the words illuminated on the screen before him with disgust. He could feel the sarcasm radiating off it. Dark thought he could out-fancy him with his fancy email. Well Mark wasn’t going to accept his stupid offer.

dark

look I dont no waht youre playnig at, I no you no stuf an theirs no way im talking to you so noo

Mark didn’t think to edit his email, immediately hitting send. His head was throbbing and he felt as if he was going to pass out. There was a long moment before Dark responded.

Mark

Looking at the time I realise you might be too tired to make these decisions. I suggest you go to sleep and spend a day to reconsider my offer.

Regards,

Dark.

Mark looked over the message, rolling his eyes. He was perfectly capable of making a decision right now! Dark just didn’t want to accept no for an answer! Mark stood defiantly, pushing his chair back. He tripped over it and collapsed, his head hitting the floor. He attempted to stand but exhaustion washed over him. He flopped against the ground, and let sleep overcome him.

Amy stared out at the never-ending forest that circled the mansion, wind ruffling her hair and causing her to shiver. She stood on the terrace located at the top of the tower, looking out at the gorgeous view. Google had been assigned to watch over her, and she’d asked to go to the tower. The robot had stood for a solid five minutes attempting to calculate something wrong with the request. Upon realising there wasn’t anything, he’d begrudgingly led her towards the tower. They’d passed back through the Google’s study, in which only Green was inside. Green had given Google a questioning look, which had pissed off the robot further.

“I am assigned to Amy and she has requested we go to the tower.” He spat. Amy had never heard a robot speak with such malice, she didn’t get why Google seemed to despise her so much. Green had just nodded, turning back to their desk, which had screens filled with a variety of maps.

“Let me know if you need assistance.” Amy had leaned over to look at Green’s work but Google pulled her back, dragging her up the stairs. They’d passed the reading room – the blood had been cleaned up. She caught a glance at the next floor of the tower, which had the curtains drawn and was filled with a pale blue light coming from the many screens adorning the walls. The Host’s radio room. The mysterious alter was nowhere to be found, and when she’d questioned Google, he’d given some droned response on him being in the left wing. She was pulled up to the terrace where she stared at the endless dimension in which she was trapped. Google stood stiffly at the top of the stairs, glaring at her coldly, his face twisted into a grimace. Amy had spent around an hour up there when another alter came running up the stairs. Google turned to greet them, scowling.

“Trimmer. What are you doing here?” Bim spent a moment gawking at the robot before clearing his throat.

“I just came to see Amy! I was told she was up here.” He leaned to look around Google, giving Amy a little wave when he spotted her.

“Why?” Google interrogated forcefully, causing the gameshow host to flinch back.

“I just wanted to see her! I thought she might enjoy my company.” He glanced at her desperately. Google continued to scrutinise Bim, before turning to face Amy.

“Is this correct?”

“Pardon?” she questioned.

“Do you wish Bim to accompany you?” She nodded vigorously. Bim was a lot better company than the emotionless robot before her. The game show host beamed, and Google resentfully stepped aside.

“Amy! Good to see you again!” He waltzed over, joining her by the tower wall, glancing over the landscape. “It’s a wonderful view isn’t it!” She nodded. He was still wearing his suit, and Amy wondered if he wore one every day. He turned to face her, adjusting his glasses and clasping his hands together. “Miss Nelson, I would like to whole-heartedly apologise for the disaster that was yesterday. I understand that it was all my fault and it will not happen again.” Amy stared at him, he was serious.

“Bim, yesterday wasn’t a disaster, you don’t need to apologise. I caused all the hassle by running away!” Bim flinched, glancing at Google and back at her with wide eyes.

“Don’t say it that loud!” he whisper yelled, which was the equivalent of a regular speaking voice. “Look, you ran because I left the car unlocked. Plus, we were in that scenario in the first place because I forgot my wallet. So just let me apologise and we can move on.”

“I was never stopping you from apologising. It’s over and done with and everything turned out fine.” That was figurative. It turned out alright for Bim, she was still trapped. At least he looked reassured. She walked alongside the balcony of the circular tower, admiring a bird gliding through the sky. It wasn’t any species she recognized, and Amy questioned if entirely new animals existed in this realm. Was every creature out of games Mark had played here too? She snorted, that could lead to some abominations. Bim trailed slightly behind her like an adoring puppy. Amy felt vaguely uncomfortable with his attention. It made sense in a way, he was part of Mark, but that was also the issue. He wasn’t Mark. Her eyes watched the bird fly down towards the fountain and she did a double take, squinting. A figure stood at the base of the fountain. He appeared to be attempting some skateboard tricks on the edge of it, but it clearly wasn’t going well. The figure had fallen over continuously, but it certainly hadn’t stopped their enthusiasm. She nudged Bim. “Who’s that?” Bim trailed his eyes away from her and down to the figure. His eyes brightened.

“It’s Bing!” He said it rather loudly, which caused Google to jerk up. The robot stalked over, shoving Bim aside and glancing down at the fountain. They cursed, their voice shuddering with glitches.

“What’s that pathetic excuse for a software doing back here?” he growled out. Amy flinched back.

“I don’t know…” she paused, “Can I see him?” Google spun to face her, his body glitching and stuttering.

“Absolutely not. The other Googles and I already kicked him out. We don’t need that no-hoper back here. He lowers the intelligence of every lifeform in the vicinity.” Amy furrowed her brow, but Bim spoke up first. He stuttered, causing his body to jerk as he quickly fixed it.

“Well, he’s near the water! We can’t leave him there, if he falls in he’ll short circuit.” Google turned, his glowing eyes boring into Bim’s, causing them to pull back slightly.

“Good. That little failure can trip into his own death.” Venom dripped from the robot’s voice.

“Well I’m not taking no for an answer.” The gameshow host said defiantly, grabbing Amy’s hand and pulling her after him down the stairs. Google roared out in outrage, his entire figure twitching as he stormed after the pair.

“I was assigned to accompany Miss Nelson!”

“Well you asked Miss Nelson if she wanted me to accompany her and she said yes. So guess what I’m doing?” Bim shot back. Google froze, stunned for a moment. The gameshow host had outsmarted them. The robot shook their head, cursing and grumbling as they followed after them. Bim swung the mansion doors open, and Amy noted that they did open for him. He sauntered over to the new robot, still busily attempting to do something on the skateboard. Amy was relatively sure he was doing it wrong. “Bing! Long-time no see!” The robot looked up.

“Ah! Suh dude!” He leapt of the skateboard, stumbling slightly, and fist bumped with Bim. He adjusted his sunglasses, turning to face Amy. “And who might this pretty lady here…be…” He trailed off, and she didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was gawking, his mouth was wide open. “Amy?” he yelped after a moment. She nodded, offering a slight smile.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He stared at her, before offering a fist bump, which she returned. “Yo Bim what’s she doing here…” He trailed off once more, noticing Google standing in the doorway. “Woah it’s a party today! Where’ve you been Googs!” He strolled over, but paused as Google shot up the middle finger.

“Get away from me, you sack of shit.” He muttered with his robotic tone. Bing pulled back, feigning hurt.

“What the @#!% you &#$@!” He shot up the finger, but it blurred out with a censor bar. Bing glanced at it. “@#!$. I hate Safe Search!” He yelled. Google smirked up at him, revelling in his victory. Bim cleared his throat.

“Do you want to come inside?” Bim looked over at him, then Amy, then Google. Bing offered a forced laugh.

“Nah dude! I’m good, just gonna, keep doin’ these rad tricks bruh!” He faltered, glancing over at the mansion. “Plus I, er, well I’m not a coward or anything. But I don’t really wanna go back there, or see him ever again.” Bim flinched, but nodded.

“No, that’s fine dude. I was just wondering. Do stop by more though!” Bing hopped on his skateboard, waving to them as he made his way off jerkily on his skateboard. Amy waved after him with slight bewilderment. They were quite the character. Google spoke up.

“Now, I think we should return back to our objective, which was to keep. Miss. Nelson. Inside. The. Mansion. Trimmer…” Google glowered at the alter, and they shrunk back under their gaze.

“Right. Yes. Come along Amy. It was really nice seeing Bing but we really need to get back inside.” He placed a hand on Amy’s back, escorting her towards the doors. Once they were inside, Google slammed the door shut behind them.

“Where to now Miss Nelson?” The robot droned. She shrugged slightly.

“The tower?” Bim pouted.

“That’s no fun! Come on, let’s go to the theatre! I don’t think Wilford’s there at the moment…” He sauntered away, and Amy forced a smile, following after Bim with Google taking up the rear. Her eye hurt, and she wiped at her face. An eyelash. She blew it off her finger.

She wished someone would come help her soon.

Start - Previous - Next

#taking back control #part 8 #markiplier #amy nelson #markiplier alter egos #bingiplier #googleplier #bim trimmer #darkiplier #fanfiction #fanfic #wilford warfstache

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hadjii-blogs-undertale · 7 years

Text

[23 days later]

In reference to https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/163800444030/

@lynns-art-blog

...

And honestly, @everyone-needs-a-hoopoe because there's things in here that go for you too. Please read it through to the end. Or just skip to the very end at first and then go back and read through if you need.

I really, really, really didn’t actually want to get off my butt and do this, for multiple reasons. And not just cuz I’m a lazy jackhole with depression who doesn’t want to do anything in general. But recent events have brought things to a head, and I cannot remain silent any longer.

First, I should like to clarify just where I stand as regarding the Undertale fandom.

The Undertale fandom is a beautiful thing. It is extremely imperfect but I love the fandom and will continue to do so for as long as I am able.

Second, I should like to clarify where I stand as regarding Undertale itself.

It will be difficult however, because I love Undertale more than I am capable of putting into any transferable medium that I know of.

Am I a bit emotionally over-invested in Undertale?

Heck. Yes.

I also don't care that I am.

Undertale has brought more joy and happiness and meaning to my life than literally anything else save my family who raised me and loves me, my religion, and a shortlist of friends, some of whom I only have so dear to my heart because of Undertale, so the point is moot.

I can't say that Undertale cured my depression, because it didn't.

What it did do is it showed me at a critical point in my life that there's something outside the grey murky mire.

I'd considered myself an emotionally open person before Undertale. This was only vaguely true. Current me cannot comfortably say that old me was emotionally intelligent without severe disclaimers.

Old me was an emotionally awkward dirtbag who had some idea of how to be a person but on the whole was completely clueless.

I had forgotten how to feel. Like, really feel. And not just from the depression.

I could occasionally get hits from certain songs and I absolutely lived for those moments but the songs would rapidly hit their saturation levels and I'd be cold again.

Then Undertale came along. I loved the game long before I played it, discovering things about it slowly through an endless flood of my tumblr feed.

It looked like a rather good, cute, compelling little game. Eventually I decided to write a bit of fanfiction about it because it looked really good and I wanted to churn out what would happen if GLaD had an interaction with a murdery timeline.

So I went and researched. I dug and I dug and I dug. This wasn't all of my research, but on one particular tumblr alone I went through 700-odd undertale posts.

Between that and pouring out my heart and soul into the writing as I discovered just how much I could care about these things, or care in general really, I found that I'd left the door open, and something came back. A whole lot of something.

Undertale is a Happy™ game about Happy™ things.

I had learned that maybe sad things weren't all bad back from the days of Background Pony. The difference being, Background Pony had a disappointing, absurd ending. They'd won the right even by my sappy heart to have a sad ending, then they completely botched it. I'd associated one of the most significant songs I know of with it, and they failed terribly.

But Undertale had a good ending. As aggravating as it is to not be able to keep Asriel, much less Chara, in the bounds of the game itself, that's part of the point of the ending. So there was no knee-jerk shock. While it is true that in a practical Undertale implementation, unbounded by the Game Maker engine, fuelled by the raw power of Determination, human spirit, and imagination, surely something more could have been achieved. But that does not take away from the coherent ending of Undertale.

There is a lot of pain in Undertale. So much pain.

It is overwhelming and vivid and searing and scorching and so very, very tangible and understandable and real. Not that the events of the game are real, well, as far as I can tell. The emotions are deep and real, I mean.

This was to me as the gas leak was to Vinny Santorini in Atlantis.

Due to the combined pressure of the mental overhaul Undertale was giving me, and the softness and vulnerability it re-introduced, throwing in re-learning certain cold facts about how much the powers-that-be at my previous job didn't care about doing good work, only making money, more severely than I had previously believed from last year, I lost my ability to continue driving there and showing up every day. Now, due to the way the contract works, and my having left the job gracefully, I am free to go back whenever I want. I was not fired. There are many employees who just go there, work as long as they can, then leave and wait for next season to come back. Their efforts are appreciated, especially when all heck breaks loose at the beginning of the on-season because all the bugs in the software that weren't found yet are harsly exposed. What happened with me is not ideal, nor is it rare or even unusual at this place. In about 3 months I could walk in the door and they'd welcome me with a smile and I'd get back to politely telling people that they're wrong and clueless and fixing their crap for them and half the time doing their job for them. (as if that's terribly different than my current job... just in person now instead of over a phone)

Anyways, so, Undertale hurts. Loving Undertale so deeply hurts a lot.

But it's also happy. It has so much happiness. It's so bright and wonderful. It's a warm, soft, fuzzy hug from goatmom and a slice of butterscotch pie. It's making spaghetti with Papyrus, only using an actual recipe this time and making it turn out well. It's watching anime until 4 am with Alphys and Undyne and suppressing giggles at seeing the two precious gay babies asleep and cuddling. It's hugging Sans and telling him it'll be okay. It's having a lovely tea party with Asgore and Muffet.

It's kissing a sad sapient golden flower on the forehead, buying a bar of chocolate and raising it in the air as a toast before eating it.

Bittersweet happiness sometimes but so very, very good and I love it and I really cannot get enough.

I'm addicted. Addicted to feeling again.

As the band Ghost says, "From the pinnacle to the pit, it is a long way down."

I haven't been to the absolute bottom, in that I haven't been institutionalized/hospitalized/just straight up killed by my depression, But I have been in the shower for 4 hours before from 2 am to 6 am at college, for one thing, so uhhh, nobody can say that I'm utterly clueless about such things without looking like a lunatic.

https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164567314340

Posts like the above still rip my heart out every time I see them. I've long since re-associated the song mentioned earlier with this particular point of note of Chara.

It's not entirely pleasant, no, but it makes me feel so alive and real and like I'm an actual human being and not an emotionless, soulless automaton covered in flesh.

And the happy posts are just that much brighter because of the contrast.

https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164689197750 https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164498003145 https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164161681835 https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164061257705

Some people can get by on just fluff alone. There's nothing wrong with that. This is just the way I personally operate. As for me, I've had too much saccharine positivity and "oh dont be sad everything is completely fine and theres nothing to be sad about youre not depressed just get up and go to work son!"

sorry got sidetracked and a little oddly specific there anyways

So the point is from the above wall of text that I have a lot of investment in Undertale and it means a lot to me.

Now, it's time for me to pull receipts.

One receipt, to be exact.

On a semifamous Undertale blog, that I still have not responded to, and quite possibly never will, unless you count this post as a response.

http://charadreemurr.tumblr.com/post/157052680490

I literally couldn't even read their last response for a solid two months because my eyes would skim off the words because they were full of so much utter crap. When I did, I was sorry for it, because it was still so much crap. And no, this isn't like the average tumblr receipt pull, because a lot of the time, a given person has changed for the better, and the receipts you're pulling are for a dramatically different person. This person has not changed and as best as I can tell will never change, or at least not for the next decade or so, unless something dramatic happens. They were the OP of the twitter bustercluck. If you don't know, don't ask, because I don't feel like getting into that right now. I may do so later though in a different post.

All I was trying to do was share a little positivity, and I was met with discourse, hostility, and self-righteousness.

"And second “biological gender” is a statement rife with discontent-"

Pardon my french but wtf m8?

Since then I have learned more thoroughly that in more modern usage, that sex and gender don't have ambiguity and don't need "biological" and "identity" modifiers for clarification, so to a limited extent, they were correct.

However, this does not excuse their behavior. There are many people, myself included back then, that because of their upbringing are uncomfortable saying the word "sex" in any context. I am not now, but I was then, which is why I used "gender" with modifiers for clarification. I gave them multiple chances in earlier reblogs to realize that I was just trying to share a bit of happiness. I clearly conveyed the belief that what's in one's pants doesn't necessarily align with what's in one's head and that it's not a problem. I also clearly stated that when referring to Frisk and Chara, one should use they/them.

And yet, they chose to perceive a threat where there was none. They prefaced their statement with "Yikes" then "Im gonna assume the best here though because i wanna assume people are good"

And completely did not follow through on that.

Statement rife with discontent, indeed.

I was rather hurt by this. Especially, especially because of the uniqueness of their url. They are the one and only charadreemurr. That's a very particular title, and they ought to live up to it.

And here, they did not. Unless Chara Dreemurr really is supposed to be a pretentious self-serving self-righteous paranoid uptight jackhole of a binch. In which case, congratulations, they succeeded.

I showed the post to a different trans friend of mine, and they were shocked by the post as well, looked through their tumblr, and declared the person "basically their least favorite type of person".

To this day, I feel uneasy just seeing the word "yikes" sometimes.

I have mentioned it a few times to some people but this really sent me for a loop. I almost left the fandom on the spot, like far too many good people have done when they were burned by the toxic side of the fandom.

And honestly, if I'd lost Undertale at such a key point in my life, with my job already falling apart, and the other crap I was going through at the time, especially with the election, I cannot safely say that I'd still be here. With the friends that I wouldn't have made solid yet, I probably would have attempted suicide.

And believe me, I'm an engineer. I would not have survived. Knives, pills, guns, rope, water, heights, motor vehicles, police, fire, bleach, all are too unreliable for me. I know exactly how I would do it, if I were to ever do it.

Yeah, I know, it's not anyone's job to make sure I don't commit suicide beyond my own. People who threaten others with their own suicide are horribly manipulative. I am not threatening anyone with my suicide here. I'm not saying "ermagersh dont break up with me or ill literally kill myself" What I am saying is "X happened to me in the past and it's made me want to kill myself" Suicide baiting someone is a terrible thing to do. Accidental baiting someone is not someone's fault, as it's accidental, but generally one should try to avoid it. Very similar to triggering somebody. Don't trigger people. If you do, apologize, and do better in the future, and be more consistent about tags and crap.

Just for the record, due to that and other things that have happened to me, I know that I am not now and not ever going to die by my own hand.

Because, I stood up. I turned around. And like Captain America, I said "No. You move."

Well, in my head. I didn't actually say anything to them.

And I stayed.

And that has made all the difference.

I have a great job now that pays moderately well. I have a wonderful aspec girlfriend now. My life still sucks in so many ways but I actually oftentimes see a light at the end of the tunnel. The world is crap and it's going to get crappier but not everything will be bad forever.

Now, we get to the center of the issue, having explained some needed context.

Nonbinary Frisk and Chara.

I love nb Frisk and Chara.

I have not and will never make a Frisk or Chara that is anything but nb.

At one point, a certain Frisk was going to maybe use She/They (or He/They, hadn't decided yet) instead of just They when they became a parent, but I scrapped that idea long before any of this.

It is completely correct to use they/them pronouns when talking about Frisk and Chara in general. These are all that are used in the game itself.

The pertinent question though is does this mean that Frisk and Chara are canonically nonbinary, and what of people who make variants/instances that aren't nonbinary?

Thus far, most of the argument I've seen in favor of nonbinary being a forcible requirement is only slightly more solid than claiming that the Boss in the Saints Row series must be nonbinary, as an example.

Yes, it is true that in SR2 and later, one chooses the boss's sex.

However, they also choose a voice, and the voice doesn't necessarily have to match the physical sex. Trans and NB Bosses are completely plausible within the game's canon. All dialogue just refers to the Boss as They/Them, regardless of player choice, to the best of my knowledge. Or just refers to them as "The Boss". In SR:GOOH, Satan (yes, the literal Prince of Darkness, ruler of literal actual Hell) refers to The Boss as "They" so yeah. Anyways.

Honestly the strongest argument I've seen in favor of NB Frisk and Chara being canon is "Because NB people could use the representation!" Which boils down to "Because I said so!" Which boils down to "Because f*** you, that's why"

Now, I personally love this reasoning and I'm already on board, but with three quirks.

1. I can see why other people may not be so satisfied with this. 2. I cannot see this as an absolute requirement preventing any other possible interpretation of Frisk and Chara being okay. 3. I do not find this a remotely strong enough reasoning to condone attacking other people over it.

I personally headcanon NB Frisks and Charas being by far the dominant kind across the entire Undertale trunk. And I look across the internet at the many, many wonderful creative people who have instanced Frisk and Chara, and I see that this is so. And this is how it should be.

Frisk and Chara are excellent NB representation.

I quite firmly believe Tobyfox intended this to be so, and created them as such.

On a side note, I just found out the "my last wish for undertale is that when discussion of it fades it dies peacefully instead of morphing into a garbage cesspool" tweet was faked. Probably should've figured that out a long time ago, that's not quite how toby tweets.

...

Anyways,

https://twitter.com/UnderTale/status/644614840925978624

Tobyfox, the one who made Frisk and Chara so readily NB, who put so much NB representation into the game in general, did not ask for this. He did not create them to be sticks to beat others with. They were a gift of kindness. To say "Hey. Hey you. You matter and are important and are valid. Have two complex characters who have no indicated and strongly ambiguous gender, not even barriers blocking a particular interpretation."

Thats the kicker. No barriers blocking a particular interpretation. The road goes both ways.

Frisk and Chara were meant to be characters one identified with. "It's me, Chara." "It's you!"

Frisk and Chara ought to be NB, yes. Unless otherwise specified, they're NB.

Thing is, not everyone who plays Undertale is nb.

real shocker there yeah

Point is, hurting someone who's not nb for identifying with Chara or Frisk is on the same level of behavior as yelling at someone for being kin with the same character as someone else, or yelling at someone for selfshipping with the same character as someone else.

It's immature, unkind, greedy, and completely unnecessary. Even illogical.

Even if Frisk and Chara were real in their own timelines and not just pixels on a screen, there are an infinite number of instances and infinite number of variations of them.

Even if infinities don't appease one, and they demand to examine the situation proportion/representation-wise, NB Frisk and Chara dominate the multiverse.

And if that does not satisfy, then what will?

Even if the entire infinite expanse was filled solely with nb Charas and Frisks, and there was only one Frisk across the trunk who was not nb, because they were created by one author in memory of a cis person who played and loved Undertale and fought through the entire game reset after reset, in a fruitless effort to save Asriel, will you rip that from their hands, in the name of "equal representation"?

Will you be like David in the bible, who had more than anyone could ask for, and lost it all because he wanted one last thing? One more person to be theirs as well?

There is a song by Tool which is very relevant here.

https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/tool/rightintwo.html

"Don't these talking monkeys know that Eden has enough to go around? Plenty in this holy garden, silly monkeys, Where there's one you're bound to divide it. Right in two."

I'm sorry, but I cannot condone vitriol over this. I cannot condone such hateful attitude and behaviors.

Just like the antifa who was punched by another antifa at a protest because they judged them by mere appearance to be a fascist, hatred doesn't accomplish anything.

There are times and places when due to the actions of other people, there is no valid choice remaining but violence.

This is seen in Undertale. Even when attempting to run a True Pacifist route, one has to beat down Asgore, and/or Flowey. This was seen back in WWII. We could not allow the Axis powers to enslave the world and murder whomever they wished.

This is not the case here.

Yes, there are those who purposely seek to misgender Frisks and Charas all around. Such folks correctly are rebuffed and banished to the shadows. And people who argue that Frisk or Chara canonically have to be a boy or girl really need to find a new hobby.

Those, if anyone, are the enemy. The lost, clueless, angry, bitter enemy, who need to be talked to and brought into the fold of those who know better, in true Undertale MERCY fashion. Or, if they will not listen, to be sent away, and blocked if harassment continues.

Random creatives on the internet who create a Frisk or Chara, maybe modelled after themselves, maybe after someone else, doens't matter, anyways, who happen to create one that isn't NB are not the enemy. Some young unlearned cis 12 year old who wants to be like Frisk and thinks Frisk is just like them, or that they are Frisk, and has little involvement with NB matters, or perhaps just hasn't yet heard of or seen how well NB and Chara and Frisk go together, is not the enemy.

NB folk have a lot of very, very real enemies. We have a long way to go as a species. Please, do not make up enemies where there are none.

I ask anyone who attacks others solely for having a different idea of Chara and Frisk's gender to please reconsider.

Please, spread NB Frisks and Charas all around the net. Let them enter the hearts of everyone who can appreciate this beautiful game. Not through anger and aggression, but through love and kindness and patience.

If you cannot abide my having such a stance on this, Mel, then I suppose this is farewell if you must break off all contact. And if you must leave, you may keep that commission money, whether or not you ever finish the art.

Thank you to anyone who reads the entirety of my words.

#language warning #suicide warning #meta #discourse #general trigger warning #things get deep here and i'm sorry but i had to share how i feel

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