#am i just rambling bumbling into the void?

[tr4sh-hive-3]

i need HELP pLEASE (& thank you)

fuck fuck fuck fuCK fUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

i need help.

I am simply in shambles.

hi! my name’s pan, I’m 13, and I’m failing all my classes. Fuck! I’m so lonely. Everyone’s disappointed in me. I can’t do anything. I can’t do anything. Please help me.

I want to do something. I need to do something, anything. I can write. I can go full fucking Hamilton on this bitch. Like tomorrow won’t arrive, like I’m running out of time, like it’s going out of style, all that jazz. that’s my only skill, but fuck it’s pretty goddamn useful. I can do five (5) things; read, write, think, talk, and love. last one probably wouldn’t be super useful for college.

okay, I think I’ve calmed down a bit. hear me out. I will post something on tumblr everyday. everyday. cause if I can’t do something regularly that actually takes consistent memory and planning and commitment and all that fucking jazz I’m gonna start having suicidal daydreams again. even if it’s a stupid shitpost, I need————fucking something. This post has been in my drafts for, probably, some amount of weeks. I didn’t even finish that last sentence, “I need-“. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Yeah, writing is not useful. Theoretically, it should be, right? I should be seducing teachers and colleges and all sorts of academics with essays, but I’m not. I’m not even that good at writing. Mama says I am but she’s fucking lying. She also says I’m beautiful and smart and hardworking. The only reason I don’t have suicidal fantasies is cause of my mama. I love my mama very much. But she’s a fucking liar.

I can’t write. (4).

The only thing I read is fanfiction. I’m just gonna be honest ‘bout that. I’ve read the first 5 chapters of Divergent and Jesus fucking Christ it’s boring as fuck. Hold on: reading test scores. I’m usually in the 99th percentile for reading comprehension/proficiency. And lemme tell you, every time I take one of those silly little tests, it does WONDERS for my ego. But I am unable to read regularly.

I can’t read. (3).

Pretty sure I have severe social anxiety. I’ve always thought I would be able to talk to and entertain and charm people easily. Because I can talk to myself. I’m always talking to myself in made-up scenarios. And I’m always charming and entertaining. It’s so annoying when I’m trying to socialize with actual humans and I keep stuttering and going quiet and covering my face in embarrassment. And at first I thought it wasn’t that bad. That I could make those annoying-ass mannerisms kinda cute, right? And I could lean into it and make “cute’n’shy” the selling point of my personality. I know that sounds super cringey. This whole post sounds super cringey. And my last post too. I’m so scared that everyone else thinks I’m cringey and annoying and obnoxious and too loud or too quiet and not worth talking to. Anyway, that selling point does not work. It just gives me more anxiety. And fuck if I know the impression it makes on anyone else.

I can’t talk (to other people). (2).

I think I might be cupioromantic. I’ve read about romance. I’ve heard it described as butterflies and ecstasy pills. Romantic, sexual attractions are supposed to be strong feelings. Or at least enjoyable ones. And heartbreak is supposed to feel physically painful. I’ve never felt any of those. I thought I was touch-starved, but there’s this guy that I don’t particularly like who says he has a crush on me and we cuddle at the bus stop and sure the cuddles are fine and I don’t mind his company but I am not attracted to him at all. For some reason, I thought cuddling with a tolerable person would be super nice? But it’s not. So now I’m kinda just doing it so he doesn’t feel rejected. Not that I’m leading him on! I’ve been very clear that I am very much not attracted to him. I guess we’re friends. He refers to me as his crush. I don’t like that. This love rant has gotten kind of off topic. Back on track; I keep having these fantasies with a nameless person in which I hold their hand, kiss their forehead, make them pancakes, sing them love songs, write them love letters, give them little romantic gifts, pet their hair till they fall asleep, etc. I’ve never actually felt that way about a real person. I might not ever feel that way about a real person. All this romance stuff is really confusing and annoying. I’ll just stick to platonic relationships for now. But I don’t have any friends. I really hope everyone’s indifferent towards me. It’s so much easier to be unknown than it is to be disliked. I’m not sure which one I am.

I can’t love. (1).

My grandfather patented a medical imaging thingamajig. He was pretty smart. He’s dead now. I’m actually typing this from one of his three phones that I inherited cause my old one got stolen. I always liked the bastard. My dad yelled at him a lot but he didn’t give a shit. He never got upset or offended or quiet or loud back when my dad was an ass to him. Maybe he wasn’t the best parent. His kids (my dad and tia) turned out to be some nasty pieces of work. Actually, just my dad. Tia’s fine—just kinda loopy and alcoholic. She’s really nice. Her husband’s an ass, though. And her son. I can’t really blame the son. His parents are a little subpar. I got off topic again. Sorry. It’s kinda late and I’ve been dreadfully sick these last few days. You’ve got an attention span of steel if you’ve made it this far. Sorry again, back on track:

Following the pattern of this text post, I am now going to prove my state of <no thoughts head empty>.

I overthink things. A lot. I think there’s something wrong with me. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe my thoughts are completely normal. Maybe this is what it’s like inside everyone’s head. But if I’m the same as everyone else, why is it that the average “everyone else” can function as a human being? I can’t function. I can barely brush my teeth everyday. Let alone exist bearably in a school setting. Grades are the only things that matter right now. And mine are shit. So I don’t matter. I can’t even force myself to try. All of it is so fucking boring. AND I’M OFF TOPIC. AGAIN. FUCKING CHRIST. MY GRADES? SHIT. GRADES DIRECTLY CORRELATE TO? INTELLIGENCE AND MANAGEMENT SKILLS. INTELLIGENCE AND MANAGEMENT SKILLS DIRECTLY CORRELATE TO? THINKING. ABILITY TO THINK. ABILITY TO BRAIN PROPERLY. BRAINING. BRAINING WELL. ZAPPING THE FUCKING BRAIN CELLS IN PROPER FUCKING ORDER. ALL THE BRAIN CELLS. FUCKING. BRAIN CELL ORGY. HOTEL? MOTHERFUCKING TRIVAGO.

Think? I cannot. Can’t think. I cannot think. (0).

Okay! That’s all five! I have zero (0) skills! Yay! Shit! I have provided evidence and reasoning. I’m so proud of myself. I’ve finally gotten to the end of this godforsaken text post. This bitch has been in the drafts for weeks. What was even the point of this? Is this what is feels like to finish something? To accomplish a task?

If you’re actually reading this, congratulations. You’re ready to kill god. If you haven’t already. You have the focus of a goddamn hawk.

I. Am. Going. To. Stop. Rambling

I. Am. Going. To. Post. Everyday.

(insert clever sign-off here)

[thegayestofbats]

We're Dancing in the Sky

This is the first fic I've ever written, so don't hesitate to give me your thoughts or criticism.

Rating: General Audiences

Pairings: Space Core/Wheatley

Summary:

Getting stuck in space with the most annoying core you've ever met seems like a punishment worse than death, but maybe it won't be as bad as you thought it'd be.

OR

Wheatley and Spacey are stuck alone together in the endless void that is outer space for the foreseeable future, why not get to know each other and become friends? (Or perhaps more?)

2,417 words, 1 chapter

Read on ao3:

---------

“ I am genuinely sorry.”

Those were the last words Wheatley had said since he and the Space sphere were hurled into space.

The two of them had been in space for a few days, at least as far as Wheatley knew. It was hard to tell up here, and he wasn’t too confident in the accuracy of his internal clock, especially after all of the adventures he’d been through just a couple of days ago with Chell. 

He meant what he said, he really was sorry. Now that he’s had a while to think about it he still isn’t sure if the body he’d been put into was the thing that’d corrupted him or if it was of his own accord. “SPAAACE! Space! Need to see it all!” His thoughts were cut off by his partner’s incessant ramblings. He’d been talking since they’d gotten here, and he showed no sign of stopping or sign that he’d ever change the subject. It was really starting to give Wheatley a headache, or whatever core equivalent to the human sentiment was.

“Will you stop that, mate? I’m trying to think here!.” Wheatley yelled, losing his patience with the chatty robot.

“Oh- okay.” The space-obsessed core replied, actually listening to him for once, before finally shutting up for the first time since they’d arrived. Wheatley let out a sigh of relief at the silence. “Look! A comet!” the Space Core broke the silence before blabbering on again. Well, at least he got a couple seconds of peace.

☆

It’s been about a month since the last time Wheatley had been on Earth’s surface.

It seemed that the other core had finally run out of energy to speak and had decided to go into sleep mode. Now Wheatley had a moment of peace and quiet to think.

Yep… time for some thinking

In silence.

In the vast, endless void that is space.

All alone.

It seems that after listening to his partner talk for a month straight that he’d gotten used to it. His mind began to buzz with the emptiness as he slowly turned around to stare at the Earth from afar. It was quite a beautiful sight, he had to admit, but he couldn’t really enjoy it due to the unadulterated dread that began to set in.

They’d probably never make it back home. He was stuck in space forever with a bumbling idiot to talk endless chatter into his ear until one of them got crushed by space debris or succumbed to the death of a dead battery. He’d never get to talk to his rude self-centered manager again. He’d never get to talk to that nice mechanic again. He’d never be able to talk to any of his friends again, and it was all his fault. 

God, he really was a moron, wasn’t he? Why couldn’t he have admitted it sooner?

“Are you alright?” A familiar, light robotic voice chipped next to him. He yelped in surprise, it seemed like his moments of silence were over. He braced himself for more space talk before he noticed what his companion had said.

He’d finally said something that wasn’t about space. Wheatley didn’t even think he was capable of that, but I guess he still had a lot to learn about this guy he’d probably be spending the rest of his life with.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Wheatley replied apprehensively.

“Okay!” The Space Core said before getting distracted again. “ Hey, look!- It’s the Earth!” He admired the scenery in front of the two of them. They’d probably seen the Earth from this angle at least a hundred times by now, but this time was different, he had someone to enjoy the sight with. 

“She really is beautiful from this height, isn’t she?” Wheatley remarked with a slight chuckle in his voice. The Space Core nodded in agreement beside him.

☆

It’d be a few days before the other core would say anything real again. During the wait Wheatley worried it’d be a one-time thing. God, he hoped not, he wasn’t sure how he could live with that.

“What’s your name?” Wheatley asked the other core during a few rare moments of silence between them. The core didn’t respond, and Wheatley almost repeated himself thinking that maybe he hadn’t heard him.

“I don’t remember.” The Space Core admitted a bit forlornly.

“How about I call you Spacey?” Wheatley offered.

“That’s a great idea! How’d you come up with that?” The core seemed to light up at the idea, forcibly turning his body in space to look at Wheatley. His gaze was piercing, as if Wheatley was simply a specimen he was studying closely. It was the first time he’d focused on him, come to think of it. Did he look at everything else with such intensity?

“U-Um.. It’s just that- you like space, so why not name yourself after it?” He stuttered from the core’s burning gaze. He couldn’t hold eye-contact long, glancing to the side every now and then before looking back to the core’s unfaltering eye.

“I LOVE SPACE!!” The core enthused, spinning around happily, finally breaking eye-contact and conversation. Wheatley was a little surprised that he’d been able to keep up a whole conversation with Spacey, sure it hadn’t been long, but it was progress.

Spacey spent the rest of the day rambling about space as he usually did, and now Wheatley enjoyed hearing him a bit. It was better than the infinite silence that was space. Eventually Wheatley grew tired and went into sleep mode. He’d recently learned that the personality cores had built-in solar batteries that charged best when in sleep mode, so he didn’t have to worry about losing power as long as they had the sun’s UV rays around.

☆

Wheatley woke up a few hours later according to his internal clock. Spacey was still floating around, awestruck at all the stars around them. Wheatley wondered how he could stay so interested in them. The stars hadn’t visibly changed since they’d gotten here. Sure, they were pretty, but aren’t you bound to get bored of them after hours and hours of staring at them?

He drifted towards his companion, trying to look in the same direction that he was.

“Good morning-..” Spacey greeted, not finishing his sentence “What’s your name?” The core asked

“Wheatley. The name’s.. uh.. Wheatley.” He answered awkwardly, he didn’t expect conversation with Spacey to become a regular thing so soon. “Good morning, Wheatley!” Spacey sang, continuing where he left off.

“ How do you know that it’s morning?” Wheatley asked curiously

“I don’t.” Spacey replied casually before going back to stare at the stars.

☆

It’s been several months since they entered the cosmos. Wheatley doesn’t remember what month it is. Maybe August or September? He wasn’t entirely sure. It doesn’t really matter, does it?

He’s learned more than he’s ever wanted to about space from his space-obsessed companion.

“Hey, hey Wheatley!” Spacey yipped, trying to get Wheatley’s attention.

“Yes, Spacey?” He sighed, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for more endless space talk.

“What’s your favorite color?” Wheatley hadn’t expected the question, and to be honest, he hadn’t ever really thought of a good answer to it. There were so many colours to choose from, why choose just one? 

He thought about it for a moment. Blue was a nice colour, it was his eye colour, but he wasn’t sure it was his favourite colour. He wasn’t too fond of himself, anyways, after what he’d done. Green was nice, organic, but it reminded him too much of the humans. Red was pretty, but too passionate for him. Purple was overrated, in his opinion, and he never really had an opinion about orange.

He looked to Spacey while thinking, and he just looked back at him patiently waiting. Over time he began to get a little more used to the intense studying look that he gave everything. Spacey was the only person who’d ever looked at him with such undivided attention, and it was pretty nice to feel so seen. 

“Yellow.” He finally answered confidently as he stared into his companion’s golden yellow optic lens. 

He was the first person to really care about Wheatley or pay any real attention to him. Chell was a nice friend, but she only liked having him around when he was useful to her escape, he could easily see that. His friends back on earth never paid much attention to him, just seeing him as a moron that would never mean anything to a conversation, laughing at whatever he said. After spending so much time with the other core, he found that he began to grow fond of him. 

“What’s yours?” Wheatley asked in return, wanting to learn more about his space friend. (Were they friends? He supposed they were.)

“Blue.” Spacey answered quite a bit quicker than Wheatley had with the same strong confidence. He didn’t break eye contact while saying it either. The single word made Wheatley feel his heart skip, despite not having one. It was a feeling he’d never experienced before, it felt so foreign. He never thought there would be someone out there that cared for him as much as Spacey did. How could he forgive a monster like him so easily? Shouldn’t he hate him for what he’d done?

“How can you forgive me so easily after what I did?” Wheatley said his thoughts aloud. He was beginning to doubt that Spacey actually cared for him as much as he thought he did, was he just assuming things? 

“Are you sorry about what you did?” Spacey retorted with another question.

“What- of course I am!” Wheatley defended.

“Then shouldn’t that be reason enough?”

He’d never thought about it like that. He did something so unforgivable by his standards. He made other people’s lives so much harder for his own personal gain, and he feels horrible about it. If he could go back and change what he’d done, he wouldn’t hesitate to, but he couldn’t, so why did it matter? Spacey seemed to read his train of thought easily.

“You clearly regret what you did. You didn’t mean to hurt anyone. So, what’s the point of holding a grudge?” Spacey added on to his point. Wheatley wished he could see it that way as easily as Spacey could.

“Thank you, Spacey. For forgiving me.” If Wheatley could cry, he thinks he’d probably be on the verge of tears right now. He didn’t think that anyone would ever truly forgive him.

“Anything for a friend!” Spacey chipped. You could hear the smile in his voice. He quickly got distracted by a meteor that flew by near a distant planet. He always seemed to find a way to entertain himself in the most boring places.

☆

It’s been a while since their last meaningful conversation. Wheatley is fondly listening to Spacey’s ramblings. It gives him something to pay attention to in the vast and exhausting emptiness of their current predicament. Spacey is happily spinning around while explaining something random about the moon and what it’s made out of and why it makes such a good portal conductor. Wheatley wonders how he’s able to navigate the vacuum so easily, it’s pretty challenging to move even a little bit out here, at least for him, but it seems that Spacey had gotten the hang of it fairly easily.

He appeared to be almost dancing out here. It was quite an amusing sight to see him jump around so happily like an excited puppy.

“How do you move so easily out here?” Wheatley asked his companion. It couldn’t hurt to speak what’s on his mind. He’d been making a habit of doing that more often than he ever did back on earth. He can trust that Spacey wouldn’t make fun of him.

“It’s pretty easy. You just build up a bunch of energy, and launch yourself!” Spacey explained, pausing his prior moon explanation to pay all of his attention to Wheatley and his query.

“That seems like a lot of work. How do you not get tired?” 

“ I guess I just have a lot of energy,” Spacey answered simply

“That makes a lot of sense, knowing you.” Wheatley chuckled, and Spacey giggled in unison. After a moment, Wheatley decided to try it for himself. He closed his eye and braced himself before throwing himself forward, almost bumping into Spacey in the process. 

“Woah!” He yelped while flying a few feet past Spacey. 

“There you go!” Spacey praised. Wheatley did it a few more times, trying to get the hang of it. Before long, the two of them were jumping around in space while laughing together.

They eventually began forming a sort of rhythm, dancing together across the inky black sky. Wheatley was clearly more clumsy than Spacey was, still struggling to get used to steering himself across space, but they were both still having fun together. 

Wheatley ended up accidentally bumping into Spacey mid-launch, causing him to launch Spacey a bit. Spacey didn’t mind, erupting into a fit of laughter at the action. As robotic as it was, Wheatley thought that his laugh was the most contagious and beautiful one he’d ever heard, so it wasn’t long before he began laughing as well. They both drifted back together, pausing their dance to laugh together.

“Heh heh, I love you.” Wheatley admitted breathlessly without thinking as their laughter waned. After noticing what he said his happiness broke immediately as he became absolutely mortified. He looked to Spacey as he looked back. He didn’t appear angry, or upset in any way.

“Awww, I love you too, Wheatley.” Spacey giggled, a smile appearing in his voice. He looked at Wheatley with such adoration that it was hard to doubt his words. 

“Wait- really? Like.. more than just platonically?” Wheatley puffed, dumbfounded. 

“Yeah, maybe even more than space itself.” Spacey admitted his thoughts aloud. Wheatley hadn’t expected his feelings to be reciprocated so easily.

“Oh..” Wheatley didn’t really know how to process the sentiment, it’d happened so suddenly. “Would you like to be something more than friends?” 

“If that’s what you want.” Spacey responded patiently as always.

☆

It’s been a couple days since Wheatley started his first and probably last relationship, and now he thinks that he doesn’t really mind that Spacey is the one he’s going to be spending the rest of his life with. He wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.

 It’s nice to finally be loved and appreciated for who he is.

---------

Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/night!! I'm thinking of expanding onto this story in the future, it'll likely include GlaDOS, Chell, and the stories of the other cores while all of this goes down.

Here's the playlist I listened to while writing this

[stayatsam]

hm i know its TMI but i’m going to say some stuff under the cut bc i always feel very solitary in this kind of mind state and always wonder if there are other people who can relate

lol people often find it surprising that i suffer from paranoia bc on the internet and when i’m around people im really good at coming off as super composed and casual (and for the most part i am!) but LOL i’m thinking that if i’m ever living alone i’ll have to get a psychiatric service dog 🙄

tw for generic paranoia/fear/nightmares that kind of thing 

i’ve never gotten a like, “official” diagnosis from my psychiatrist. we’re bumbling around it either being bipolar disorder or paranoid schizophrenia (im talking more w him later)

. i know i’m going to sound like a crazy person but i’ve had paranoid delusions and hallucinations for as long as i can remember, but most notably around when i was 11 to the present. i was totally convinced that i was going to be kidnapped by the government and that they were watching me physically. and i’d also get terrifying feelings of being watched while i was alone in my room in the basement, that someone was standing immediately outside my locked door. EVERY night i would keep the lights turned on as i went about investigating every corner of the room and closing every door after thoroughly checking what was inside. i’d then look under my bed etc and then sleep with a lamp on. and at some point i got put on medication, which helped with my mood and depression but it never really made the paranoia go away. i’ve often had strange sensations of smell-hallucinations and large human figures about me. i’d only ever get a few hours of sleep every night because of how freaked out id be. 

and then i went to college and like, i would sleep really well and i was like oh lol im cured must be the medicine. but now that i’m in an apartment, and have to be alone more frequently, i’m 99% certain that the reason i was feeling better was because i had a roommate there with me every night. and lately i have had more feelings of paranoia and general “im freaking out in the dark” kind of thing. and i’ve had nights throughout my life where i (i was raised catholic) would recite the hail mary over again in my head for hours until eventually i fell asleep. 

it’s really hard to explain how paranoia feels other than it being like, one of the purest forms of terror where its like, nothing rational is in your thought process so you can’t even pin your fear on something with substance 😔😔😔😔 man i hate being mentally ill

but where im going w this is that like, i know within the next 3-4 years i will likely be living alone, and that if i’m going to function in society i’ll definitely need a dog specifically trained to handle this kind of delusions. and i’ve read that there are specifically service dogs trained for people with delusions/schizophrenia. i say service dog and not emotional support animal because im like 90% sure i’d need something that would be able to accompany me when im going places. specifically because this stuff does impair my daily life where ive gone days kind of like, huddling in my room and missed class. or i’d be so freaked out at going places that i would not go to events at the LGBT center downtown. in hs when i was sleeping alone i wouldn’t sleep all night and then id skip school in the morning, so i’m fairly certain i could struggle to function normally when i have to live alone in the future

i almost never go anywhere alone, with the farthest being going to campus and the grocery store and pharmacy. i’ve never been out past dark here alone because of how terrified i am of it 🥺 and also something that would be able to snap be back to reality

but i have NO idea how i would ever bring this up to my mom. she’s always boiled all my mental health issues down to just “depression and anxiety” and that there was never anything more to it. she always asks me how im doing mentally and i’ll be like yeah im good not depressed and shes like :) good! and im like lol... i think i would have my psychiatrist talk to her about it first to kinda break the idea to her slowly. he’s honestly a miracle worker. anyway sorry this got long i just kind of needed to throw my thoughts into the void. thank u if u read this far it feels nice knowing someone would have had the patience to listen to my rambling

and also that i’m doing well as of writing this! i feel like i’m a pretty strong person mentally for the most part ❤️👉👈 

[waitedforgarridebs]

Radio (1994): Merrison & Williams

The 3GAR adaptation that’ll shatter your heart into a million pieces

Clive Merrison and Michael Williams were the first pair of actors to play Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson who got to dramatise every single story of the entire canon – all four novels and 56 short stories.

In 1987, Bert Coules pitched a screenplay of HOUN to the BBC, which was greenlit and produced for radio with Roger Rees and Crawford Logan as the two lead actors. As this show ended up being a great success, Coules suggested to keep the series going, and the BBC agreed – however, they insisted on recasting. Eventually, the popularity of the show led to the decision to adapt literally every single canon story, and for the first time they actually managed to successfully achieve this feat over the course of the next 9 years. The Merrison-Williams-series ran on BBC Radio 4 from 1989 until 1998.

As Williams unfortunately died way too young in 2001, he could not continue his part as Dr Watson for the series of original stories written by Coules, “The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”. This sequel still got commissioned during his lifetime, and while the production team set everything on hold to wait until Williams got better, sadly this never happened. He eventually was replaced by Andrew Sachs for the last 15 stories of this series.

While Coules remained as lead writer of the show, he was supported by various other writers for this quite massive project. The adaptations of the stories are in their core quite true to the books: The characters’ lines were updated to a more modern sounding language, and filler scenes were written to expand especially the shorter, less dense cases to the runtime of 45 minutes per episode.

For Coules and his team, the Holmes stories are not primarily detective stories. They are stories about a detective – and, more than that: They are stories about a detective and his only friend. Watson isn’t considered to be a bumbling sidekick, but an actual co-lead.

(And yes, I am basically quoting Coules himself from an interview done for the “I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere” podcast, so I do not know if Moftiss nicked that pitch from him or vice versa.)

In order to stay true to every story’s essence, the writers were “imaginatively faithful” to the original cases. They would, for example, sketch out the backstory and all the inciting incidents leading up to a client’s inquiry at 221b, and dramatise a bit of the story Doyle only mentioned in passing, but never actually wrote down. Or they would invent new scenes, sometimes even new endings, whenever they thought the original version wasn’t as effective as it could have been.

The reason I am putting all of this over the cut is to make you aware of the fact that the changes in the story were all done with a purpose – in this case, to amplify its emotional impact.

Because, without this background knowledge, their changes to 3GAR appear to be absolutely devastating. Cruel, even.

Can I just start by saying that I love Merrison’s Holmes and Williams’ Watson?

Their chemistry is incredible. They breathe so much life into these two characters! They banter, they laugh, they at times even mock a particularly annoying client when said client can’t hear them – and sometimes even when they can *coughs* Killer Evans – and I regret not having listened to their entire work as of yet. 

(But that’s a good resolution for the new year if there ever was one!)

And, one thing I can say for certain: This Holmes is 100% in love with his Watson.

It is the “desperately unspoken” dynamic of TPLoSH all over again, but maybe a little less repressed. Also, Watson – again – has his three-continent-reputation to defend. They are stupid idiot boys, they don’t fucking TALK to each other, and it’s driving me up the wall, but at least they do very much consider each other family, and that is a really great step into the right direction.

That being said, do not listen to this version of 3GAR if you don’t have the time to be emotionally compromised after finishing it.

This adaptation first aired on October 26, 1994.

As mentioned earlier, the writers – in this case David Ashton – did add a bit of backstory as well as some filler scenes to stretch the episode over the entire runtime: the introduction shows how Evans shot Prescott, featuring seemingly indifferent, almost John-Mulaney-esque barkeepers, who are so very chill about the entire murder-thing happening in front of their eyes. “Oh, what is it about Friday nights, ey?”

Ashton not only gives characters like Saunders lines, but writes whole scenes just for them, and even paces longer exposition bits quite nicely by, for example, having the American John Garrideb start the explanation about the search for the third Garrideb in Baker Street, and Nathan Garrideb finish it by excitedly rambling about his impending fortune at the exasperated Saunders.

Not only pleasant filler scenes like these were added, however.

You see, there is a running theme throughout this episode: At the beginning, Holmes is quite his usual self, and mocks the concept of love, human connection, and relationships. He and Watson see a young couple in the park, the bloke teasing the girl and playfully stealing ... her ... hat ... *muffled screaching noises* ... and Holmes compares the couple to pidgeons: “The male puffs out his chest and the female runs around in circles.” Watson, as ever, doesn’t seem too opposed to the idea of having a woman in his life, and Holmes simply ends up pointing out that the couple is having their date quite close to where the gallows used to be. Charming as ever.

Throughout the episode, Holmes is confronted with the idea of love and companionship again and again, in very different scenarios, and gradually warms up to it. Which, looking at where the episode is headed – Watson realising that there is a heart behind the cold mask – is actually a beautiful thing to do, and certainly does make sense.

However, one morning Watson has business of his own to attend to. And that’s where the heartbreak sets in: In an added scene, they show Watson ring-shopping. 

(Not for Holmes, obviously. He seems to have met someone and plans on getting engaged, again. Very rude.)

So, while Holmes keeps realising that being alone all the time is not good for him, that he actually wants someone in his life, the only person who could fill this void runs around with a little box hidden in his coat pocket.

But, it gets worse.

Remember when I teased in the post about the Hobbs-Shelley-adaptation (x) that there is yet another way to include Watson’s internal realisation after getting shot? As in, neither putting it as a summary at the beginning nor at the end of the episode?

I was talking about this one.

Merrison’s Holmes, in my opinion, has the most emotional reaction to Watson getting shot. He literally panics. 

(And the fact that there are a couple of seconds of complete and utter silence after he rushes to Watson’s side really does not help!)

HOLMES: Watson, you’re not hurt! For god’s sake, say you’re not hurt! WATSON, in pain: Ugh... oh... almost worth it.  HOLMES: ... what!? WATSON: The pain. To see that look on your face. A great heart... as well as a great mind. HOLMES: Nonsense... I was merely worried about the surgeon’s bills. WATSON, bellows out a single laugh. HOLMES, tenderly: Here. L-l-let me look. WATSON: Oh no, it’s nothing Holmes. I should know it. It’s just a scratch. EVANS, groans in the background. WATSON: Did you shoot the fellow? HOLMES: No. The second shot was his also. But I laid my revolver along the side of his head. Wild West, indeed. – Watson, you are certain? WATSON: It’s just a scratch, Holmes. Honestly.

Then, Holmes first turns into the Hulk and then towards Evans, and if I ever heard a man speak through gritted teeth, then this is it.

And that following exchange features, honestly, the best non-canonical line of dialogue in Holmesian history:

EVANS: Say, what did you hit me with? HOLMES, not missing a single beat: JUSTICE!

But... it gets worse.

Evans gets arrested, and we get to see Watson and Holmes in Baker Street after the incident, where Holmes dresses Watson’s wounds – or at least he tries to, until Watson insists on doing it on his own, because Holmes is rubbish at it. Holmes then starts pacing around in the living room like an expectant father, “But is there nothing I can do??”

Watson tells him that he’d very much like to smoke a cigar, which leads to Holmes rummaging in the pockets of Watson’s coat.

And you’ve guessed it: Of course he finds The Box.

Cue: awkward moment where Watson tells him, for the first time, about his plans to get re-married.

And Holmes starts sulking, because Watson is about to leave him alone. Again.

But, it gets worse!

Suddenly, Lestrade calls. Holmes at first thinks this is about a case mentioned in passing earlier in the episode, but it is actually news about Nathan Garrideb: As you know, he didn’t take it too well that he never found a third Garrideb in Birmingham, and Lestrade now informs Holmes that Nathan got sent to a mental asylum. 

And... Holmes and Watson visit him there!

They happen to meet Saunders in Nathan’s room, who sadly ponders about the fact that Nathan was always so lonely during his lifetime, and that this isn’t healthy, and that this certainly contributed to the fact that his mind now snapped. 

Nathan eventually has a moment of clarity and recognises Holmes. After gifting his collection of bees to Holmes (...), he hopefully asks if Holmes came to tell him that he found the third Garrideb after all. Holmes, of course, has to decline, but he promises Nathan to find the man, if he exists.

But how, Nathan then exclaims in despair, can Holmes not know this! Holmes must know! He must know everything!!

So, the episode where Watson realises that Holmes does, in fact, love him, ends with an emotionally crushed and forsaken Holmes pondering about his retirement and keeping bees.

And that, my friends, is the most heart-breaking adaptation of 3GAR I have ever listened to.

[els-writing]

Dragonfable AU: “Heroes Are Like a Clothes Closet”

.���They are, I swear it,” the old knight chuckled. Firelight danced across his weathered and worn face, day old stubble across his sharp jaw, his hawk eyes twinkled, his cheeks slightly flushed, now as he swigged once more from his tankard.

The young traveler huffed, “How can you say such a thing? Heroes believe in one cause, you’re what you are and do not change.” The worn chair creaked as he reclined against the wood, rattling the table with his fist.

The old knight just wiped his mouth and shook his head, armor creaked, grey hair pulled back in a braid down his nape swayed, his mustache twitched with a deep snuff.

“And what, boyo, do you know of heroes?” He snickered and slurred.

The travelers head whipped to glare down his crooked nose at the man, “I met a hero. An Arch Knight, by the name of Ash. Strong, persistent, and perfect. He always wanted to be a knight.” The traveler’s grimace became a sly smile, hidden with his own tankard, “Better than a Guardian of Falconreach.”

The old knight gaze steeled, pinning the traveler where he sat. He raised a hand in the damp, bar air. A maid came toward them, refilling the tankards in silence.

“Let me tell you a tale, a true tale, about a hero I knew.” He smiled softly down at the tankard in his hand, then ruefully, “A heroine. The Hero of Lore.”

The traveler spat loudly, “The Hero of Lore is a legend! A myth!. Besides, it was a man. Not some little miss.”

The knight snarled, “The Hero of Lore was a heroine! She's real, I met her in Falconreach plenty of times. When I first met her, she had just slain the Hydra that blocked Oaklore Keep and Falconreach.”

“Please, that nasty carcass has been rotting for centuries.”

“Are you implying I am centuries old, boyo?” “You sure look it,” he muttered in his tankard.

“What did you say, punk?”

“Nothing, continue.”

The knight huffed but nonetheless continued, “She slew the Hydra, twice. Last time I remember seeing her, she was in Atrealan ascendant gear, she had a  wind staff from The Card Shoppe in Ravenloss, and purple fae wings blessed to her back. This was during the Rose Order’s hassle.”

He drank deeply from his tankard. “I was in my prime, relaxing under a tree when this particular woman came forward. I knew her, but I was a bumbling idiot, drunk under a tree.”

“So you were hallucinating, old man.” The traveler rolled his eyes.

“Oi! Shut up and listen will you?”

The knight looked at the fire, “Anyways. I’ll never forget those eyes and that smile. Scared the soul out of me. I just rambled to her about a portal I found one night in Falconreach that only appeared at night. She just smiled and told me-”

He glanced around quickly, leaning closer, “-told me, ‘Really? I wonder what color it was.’ What kind of normal person wonders about portal colors? But that’s when I noticed the clothes, the staff, the wings. Hell then after she smiled at me and her eyes looked at me... boyo blue eyes that were the color of mana...”

The traveler’s face slackened, “Mana is rumored to be the iciest blue you’ll ever see..”

“Exactly. It was strange. Damn near pissed myself though, when a massive black dragon with the same color eyes swooped her up in a claw and tossed her into the saddle and flew off west."

The traveler was silent. He blinked a the table, then slowly spoke, “So you did see the Hero of Lore. The only evidence I’ve heard that reoccurs from sightings is a black dragon-”

“-the color of onyx and nightmares...” they spoke together. The traveler horrified, the knight gleeful.

“A beautiful bull, he was. Rumored to know all the elements.”

The traveler just stared at the knight in a new light, “Tell me your tale, old man. But in a more comfortable chair, this one is old and hurts my bum.”

By the massive rock firepit, a bearskin on the floor, the traveler inclined in a squash nest of pillows, hands tucked behind his head.

The knight sat upon a luxurious cushion, back to the wall, armor loosened as he stared into the burning coals that reflected in his eyes.

After a pregnant silence, he spoke.

In the Kingdom of Greenguard, there lived a hero.

No, not the mightiest necessarily, but one most skilled in many different cultures and warrior training. Many different heroes knew her. Tomix of Ravenloss, Captain Rolith of Oaklore Keep, Princess Kara SuLema, Zhoom of the Sandsea, Artix the Paladin, Galanoth the DragonSlayer, and so many more.

She had trained in different territories, kingdoms, and countries. She traveled from underground Ravenloss and to the Void, before going north to Dravoth.

For many years she lived, fought, defended, and learned for Lore. Defending humankind from evil, from prophecy.

It all began when the Priestess came across the Dragon Boxes...

[backalley-requests]

Hello, could I please get a Disney and Harry Potter Ship? I’m a straight female. I’m very short (5’0) and chubby. I’m very shy and quiet when I first meet someone, but one you get to know me im talkative and loud. I often talk way to fast. I have a short temper and can get annoyed very easily, and I’m very argumentative (I love proving people wrong). My hobbies include reading and writing, and I could talk for hours about things that I am passionate about!

Yeah no problem!! Thank you for sending in a request! I’m sorry it took a while and I hope you enjoy it!!!

I ship you with.....

Disney

Prince Naveen

The two of you bump heads a lot, especially in the early days. He got on your nerves all the time over his ego and you couldn’t stand how full of himself he was. At this point, he loves when you pop off on people, especially since you’re always so quiet around strangers. There’s something about you speaking your mind and putting others in their place that he loves.

You’re both great storytellers. You just have different mediums. He tells stories through song and music, always oral telling. But you love writing them down in sweet words and decorating the stories to be remembered in perfect condition. It just means that he loves getting to read what you write and he adores sharing it with others. He also gets you into reading your stuff and dancing.

One of the first signs that he began to realize he was in love with you was when he realized he could listen to you talk for hours about all your hobbies and passions. He’s so used to wanting to be the center of attention and adored but you made him want to hear about something else. He also really encourages all of your passions and goes out of his way to support them.

You guys get into competitions and petty arguments to prove who is better at something. Both striving to prove the other wrong. In the end you’ve both learned a good handful of stuff from each other. Neither of you ever truly admit you were wrong but you say it in other ways. He taught you to be more comfortable in yourself and you taught him how to love reading. It goes both ways, and you can hold your own well against him.

The two of you run a public library, dividing the work evenly. You spend half the time getting to write, and he’ll read over your work and give you encouragement. It’s the most lively of a library that could possibly exist and manages to be comforting and warm even during the winter. It’s one of the things you two are most proud of making together and is a monument to what the two of you can accomplish when you take your determination and put it to good work.

He writes short stories for you. They are never any good but you love them nevertheless. It’s a staple present for whenever you’re down or stressed out. He’s improved throughout the years but never sees his own improvements. 

“Just admit you’re wrong.”

“Does it look like I’m in any position to do that?” Naveen asked.

You wore a solid smirk on your face, it was smug and it drove him nearly insane. Mostly because he knew you were right and he didn’t want to admit it. “I love you, but this isn’t going to get fixed any time soon at the rate you’re going. It’s hopeless, my love. Maybe we should just head back to town and get a mechanic to come look at it.” The car on the side of the road had steam coming up from it and nearly an hour after this happened Naveen was still at work. You didn’t know anything about cars and you weren’t about to pretend that you did. Naveen on the other hand? Refused to give up and while it started off as kind of sweet it quickly devolved into a mess.

“I know what I’m doing, I think the problem is probably this,” his hand grasped something in the hood of the car, “part,” it broke off and stayed in his hand as he took a step back.

Naveen realized you were right as he sat back in the car with a sigh. “Alright, so maybe I’m not a mechanic. You have to admit though, it was a little charming how hard I tried.” He grinned wildly at you as you crossed your arms over your chest and faked some annoyance

“I’m pretty sure charming is one of those attributes you can’t really apply to yourself.” You sighed and then smiled softly, “let’s just head back to town. You can brag more about your chivalry along the way, if it pleases you.”

It a moment the sky turned dark, grey clouds coating it as the sun was blurred out. A moment later it began to rain. And it poured. “On second thought, maybe we should just camp out here until it clears up” you redacted.

Naveen smirked, accepting his fate quickly. “Well in that case you’re very lucky to be stuck with someone so charming as handsome as me.”

Harry Potter Series

George Weasley

He always brings out the fun in you. At first you seemed shy and quiet but in less than no time you were reluctantly pulled into pranks and before you knew it were willingly apart of them.

You two first meet when you fall victim to one of his pranks. You really thought you hated him in that moment and wasted no time breaking that sweet little girl persona you had when you got angry and told him off. It was hard to stay mad after a while because it was clear to you that George felt horrible about what happened. You weren’t exactly the intended target.

The two of you are so creative and really mesh well together. While you aren’t the best at actually building contraptions you have such a good creative eye and are necessary in creating a good idea for his shop and any of its merchandise. Half the stuff he makes comes from bouncing ideas off of you and you fill the void his brother used to fill.

He started off attempting to pull you out of your shell, something he does for a few people. However the more he got to know the real you the more he fell for you. Fred pestered him about your relationship and eventually, he confessed. Becoming a catalyst for a new mission between the two of them to get you to fall for George.

You were the only person who could pull him back into reality after Fred died. It nearly destroyed your relationship as he fought against your best efforts and you fought back. When the dust settled, you both were all the stronger for it, and he was able to get the help he needed.

He thinks you’re just the cutest thing ever, you’re small and chubby and he can’t get enough of you. You, of course, fight back against his claims but he never relents. He loves just sitting and staring at you as you ramble on for hours about things your passionate about. Sometimes you question if he’s even listening he can recount almost every detail you’ve spoken.

“You know sometimes I miss the days when you were quiet,” George teased as he nudged your side softly. You had spent the past hour delving into your new current obsession. It was actually pretty adorable, he had to admit.

You blushed, feeling embarrassed slightly abojt it. “If you missed them so much then why did you make such an effort to get me to talk at all.” Despite the minor setback you bounced back quickly with a retort, your arms crossed over your chest. You tilted your head up in a pout and looked away.

“Because I didn’t realize you were a siren. Only you could make me sit still for an hour on a lecture about a book— and make it sound interesting.” George complimented you. “Think of all the other stuff we could have done in that hour, yet I spent it all learning about an entirely different world. Have to admit, you got me good though.”

You bit your bottom lip and hesitated, maybe you had gone on a slight rant. As you glanced over at the time it you immediately realized how late it had gotten. “I—” you tried to speak but decided to stop. Had you kept him here too long? Were you really such a bother? “Sorry.” You lowered your head to hide your face.

It shattered George on impact. “You don’t have to apologize!” His face was a bright red. “I got carried away myself just listening to you. You’re just so cute! I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” The two of you were just friends at the time. Just friends, you had to remind yourself on several occasions. But, unbeknownst to you, he had the same talk with himself every night.

The two of you were in a weird zone where every word spoken by the other was clung to for dear life. Even now, you panicked at the idea of upsetting him and he panicked at the fact that his joke came off wrong. Both of you were bumbling fools in an instant. “Oh! I’m sorry! I just thought you meant—“

“I didn’t to swear!” George said shortly.

Your faces were both a bright burning red. In your mind you kept replaying the like— you’really just so cute. Did he really think that about you? Was it just a slip of the tongue. “Did you mean it?”

“Which part?”

There was a tension thick within the air. “That I’m cute?” The silence became deafening but was cut off as a pair of arms wrapped around both of your necks, pulling you closer together.

“There you guys are!” Fred, unmistakable, was behind you guys and clearly grinning. “I’ve been looking everywhere, I didn’t expect to find you guys in the library.”

You and George stared at each other for a moment, blushing like mad. He never did get to answer your question that night.

[batnsons]

For the samhill medieval au, both? Either one? There are only like 5 posts about them. I've read them all 5 times. They are so cute? Why is this a rare pair?

I don’t know why it’s such a rare pair because they literally had chemistry the second they met. So this ended up being a headcanon/fic mashup, the setup being headcanon-y but the rest more normal fic style. I’ve never written like this before, but there’s a first time for everything. Might get rewritten into a proper full fic later, but for now, here goes.

Sam is a prince, son of King Nicolas ‘Fury’ (because I adore the idea of Nick being Sam’s dad, sue me). He’s a war hero, but after struggling with nightmares and the loss of his best knight and friend, he moves away from the palace to get away from the constant reminders of his friend.

After several years of living in a quiet village on the other side of the kingdom, Sam suddenly receives horrible news. His father is dead, and he’s next in line. Dreading his return to the castle, now void of both his friend and his father, he reluctantly starts his journey back.

Along the way, he and his few servants are ambushed by a bunch of masked bandits. Taken by surprise, he’s taken captive and shoved into the back of a covered cart, bound and gagged and with no clue of where they’re going or who’s got him prisoner.

Sam warily eyes the bandit sitting across from him before glancing at the second sitting right beside him, eyes nervously flitting down to the knife held scarily close to his side. Sam’s a warrior, a soldier, but even he doesn’t like being held at knife-point, bound and helpless. The bandit at his side suddenly jerks forward, and he flinches, bracing himself for the feeling of a blade being buried into his side. But it doesn’t come, and he opens his eyes at the other bandit’s grunt of surprise, just in time to see the bandit with the knife bring the hilt down onto the second bandit’s head, knocking him out cold. Sam’s eyes widen in surprise as the remaining bandit turns to him, and he lets out a muffled squeal of surprise when the bandit pulls of his hood. Or rather, her hood. The woman leans forward and pulls the gag off his mouth, and Sam can only sputter in surprise. She eyes him quickly, before speaking.

“You’re Fury’s son?” Sam simply nods, and she answers with a curt nod of her own. “Hm. I expected somebody…bigger,” she says quietly, and Sam nearly chokes. He’s still struggling to form words when she cuts the rope from his hands and feet. She fixes him with a glare. “Whatever you’re trying to say, save it. We need to eat out of here first.” If Sam’s eyes could’ve widened anymore, they would’ve.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” he manages to squeak out, still in total confusion. She smiles at him mischievously, and Sam feels his stomach twist into a million different knots for a million different reasons.

“Jump,” she says simply, and before Sam can even register what’s happening, she’s got his arm in a vice-like grip, and the next thing he knows, they’re jumping from the back of the moving cart. They slam to the ground painfully, tumbling across the dirt and rocks, and Sam feels a crack somewhere in his shoulder. But before he can even cry out, the woman is pulling him to his feet and sprinting for the woods. Sam ignores the twinge in his shoulder and sprints after her, trusting that right now, this woman is on his side. He’ll figure out why she was with his kidnappers later.

She doesn’t let up until they’re well into the woods, and even then she only slows down. Sam figures this is as good as he’s going to get for a while, and starts questioning her.

“Ok, who are you, how do you know who I am, who are they, why were you with them, and why do you speak about my f—” his voice breaks a bit as he thinks of his father, “father so informally?” He nearly runs into her as she stops suddenly, and for a second he’s terrified she’s going to gut him there and then as she whirls to face him. But at the look in his eyes, her face softens and she sighs.

“I was going to wait to tell you, but you deserve to know.” She leads him to a fallen log nearby, and sits down. Sam warily follows her example, still keeping an eye on the knife she’s still holding. She takes a deep breath, sticking the knife into her belt before she begins. “My name is Maria, I work for your father. I’m not sure how to tell you this, but those men… they work for your Uncle Alexander.” Sam doesn’t even know how to respond to that, but thankfully Maria doesn’t even give him a chance to. “Your uncle, he wants to be king. He tried to have your father killed. And we knew he would try to go after you before you could return, so I infiltrated his foot soldiers right before they found you.” Sam couldn’t even believe what he was hearing. His uncle tried to kill him, tried to kill his father?

“You said he tried to kill my father… If he failed, then how did my father die?” He can barely get the words out, but he needs to know. Maria gives him a sympathetic look, but it doesn’t look like the look of someone giving bad news.

“That’s the thing… Your Highness—” Sam grunts, waving off the title. He hasn’t been Prince Sam in a while, and he certainly wasn’t a prince now. Maria smiles, continuing. “Sam, your father… he isn’t dead.” As soon as she says it, he knows it’s true. In the back of his mind, from the moment he got the news, it hadn’t sat right with him. He should’ve felt some form emptiness, something missing. But he hadn’t. And now he knew why. He isn’t dead… He wasn’t particularly close with his father, but he wasn’t ready to lose anyone else. Maria watches as he visibly relaxes, and breathes a sigh of relief that he believes her. “You aren’t that surprised,” she says. It isn’t a question, really, more like a statement. He nods.

“I… I guess I knew he wasn’t dead, deep down. I didn’t feel like he was gone, if that makes any sense,” he says awkwardly, but Maria just smiles.

“It makes perfect sense.” It’s silent for a moment, as the two of them sit there, watching each other, trying to learn more about each other so they can work together. Eventually, she stands up, reaching her hand out for him to take. “We should get going, I don’t think we have to worry about your uncle for now, but we have a ways to go before nightfall.” Sam reaches up to take her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. But as she pulls him up, his shoulder screams in protest, and he lets out an involuntary squeak of pain. Maria is at his side instantly, and he weakly waves her off.

“I’m fine, I think I dislocated my shoulder jumping out of the cart, it’s nothing.” He winces as she moves his arm around slightly, and he hears her sigh.

“It’s not nothing, Sam, it’s definitely dislocated.” She pauses for a heartbeat. “I’m going to have to reset it,” she says quietly, and Sam sighs in resignation.

“I was afraid you were gonna say that,” he mumbles. Maria laughs, and gently lowers back onto the log. She hesitates for a second, before leaning down and grabbing a stick off the forest floor.

“Here,” she says, handing it to him. “You might want to bite down on that.” Sam takes it wordlessly, putting it in his mouth. He’s been through this before, he knows what to expect, but that doesn’t mean he has to enjoy it. It’s bloody painful, after all. “Ready?” she asks, and he nods. “3, 2, 1—” Sam lets out a grunt as she painfully pops his shoulder back in, but the pain immediately dulls to a throb and Sam lets out a breath of relief. He takes the stick from his mouth and smiles grimly, giving his arm a slight rotation. Pleased at the semi-normalcy it’s been returned, he gives Maria a thumbs up. She shakes her head with a laugh. “Just because you can move it doesn’t mean you should,” she tells him with mock severity, at the same time ripping the hood she had been wearing earlier.

“What’re you doing?” He watches as she measures out the strips of cloth she’s ripped.

“It’s not perfect, but this should be enough to immobilize your arm for the time being,” she says, gesturing to his arm with the improvised sling. “May I?” Sam nods, and she sets about to tying the cloth around his neck and arm. Sam has to force himself to breathe normally at her close proximity. She’s beautiful, after all, and can kick some serious butt, no less. As he tries not to get caught staring, he notices something on her left temple, near her hairline. Just as she finishes and pulls away, he reaches out and touches his fingers to the side of her head. She freezes for a second, before pulling away completely. Sam looks down at his fingers and frowns.

“You’re bleeding.” It’s a statement, and he can tell she doesn’t like it. Instinctively, she reaches up to where his fingers just were, turning away from him. He stands up quickly, pulling a small handkerchief from his pocket and moving closer to her. “Here,” he says. She starts to take it from him, but he stops her. “Please, let me. It’s the least I can do.” She hesitates, but nods eventually. He moves closer, trying to clean up the blood as best he can without hurting her. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Looks like a rock must’ve gotten you pretty bad, or something,” he says lightly, wincing when she winces. “Sorry,” he apologizes, and she chuckles.

“You’re alright,” she says softly. He finishes up in silence, folding up the cloth and sticking it back in his pocket. He takes a step back, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“There. Luckily, it’s stopped bleeding mostly, not completely but,” he shrugs. “It’s enough for now, considering we don’t have anything to stop the bleeding with. But head wounds always bleed worse than they actually are, so you should be fine.” He’s rambling now, wringing his hands awkwardly, but he can’t help it. She makes him nervous, like a bumbling child. But she just laughs.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile. Sam smiles back, and for a moment it’s quiet, as the two of them stand there. And then she clears her throat, turning and grabbing her bag that Sam hadn’t even noticed she’d had. “We should get moving, we have to meet up with another of your father’s friends.” Sam shakes his head quickly, and follows her as she starts to move again.

“Another friend?”

“His name is Steven, he’s a captain in your father’s guard. Unfortunately, he’s being hunted by Alexander as well. They’re trying to pin your father’s death on him. He was there when it happened, he thinks he’s dead too,” Maria calls over her shoulder, and Sam is even more confused than he was in the cart.

“I’m sorry, what?” He fights to keep his voice to a normal pitch, but he’s beyond confused. Maria smacks herself in the forehead, and Sam has to resist the urge to remind her about her injury.

“I guess I should explain everything,” she says with a slight laugh, and Sam just nods.

She tells him everything as they walk. How his father found out about the threat to his life, although he didn’t know it was Alexander until after he “died”. Sam felt a pang of sympathy for this Captain Steven, on the run and being framed by the king’s brother for the death of his friend, who, for all this captain knows, practically died in his arms.

It’s night by the time they reach their destination, a tiny village inn where they’re supposed to meet this captain in the morning. Maria makes him wait outside, saying she doesn’t want anyone to recognize him. She tells him to go around the back, and she’ll figure out a way to get him in through a window.

Sam is standing awkwardly behind the building when he hears his name whispered from above him. He looks up to see Maria leaning through one of the windows, feeding a bed-sheet rope through it. Sam groans, glancing down at his arm, before going over and grabbing hold of the rope. He looks up and sees Maria smiling reassuringly at him, and he sighs before attempting to awkwardly climb the makeshift rope. It’s difficult with only one useful arm, but Maria helps pull him up, and eventually he’s climbing successfully through the window. They stand there, panting, before busting into laughter. Maria pulls the rope back in through the window, coiling it up on the floor, Sam assumes for the captain to use later. He straightens up and looks around the room, taking it the single cot. He glances at Maria.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says simply, hoping she gives in without argument, but knowing she won’t. Sure enough, she snorts slightly.

“No, you won’t. You need to the bed,” she says firmly, and Sam starts to protest. But before he can get the words out, she silently points to his arm, and Sam knows he can’t argue this. So he sighs, nodding once. She smirks, and Sam, for once, is glad that he gave in so quickly. “Steve is going to meet us here tomorrow morning, and then we’re heading back to your cottage. Your father is there, recovering. We moved him there as soon as you left, we knew Alexander would try to grab on the road and wouldn’t bother going back to your house.” Sam feels a white hot anger at the mention of his traitorous uncle’s name, and unconsciously lets out a slight growl. He’s startled when he feels Maria’s hand on his good arm, and he looks up to see her watching him sympathetically. “I know, this is hard. I’m sorry. We never could’ve expected your uncle would do something like this.” He nods quickly, taking a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he breathes, and she smiles at him softly.

“Of course.” She takes her hand from his arm, and Sam feels briefly disappointed at the lack of warmth. He clears his head as she speaks again. “You should get some sleep, it’s been a long day.” He concedes quickly, feeling the waves of exhaustion overtake him. He settles onto the bed, and it suddenly occurs to him that she’s not even planning on sleeping.

“Maria,” he says tentatively, and she turns to him expectantly. “Wake me for second watch?” He phrases it as a question, but he tries to make it sound like a statement too, and her eyes soften in response. She nods once, and Sam is confident she’ll wake him. Maybe not as soon as he would like, but she’ll wake him. So he relaxes into the bed, closing his eyes and immediately feeling sleep start to overtake him. He smiles despite the circumstances, thankful his father enlisted a woman like Maria.

Maria watches him as his breathing slowly regulates, signaling he’s fallen asleep. She smiles to herself. He hadn’t been quite what she was expecting, but she was glad of who he was. As his soft snores fill the room, Maria chuckles and settles into her chair for her watch. She’s planning on waking him for his turn, after all he asked her to, but that didn’t mean she had to wake him too early. She would let him sleep for a while. He deserves it.