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j-eryewrites · 6 months ago

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The Great Game (II)

Part 20 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 B Baker Street

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SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: 5.7k

Author's Note: Agh! Finally. It has been so long since I have been able to write for Sherlock, John, and Y/N. Man, am I glad to be back? The chapter is not as long as I hoped it would be, but I am proud of it nonetheless. I hope I haven't made you all wait too long for this chapter.

Warnings: Crime scenes, gore, mentions of violence, canon typical violence, Sherlock is Sherlock (Let me know if I missed anything)

There was something weird. Greg couldn’t grasp it as he sat across Sherlock, John, and Y/N. John was fine if Greg excluded the serial bomber/killer case that they had on their hands. No, John wasn’t the problem. It was Y/N and Sherlock.

Greg’s eyes narrowed on the two of them. Sherlock bore his ever-expressionless face, but Greg was a cop, which meant he could read people, even if it weren’t up to Sherlock’s standard. It was the eyes that gave the consulting detective away as they subtly glanced over at Y/N. Greg stifled a snicker. Sherlock, no matter how hard he tried, could never be subtle. The man’s nature was to be bold and straightforward, something that became even more apparent in areas outside his expertise, such as love.

“She lives in Cornwall,” Lestrade began upon realizing he’d been staring at them for a few minutes. “Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park, and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house. Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager.” Greg placed the small pager on the desk in front of them.

Sherlock immediately snatched it away like an overzealous toddler. “And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off,” Sherlock finished.

“Or if you hadn't solved the case,” John added. He crossed his arms and looked down. The lines marking John’s face began to deepen just as they did during his time in the war.

“Oh… Elegant!” Sherlock smirked.

Greg, Y/N, and John collectively raised their brows. “Elegant?” Y/N questioned. Sherlock didn’t answer her.

“But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?” Lestrade asked, sensing something more behind Sherlock’s words.

“Oh, I can't be the only person in the world who gets bored,” Sherlock said, and an unwavering worry filled Y/N’s eyes.

“Sherlock, what do you mean by that?” Y/N wondered.

However, the pink phone buzzed before Sherlock could send her another glance. “You have one new message,” it chimed before beeping four times. The group froze.

“Four pips,” John noted.

“First test passed, it would seem” Sherlock pulled out the phone, and a new image displayed on the screen. “Here's the second.” They all leaned close to get a good look at the pixelated photo. “It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?” Sherlock questioned.

The image displayed was a car. Blood covered the seats and stained the inner lining of the vehicle. From the image alone, they all knew there was a murder. It was another puzzle Sherlock would need to solve.

“I'll see if it's been reported,” Lestrade said before turning his laptop to scan the incident reports filed by the station.

A new noise entered the fray as Greg clacked away at the keyboard. It was a knock on the door. The air soured as John, Sherlock, and Y/N looked to her, who stood there, Donovan.

Distaste marked her face as she scowled at Sherlock. She raised a phone. “Freak, it's for you.”

Y/n tensed upon hearing those words. No matter how often she came to Sherlock’s defense, that name always floated around. It was inescapable. She hated how a brilliant mind like his was hated and feared. Watching Sherlock calmly retrieve the phone from Donovan’s hand made Y/N’s heart clench. She knew he wasn’t okay with the name that haunted him. Maybe one day, she’d be able to get them to stop. Maybe Y/N could make Sherlock no longer hurt. She’d save him.

“Hello?” Sherlock lifted the phone to his ear.

A hesitant breath echoed over the phone. It was as if whoever was on the other end was terrified of breathing incorrectly. “It's okay that you've gone to the police,” the voice spoke. It was a young man based on intonation and pitch.

“Who is this?” Sherlock questioned. His phone gripped the phone tighter. “Is this you again?”

The voice ignored Sherlock’s questions and continued reading the message the true villain had written. “But don't rely on them. Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers. I never liked him.” The sound of traffic blared through the phone, and Sherlock’s breath hitched. The voice was somewhere crowded. “Carl laughed at me and her, so I stopped him laughing.”

Sherlock’s ears perked up. The killer had slipped up. A small smile crept onto his face, and his blue eyes peered over at Y/N, who was watching him. “Her?” Sherlock repeated. The voice over the phone was silent. An answer was not coming, so instead, Sherlock changed his approach. “And you've stolen another voice, I presume.”

“This is about you and me,” the voice said.

“Who are you? What's that noise?”

“The sounds of life, Sherlock. But don't worry…I can soon fix that,” The voice shuddered as a sob broke through. “You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time, you have eight.”

Withdrawing the phone from his ear, Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Whatever this criminal would throw at him, he’d solve it. He’d do anything to keep everyone safe.

“Okay… Great. We've found it!” Lestrade beamed. John and Y/N sat up, eager to hear what was in store. “The car was hired yesterday morning by Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind, City boy. Paid in cash. He told his wife he was going on a business trip but never arrived.”

Sherlock nodded his head. There was a momentary pause and a consensus agreement. All at once, Greg, Y/N, John, and Sherlock turned to leave the station and head to the crime scene. Sherlock led the way, and John and Lestrade trailed close behind. Y/N’s pace was slower than the others, and as she attempted to catch up to them, a head of dark curly hair stopped her.

Donovan held out her hand to Y/N’s chest, stopping her movement. She looked Y/N up and down before opening her mouth to speak. “You're still hanging around him.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well…”

“Opposites attract, I suppose,” Donovan interrupted.

Y/N’s eyes widened, and before her silence could turn into a confession, she exclaimed, “Sherlock and I aren’t–”

Donovan couldn't care less as she spoke over Y/N once more. “You should get yourself a hobby – stamps, maybe. Cosmetics. Safer.”

Scoffing, Y/N brushed Donovan’s hand away. “If anyone needs to get a hobby, it’s you. After all, you like sticking your nose into people’s business and marriages.” Y/N didn’t stay to see Donovan’s stunned face. After all, the woman wasn’t worth it.

_____

A deep sigh escaped Lestrade's mouth as he placed his hands on his hips, watching Sherlock dive his head into the abandoned car. "Before you ask," Lestrade began watching as Sherlock's mouth instinctively closed. "Yes, it's Monkford's blood. The DNA checks out."

John and Y/N frowned as they peered into the car. Policemen and women were hard at work scouring the crime scene for anything that could be evidence. Forgotten buildings between destruction and construction made it hard to determine what was part of the crime and what was just there. The noise of everything around them was deafening, drowning out the puzzle pieces of the crime scene. Blood was everywhere in the vehicle, and…

"No body," Sherlock stated, placing a small slip of paper into his pocket. Y/N's eyes narrowed as the sheet of white disappeared into his coat. She couldn't help but smile softly at herself.

"Not yet," Donovan corrected as they walked past, dropping off a new bag of potential evidence.

"Get a sample sent to the lab," Sherlock instructed before moving on to his next target: the distraught woman standing at the edge of the crime scene. "Mrs Monkford?" Sherlock asked.

The woman looked up at Sherlock, tears in her eyes and trails of mascara running down her face. "Yes." She looked Sherlock up and down, raising her head to meet his gaze. "Sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen," Mrs. Monkford explained.

"No," John corrected. "We're not from the police, we're…" His eyes glanced over to Y/N, who gave him an uncertain shrug. They were from the police, but not the police. They solved crimes and cases, but it was more of a personal business consultation.

Suddenly, a sharp sniffle escaped Sherlock's mouth. With stunned faces, John and Y/N whirled around to see Sherlock's eyes pink and tears rolling out. The shock soon faded to reveal confusion. What the hell was Sherlock doing? It was the collective thought between the two friends.

"Sherlock Holmes," he tearfully introduced. "A very old friend of your husband's. We, um…we grew up together."

Y/N was the first to catch on to Sherlock's bluff. She had to admit it was compelling. Each pause and somber glance at Mrs. Monkford seemed to grow in sincerity.

"I'm sorry, who?" Mrs. Monkford took Sherlock's hand and shook it. "I don't think he ever mentioned you."

"Oh," Sherlock said, "he must have done. This is… this is horrible, isn't it?" He looked to John and Y/N, who did not waste time nodding solemnly to Sherlock's act. "I mean, I just can't believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian – not a care in the world."

The saddened look in Mrs. Monkford's eyes hardened upon hearing Sherlock's words. "Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months." She stood up straighter to get a better look at Sherlock. "Who are you?" She asked once again.

If Y/N weren't looking, she wouldn't caught the slight smirk that flashed across Sherlock's face. Soon, the sadness in Sherlock's voice was replaced by his calculated nature. "Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?"

Shaking her head, Mrs. Monkford refuted Sherlock's question. "No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all."

Instantly, the mask was back on and amped up the act a hundred times stronger. "Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!" Sherlock exclaimed, earning looks from the policemen and women working the crime scene.

"No, it wasn't," Mrs. Monkford snapped.

"Wasn't it?" Any trace of deception was gone. Sherlock was back. "Interesting," he muttered before turning on the ball of his foot out of the crime scene.

Y/N and John darted after Sherlock; their lungs heaved when they reached him. John silently cursed Sherlock's long legs. "Why did you lie to her?" John wondered.

"People don't like telling you things," Sherlock explained smugly, "but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?"

"Sorry, what?" Y/N asked, trying to match her pace to Sherlock's.

"I referred to her husband in the past tense," Sherlock noted. "She joined in. Bit premature – they've only just found the car."

"You think she murdered her husband?" John questioned, quickly glancing over his shoulder at Mrs. Monkford, whose figure kept growing smaller and smaller with each step he took.

"Definitely not," Sherlock stated. "That's not a mistake a murderer would make."

"I see," John nodded. Y/N peeked out in front of Sherlock's body to look at John and raised her brows, asking for a clue. In response, he shrugged and shook his head, " Never mind, no, I don't. What am I seeing?"

"Where are we going now?" Y/N interjected as Sherlock led them to a cab waiting on the side of the road. Hoping in, he patted the seat next to him.

"Janus Cars," Y/N and John trickled into the leather seats. Once the doors closed, Sherlock pulled out the tiny card he had collected from the rental car. "Just found this in the glove compartment." He passed it over to John and Y/N, who took turns observing the paper. JANUS CARS was in all caps in the center of the business card.

"A bit bold for my taste," Y/N muttered, earning a few smiles from her companions.

______

It was a typical car garage. Mechanics scribbled on their clipboards as they diagnosed the issue with the cars in the shop. Y/N stood at the office window, watching them work so as not to acknowledge the overzealous man sitting behind the desk.

She had glanced at the man in his freshly pressed suit, sharp tan lines, and overly gelled hair. Working with Sherlock had its ups and downs, and one such down was running into men like Mr. Ewert, who believed they deserved the world just for existing.

"Can't see how I can help you, gentlemen," Mr. Ewert said. Y/N cleared her throat and continued to look out the window with a careful ear listening in. "And lady."

"Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday," John read from Lestrade's notes.

Ewert nodded and slumped back into his office chair. His hands came to rest on top of the walnut-colored desk. "Yeah. Lovely motor," Ewert said. "Mazda RX-8. Wouldn't mind one of them myself!"

He flashed a smile and glanced around the room, looking for validation for the comment about the car.

Sherlock allowed the urge to roll his eyes to overcome him. He glanced over to Y/N. His eyes dissected every part of her as his heart pounded in her chest. Quickly shaking his head, he tore his focus off Y/N and onto the car, visible through the window. "Is that one?" He asked.

"No," Ewert shook his head. "They're all Jags." He peered at Sherlock and chuckled, "Yeah, I can see you're not a car man, eh?"

Sherlock frowned, unsure of what Ewert was insinuating. "But, er, surely you can afford one – a Mazda, I mean?"

Ewert sank even deeper into his chair and grinned. "Yeah, it's a fair point. But you know how it is." He looked to John, who sat in front of him. "It's like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the licorice allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?"

"But you didn't know Mr. Monkford?" John asked, ignoring Ewert's attempts at relation.

"No," Ewert shook his head. "He was just a client. Came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him. Poor sod!"

At this, Y/N peered over her shoulder and frowned. Her eyes caught sight of Sherlock's, who honed in on hers. His blue eyes flickered with the same realization. They had only come asking about Mr. Monkford and the car he hired—nothing about anything happening to the man.

"Nice holiday, Mr. Ewert?" Sherlock inquired, sending Y/N a brief smile before returning to his questioning subject.

"Eh?" Ewert frowned.

"You've been away, haven't you?" Sherlock clarified.

"Oh, the-the…" Ewert's relaxed expression faltered under Sherlock's harsh gaze. "No, it's, er, sunbeds, I'm afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though – a bit of sun."

"Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?" Sherlock blurted.

"What?" Ewert asked.

"Well," Sherlock sighed. "I noticed one on the way in and I haven't got any change." He took out a bill and showed it to Ewert.

Y/N bit her lip, hiding her frown. Her and Mrs. Hudson's mission was to get Sherlock to stop. Mrs Hudson stated that Sherlock needed to pay her for all the damages in his flat, but Y/N knew it was because she genuinely cared. They both did, and with each day, Y/N cared more and more. Maybe she cared too much for her own good.

"I'm gasping," Sherlock pleaded.

Pulling out his wallet and flicking through the colorful bills, Ewert shook his head. "Um, well…No, sorry."

"Oh well," Sherlock said before strolling to the door. "Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewert. You've been very helpful." Noticing John and Y/N still stood in their places, Sherlock called out to them. "Come on, John and Y/N."

John hurriedly shut his book full of notes and pocketed them before pulling out his wallet. Meanwhile, Y/N pulled her attention away from the cars. It was honestly like watching some paint dry.

John opened the wallet and pulled out some change. "I-I've got change if you still want to, uh…" he motioned to the cigarette machine before catching sight of Y/N's eyes. Ashamed, he looked down and hid his wallet away.

"Nicotine patches," Sherlock proudly announced. "Remember? I'm doing well."

"I told you to cut back on those, Sherlock," Y/N hissed. She'd swore she'd gotten everything out of the flat the other day. However, Sherlock's elusiveness always got the best of her.

"I need them to think," Sherlock defended.

"Well, that doesn’t sound very healthy to me," she retorted. Sherlock huffed and peered down at the woman.

Sensing a brewing argument, John stepped in and took charge. "So what was that all about?"

"I needed to look inside his wallet," Sherlock stated.

"Why?" John wondered.

"Cause he's a liar/Mr. Ewert's a liar." Y/N and Sherlock said at the same time.

Sherlock gazed down at Y/N in awe. A proud smile adorned his face as he hopped in the cab awaiting them. As John and Y/N made their way into the car, they found their path stopped by Sherlock.

"What are you doing?" John asked as he was pushed out of the cab and onto the curb with Y/N.

"Going to the lab," Sherlock announced. John and Y/N frowned. "I need silence."

"He means he doesn't want us going with him."

"An astute observation, Y/N." Sherlock sat back in the seat. "We need beans and milk."

With that, the cab door closed, and Sherlock was gone. Y/N groaned into her hand as John cursed, hailing another cab.

It was a couple of moments before another cab came around, and the two of them scrambled inside. Once the door was closed and on their way back to Baker Street, Y/n turned to John.

"Tea at mine?"

John nodded. "How's Bjørn? Haven't seen him for a while."

"He's good." Y/N chuckled. I'm starting to think Bjørn's in the right with his dislike of Sherlock.

John snickered, "the animals always know."

"That they do."

A wave of giggles filled the back seat of the cab. Y/N smiled. She was glad she had a friend in John. It was safe to say John felt the same way.

______

The lab was quiet—just as Sherlock liked it—had. It was too quiet now. His thoughts thundered and screamed at him—thoughts of Y/N, the cases, who M may be, and most of all, thoughts of Y/N.

The shoes that started this all were found in her flat. It was a message not just about the shoes but also about her. M knew. M knew Sherlock held sentiment towards her. That Sherlock loved her. Sherlock shook his head. Sherlock had to protect her from M, and so to protect her, he'd make himself stop loving her. He had to, even if he knew it was an impossible task. Sherlock had to make himself stop, even if he knew he never could. He loved her. So, deciding the next best thing was to make her stop caring for him. Sherlock was good at that; that task itself was not impossible; just figuring out how was the next step.

While his mind configured a plan, Sherlock narrowed his eyes and peered into the telescope before him. He pulled back and frowned. Just then, the pink phone on the countertop beside him rang.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered.

"The clue's in the name," the voice announced. "Janus Cars."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "Why would you be giving me a clue?"

"Why does anyone do anything?" The voice spoke. "Because I'm bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock." The man reading the message sobbed.

"Then talk to me in your own voice," Sherlock demanded.

"Patience," the man said, and the call ended. Sherlock sighed and glanced around the room. It was empty except for him, and he grew to hate the loneliness he felt. He missed Y/N and John's presence. He missed his friends. He missed her. Groaning, Sherlock began to realize how difficult his plan would be, and for the first time in his life, he was not sure he had the strength to see it through. But for now, a case needed to be solved. Solving the case was the best way to keep those he loved safe until he could figure something else out.

_______

"How much blood was on that seat, would you say?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"How much? About a pint," Lestrade replied, shoving his hands in his coat to conceal his shivers. The garage where the police had stored the car from the scene only seemed to amplify the freezing temperatures outside. It appeared that even John and Y/N were inflicted by the cold. All except Sherlock. Lestrade peered at Sherlock and the coat he wore. Now that he thought of it, Lestrade wondered if he'd ever seen Sherlock shiver. Maybe he needed to ask Sherlock where he purchased his coat.

"Not 'about," Sherlock corrected. "Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's, but it's been frozen."

"Frozen?" Greg repeated.

"There are clear signs," Sherlock noted, and Y/N sighed, recalling the frozen and boiling blood experiment Sherlock had conducted in his flat not too long ago. "I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago, and that's what they spread on the seats."

"Who did?" John wondered.

"Janus Cars," Sherlock answered, murmuring under his breath, "The clue's in the name."

"The god with two faces," Y/N blurted, missing Sherlock's proud smile. "Sorry, I was really interested in mythology as a kid. "

"Exactly," Sherlock beamed.

"Mmm," John hummed, looking at how Sherlock gazed at Y/N. Upon hearing John's gaze, Sherlock tore his eyes away and strolled to the car.

"They provide a very special service," Sherlock began. "If you've got any kind of a problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat…"

"So where is he?" John asked.

"Colombia," Sherlock replied.

"Colombia?!" Lestrade gasped with his eyes growing wide. Dealing with police affairs in London was hard enough as it was, but to add a case involving another country? He certainly was not paid enough for that.

"Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet…" Sherlock glanced at John and Y/N, hoping they'd connect.

"That's why you asked for change," Y/N said.

Sherlock nodded. "…Quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly. No one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

"His arm?" Lestrade asked, confused by all the inside knowledge shared between John, Y/N, and Sherlock.

"Kept scratching it," Sherlock explained. "Obviously irritating him and bleeding."

John opened his mouth to say something when Sherlock cut him off, anticipating his question. "Why? Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. It is difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just returned from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance, and she splits it with Janus Cars."

"M-Mrs Monkford?" John questioned.

Sherlock's eyes widened. "Oh yes. She's in on it, too." Lestrade felt his head growing dizzy from all the back-and-forth. The calling of his name snapped him out of the daze. Looking to who called him, Lestrade found Sherlock, who was ready to relay his next instruction.

"Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best. We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved. I am on fire!" Sherlock's cheer and a particular pink phone ringing echoed throughout the garage.

Sherlock answered, placing the phone on speaker. Lestrade, John, and Y/N grew silent as they listened. "He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please."

______

It wasn't until they had stopped at Speedy's to recuperate that Y/N realized her exhaustion. Her head hung heavy as it rested against the table. Once full of eggs, toast, and some sausage, her plate was now licked clean. John was in a similar state. However, he chose to lean back in the chair rather than collapse on the table. Sherlock, however, sat tall. His spine was as straight as a needle, and his blue eyes were observed in his companion's sluggish behavior.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock uttered.

"Mmm," John groaned. "You realize we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started? Has it occurred to you…?"

"Probably," Sherlock answered.

John shook his head as Y/N tilted hers to look up at him and Sherlock. "No, " John continued. "Has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into Y/N’s flat, the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you."

At the mention of all the cases, the shoes, the break-in. The group grew quiet. Y/N gulped and suddenly wished she hadn't stuffed her face with food a few minutes prior.

"…Yes, I know." Sherlock was the first to break the silence.

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?" John asked.

Y/N's ears perked up. There was something about that name—Moriarty. Yes, it was part of the case. "M" equaled Moriarty, but that didn't interest her. Something long and forgotten called to her via the name. Although a part of her desired to understand, another feared what would happen if it was discovered.

"Perhaps," Sherlock muttered. The pink phone on the table buzzed before chiming three times. The three of them peered at the photo that appeared on the screen. While Sherlock's face was confused, John and Y/N's eyes widened with recognition. The bleached blonde hair in a choppy bob, well-defined side part, dark purple eye shadow, red lips, and big, bold, shiny earrings could only be one person.

"That could be anybody," Sherlock grumbled.

"Well, it could be, yeah." John shrugged. "Lucky for you, Y/N and I have too much time on our hands."

"How d'you mean?" Sherlock asked, glancing between the two of them.

"Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson, Y/N, and I watch far too much telly," John clarified. Turning over his shoulder, John pointed to the television in the cafe's corner.

The woman from the photo appeared on the screen. She said With a bright, cheery smile, "Thank you, Tyra! Doesn't she look lovely, everybody, now?"

Suddenly, the pink phone rang, pulling the group's attention away from the telly.

"Anyway, speaking of silk purses and sows' ears…," the television continued.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered.

"This one… is a bit… defective. Sorry. She's blind," the voice cracked. Y/N's eyes widened, and she quickly covered her mouth to silence any leaking noise. "This is… a funny one. I'll give you… twelve hours."

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked.

"I like… to watch you… dance," the woman gasped, and the phone call ended.

Y/N paled as she looked at Sherlock. She always called it 'dancing' when Sherlock solved his cases. That's the only way she could explain it to others. With each puzzle, the fear in Y/N's stomach pooled. Yes, this was for Sherlock, but she began questioning her role in it all. Not everything could be a coincidence: her flat, the familiarity of Moriarty, now the dancing. It all leads to her being a target, too.

The telly seemed to deafen Y/N's anxious thoughts,"…continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programs, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead…"

As they watched the television, Y/N made a silent prayer. A prayer that they'd solve these cases, catch whoever Moriarty was, and, most of all, have everyone make it out in the end. Peering over at Sherlock, she prayed that he'd solve it in time and, if her worst fears were confirmed, save her.

______

Y/N only needed one glance at the body before she was confident she was going to be sick. She'd seen bodies before. It was all a part of the job, but after the dancing men case, seeing the dead only made things harder. Y/N blamed it on her empathy. She cared too much about people. It didn't matter if they were people she knew, watched on the television, or just everyday folks whom she passed by on the street. People were people, and no one deserved to die in a manner like this. No one deserved to be killed.

"Connie Prince," Lestrade stated as he looked down at the body on the slab. Sherlock circled around the table, scanning every aspect of the deceased woman. "Fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?"

"No," Sherlock shook his head as Y/N and John nodded.

Lestrade took note of John and Y/N's reaction and turned to the conversation with them, allowing Sherlock the space to work his magic. "Very popular. She was going places," Lestrade said.

Before John could concur, Sherlock interjected, "Not anymore."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, and Y/N felt the contents of her stomach stir. She swore there was a bathroom somewhere down the hall.

"So," Sherlock continued, unaffected by the silence he created. "Dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound," he noted, looking at the cut along the palm of her hand. "Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream. Good night, Vienna."

"I suppose," John murmured.

Sherlock stopped prowling around the body and frowned. "Something's wrong with this picture," he said.

"Eh?" Lestrade raised a brow.

"Can't be as simple as it seems," Sherlock explained. "Otherwise, the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong. John?"

"Mmm?" John hummed, looking away from the body.

"The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded, "Yeah." Then he began to walk around the body just as Sherlock had, hoping to uncover the fault in the picture. However, no matter how much he scrunched his face, he could find anything.

"But the wound's clean – very clean and fresh. How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?" Sherlock questioned.

"Eight, ten days," John answered. Immediately, his eyes widened. "The cut was made later."

"After she was dead?" Greg asked in clarification, stepping to the body to look at the cut.

"Must have been. The only question is," Sherlock wondered, "how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?" Sherlock whirled around to John and Y/N. "You two want to help, right?"

"Of course," John replied. Y/N nodded, trying to keep her food down.

"Connie Prince's background – family history, everything. Give me data," Sherlock instructed.

"Right," John said, making haste to leave the room. He flashed Y/N a look of concern as the two of them left the room, who whispered she was fine.

"There's something else that we haven't thought of," said Lestrade once Y/N and John were gone.

"Is there?" Sherlock pondered.

"Yes. Why is he doing this," Lestrade began, "the bomber? If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?"

"Good Samaritan," Sherlock jokingly stated.

"…who press-gangs suicide bombers?" questioned Lestrade.

Sherlock frowned. "Bad Samaritan."

"I'm – I'm serious, Sherlock." Lestrade pulled Sherlock to face him, staring him deep in the eye. "Listen, I'm cutting you slack here; I'm trusting you, and so is John and Y/N – but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me - what are we dealing with?"

"Something new," Sherlock said with an unconscious smile growing on his face. "Come with me, Gary."

"Where are we going?" Greg asked as Sherlock hastily left the room without answering him. "…and it's Greg."

It was not long before Greg discovered their destination, 221 B Baker Street. However, he was still unsure why Sherlock had him come along. His dark eyes watched as Sherlock paced and twirled around the room, muttering to himself. Sometimes, Lestrade questioned whether or not this was all a show. Sherlock seemed to enjoy impressing an audience, not that Greg doubted Sherlock's abilities. The consulting detective was a genius; that knowledge was a certainty. It was the performance, the pauses, eye rolls, and smirks as he deducted each crime scene. It was almost as if Sherlock was excessively enjoying this all.

"Connection, connection, connection," Sherlock mumbled. "There must be a connection. Carl Powers was killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him." Lestrade nodded, trying to follow along." The bomber's iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent." Sherlock stopped and looked at his makeshift mural on the living room wall with pictures of evidence from each puzzle. "What's he doing – working his way round the world? Showing off?"

"Sound like someone I know," Lestrade wanted to say, but the pink phone rang before he could.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" the old woman repeated to Sherlock. "Joining the… dots. Three hours. Boom… boom," she sobbed before the phone was cut off.

Sherlock lowered the phone. The game had begun long ago, and now it was nearing its end. He could feel it deep within him and was determined to win.

_____

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Feel free to comment and reblog! I love hearing your thoughts.

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goodomensafterdark · 11 months ago

Text

Writers Guild Cock Fight - Give ourselves one more chance

Summary:

Written by Niknak90 for the GOAD smut war - find them on Reddit and AO3!

TL;DR for chapter 1: they have sex for the first time in the Bentley after the wall slam, but Crowley miracles them "back to business" after, making Aziraphale (and the readers, and the author) very sad.

Chapter 2: The world doesn't end. Crowley invites Aziraphale back to his place, unsure where they stand now. They end up standing (and kneeling) in his shower. Eventually, they get their happy ending (in multiple senses of the word).

Word count: 5070 words for chapter 2

Trigger/Content Warnings: The Night At Crowley's Flat, Shower Sex, Blowjobs, Edging/Orgasm Delay, Crowley POV, Mentions of past Crowley/Humans, Anal Sex, Angst and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Top Crowley/Bottom Aziraphale

Excerpt:

“There is no way I’m giving you my body in this state, angel.” Crowley said, realizing how suggestive that sounded only after he said it. “You might have a shiny new corporation from the Antichrist’s little miracle, but mine has seen better days. I need a good hot shower to get this soot off me.” He could miracle himself clean, but like sleep, he enjoyed indulging in showers and the occasional bath.

“Not a bad idea. Perhaps I could join you?” Aziraphale smiled, wiggled a bit, and placed his hand on Crowley’s thigh.

“That’s not too fast?” Crowley asked. He had to be sure that Aziraphale wanted this, that he wouldn’t get spooked and dump him again the next day.

“You did say if stopping Armageddon worked out, we might be able to do it again.” Aziraphale rubbed Crowley’s thigh and looked at him with half-lidded eyes. “And I would like that very much.”

“And you won’t…you won’t say ‘it’s over’ again tomorrow?” Crowley asked quietly. He tried to keep his breath steady as the angel’s touch seemed to burn through his trousers, but was failing miserably. He put his hand over Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I said I was sorry, my dear. I got scared, wanted to keep us safe.” He reached for Crowley’s glasses and removed them, then placed a hand on his cheek. “But if this works, if we survive this…I see no reason to stay apart.” He kissed Crowley briefly, too briefly (then again, would any kiss ever feel long enough?). “And I would very much like to continue exploring our physical relationship. If you’re amenable, that is.”

“Oh, I’m very amenable, angel,” he rasped, then kissed him again. He was quickly becoming addicted to this. Kissing in his previous encounters, when it occurred at all, was at most a perfunctory precursor to the act. Kissing Aziraphale felt like finding an oasis in the desert, and if he drowned in it after centuries of thirst, it would be worth it. Even if Aziraphale changed his mind and “only” wanted to kiss from now on, Crowley would be a very happy demon. Possibly the happiest demon, seeing as demons weren’t generally supposed to experience happiness.

Unfortunately, he needed his mouth unoccupied to finish his thought, so he broke the kiss. “Might need a minute though. In the shower. Before you join me. Get properly clean, burn my skin off.” He liked his showers hellishly hot, which he suspected the angel would find more punishing than soothing. “Then I’ll cool it back down and call you in. Sound good?”

Aziraphale agreed, and Crowley miracled away his dirty clothes, leaving himself in just a towel around his waist. He could feel the angel’s eyes on him as he walked away, like he was the ox in Job’s basement.

Read more on AO3!

Thank you to the betas! u/lemon-tart-221, u/Intelligent-Dragon, u/SouthernFriedAmy, u/kunigun

#good omens after dark #goad #ineffable smut war #smut war #good omens #good omens fanfic #writers of after dark

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bratshaws · 1 year ago

Text

through the hourglass 230. brb x oc

a/n: CAKNWDKJNWJKD you guys ready for angst(comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

/180/181/182/183/184/185/186/187/188/189/190/191/192/193/194/195/196/197/198/199/200/201/202/203/204/205/206/207/208/209

/210/211/212/213/214/215/216/217/218/219/220/221/222/223/224

/225/226/227/228/229

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

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“What are you doing?”

Beatrice surprises him, he jumps on his chair before turning his head towards her, “Huh?”

She stands at the door of his office, one hand on the threshold and her head tilted, “It’s late.” she smiles sweetly, ‘You didn’t come to bed so I wanted to check on you.” she drops her eyes until she sees what he’s holding: his father’s jacket, thumbs pressed on the seams that create the sleeves. “...you okay?”

Rooster blinked, momentarily taken aback by Beatrice's sudden appearance. He hadn't realized just how late it had gotten. He had been lost in thought, “Oh,I…” He slowly set the jacket aside on his desk, his fingers lingering on the worn leather. "Sorry, I lost track of time," he admitted, his voice soft.

Beatrice walked further into the room, her expression filled with concern as she approached him. She leans down from behind him, hugging his neck and kissing his cheek "You were thinking about your dad, weren't you?"

Rooster nodded, his gaze dropping to the jacket. "Yeah," he replied,quietly. "It brought back a flood of memories." he frowns, “Surprising…all things considered.”

"Well, you still have memories of him,” she whispers, kissing his jawline and inhaling his fresh out of the shower scent, “Even if they aren’t obvious right now,Roos.” and her hands gently caress his shoulders. Her husband’s brows frown down, creating that adorable little crease on his forehead as he sighs, “You didn’t answer me.”

“Hm?”

“When I asked if you were okay.”

She could see his profile and she felt when the muscle on his jaw popped as he clenched his teeth, “...Well.” he scoffs quietly, pursing his lips, he taps his finger on the desk out of anxiety, another sign there was something in his mind, “...I don’t know.I mean,I am…but I’m also…a mess.”

“Why?”

“Guess…guess I was thinking about my life back then.” he frowns, not meeting her eyes, “...you wouldn’t have liked me then.” he mutters sarcastically, “I’m pretty sure.”

“I doubt it.”

“Ah,I was just,” he starts messing with a random pen, tapping it on the desk just like he did with his fingers, “Too angry. Worse than when you met me.” she didn’t seem to believe him, nor understand why he brought that up, “...I broke a kid’s jaw once, because he was talking shit about my dad. And about Mav.”

Beatrice remained silent for a moment, just tightened her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I can't say I understand everything you've been through," she began softly, "but I do understand that your anger and your actions back then were a response to the pain you were feeling. You were just a kid, Roos, dealing with something incredibly difficult."

Rooster sighed, his body relaxing slightly under Beatrice's comforting embrace. "I know," he admitted, "but it's hard not to look back and wonder if I could have handled things differently."

Beatrice placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Hindsight can be a tricky thing," she said, her voice filled with empathy. "But you've grown and changed so much since then. You've become an amazing man, a loving husband, and a dedicated father. That's what matters."

“...you think he’s proud of me?”

There were few times when Rooster’s deep voice got quieter, resembling a little boy, fearing and nervous about whatever response he might get for his questioning. Beatrice smiles, standing up and slowly letting go of his neck to turn his chair towards her. He’s not meeting her eyes, “Roos.”

Beatrice gently cupped Rooster's face, her thumbs brushing against his cheeks to coax him into looking at her. When his eyes finally met hers, she saw a vulnerability that touched her heart.

"I think your dad would be incredibly proud of you," she said, her voice filled with sincerity. "He'd be proud of the man you've become, of your dedication to your family and your career. You've faced challenges and grown stronger from them. And most of all, you've kept his memory alive in your heart."

Rooster swallowed hard, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He reached up and covered one of Beatrice's hands with his own, holding it against his cheek. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I needed to hear that."

Beatrice leaned in, pressing her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the intimate space between them. "I love you, Roos," she murmured, her lips brushing against his.

"I love you too," he replied, his voice trembling as he sealed their words with a tender kiss.

She breaks the kiss with a little smile, swiping her thumb under his eye to wipe a lone tear away, then kisses the top of his head, “Bed?” he nods, standing up in front of her while hugging the folded jacket to his side, letting Beatrice guide him up the stairs, “You know, Nikki,” she begins once they go up, “She is just like you when you sleep.”

‘You mentioned that before.”

“Hmhm,well,” she can’t contain her smile, “She’s now doing that little thing you do,” she presses a finger to her forehead, “When you dream, you know? The little wrinkle?”

Rooster chuckled as they ascended the stairs. "Really? She's got the 'dream wrinkle' too?" he asked with a playful grin. "I guess she's following in her old man's footsteps already."

“You are not old.”

“I’m a little bit.” he smirks, “I’ll be 39.”

Beatrice stops in the middle of the hallway, turning around to face him, her green eyes moving all over his face. Rooster smiles in confusion, “What?” he questions softly as to not wake Nicole up, “What’s the matter?”

“You are not seventy,Roos.” she smiles, cupping his cheeks, “You are still my very,” she pecks his lips once, “handsome,” twice, “husband.” and she giggles when he leans down to kiss her one more time, “Plus, the 30s are the new 20s, don’t you even start the whole age thing, we had this talk before.”

Rooster laughed, his deep chuckle filling the hallway as he wrapped his arms around Beatrice. "Alright, alright, I won't start the whole age thing," he promised. "But I have to say, being in my late 30s does feel different from my 20s."

Beatrice grinned up at him, hugging his neck. "Different how?"

Rooster leaned down to press a lingering kiss on her lips before pulling back slightly. "Well, for one, I've got more responsibility now," he replied, his voice husky. "And for another, I've got the most amazing wife and kids to share my life with."

Beatrice's heart swelled with love at his words. "You smooth talker," she teased, running her fingers through his hair. "But you know what? I wouldn't trade this life with you for anything."

Rooster's smile was filled with sincerity. "Me neither," he whispered, his lips brushing against hers.

They shared another sweet kiss in the dimly lit hallway, only for Beatrice to giggle and break the kiss, “Stop,” she taps his lips playfully, “We have to sleep.” Then, hand in hand, they continued on their way to bed, well, tried to.

As soon as they entered their bedroom,Rooster’s muscular arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her flush to his front, “Hmmm…do we have to?” oh, he was back to normal, that was a relief, “I have so many ideas on what we can do.”

“Roos.” she sighs, leaning into his touch, “We…I…” she clears her throat, holding his hands down when they tried to slide under her shirt, “We really have to sleep…and we have things to do tomorrow.” he lets out a little sad sound in his throat, tilting his head like a kid who was just told he couldn’t have the cake before bed.

“I knowww…” he groans, “But…we can be fas-”

“Roos.”

“Ugh…” he hugs her close, burying his face on her neck, “I love when you are right.”

“Isn’t that ‘i hate when you are right?”

His head moves up and he touches their noses together, “...I could never hate you.” he smiles even more when her cheeks turn a violent shade of red, eyes twinkling back at him, “I’m serious.”

She just cupped his cheek, then kissed the tip of his nose, “Me too.” she whispers, “...now…bed?”

“...ugh,fine.” he playfully slaps her ass, “But I’ll get you back.”

Visiting Evelyn and her baby boy was part of the itinerary that morning after visiting the twins, “Alright,Nikki,” she cups her baby girl under the armpits and hugs her close, “You are going to see where auntie Evey and uncle Jake live.” she says as she closes the door with her ass, walking up to the front of that huge building.

Nikki, nestled securely in Beatrice's arms, looked up with wide, curious eyes. She was at an age where everything was new and exciting, and visiting new places filled her with wonder.

Beatrice already knew the way, and the concierge just smiled her way as she walked to the elevators. She waited until it reached the chosen floor, Nicole wasn’t that uncomfortable buy the sudden pressure - but she was confused, looking around a bit - and once the doors opened pressed the buzzer for Evelyn's apartment, waiting for her friend to answer. She bounced Nikki gently in her arms, the baby's small fingers gripping the collar of her shirt in fascination.

Evelyn's voice crackled through the intercom. "Who is it?" wait, that wasn’t Evelyn.

“Shells??”

“Bumblebea,hey!” the doors immediately open and Shells is indeed there, chewing on what appears to be some tiny pretzel snack and wearing a Kylie Minogue shirt, “Fancy seeing you here!”

“...I mean yeah,” she laughs, ‘What are you doing here? I…is Evelyn okay?”

Shells grinned as she leaned against the doorframe. "Oh, Evelyn's fine," she replied casually, propping a hand on her hip . "She's actually out at the moment, running some errands. I'm here babysitting the little guy."

“...Evelyn…left you alone with her baby?” she narrows her eyes, “Evelyn?”

“Yeah!” Shells continued and as if on cue, Evelyn appeared in the background - looking like a fancier version of Elvira with her long black robes and hair pulled up into a bun- “I’m a great baby sitter.”

“...then that’s her twin?” Bea asks, pointing behind Shells, “Right?”

Shells blinked, then turned towards where Beatrice was pointing “...alright, you got me,” she backs away from the door, “I wanted some of the pretzels only Evelyn has,” she points to the bag, “Then I had to come over, obviously. Plus I saw the little man on the way.” she walks away from Bea, leaving Evelyn to step forward.

“Hi Bea,” she smiles, kissing her friend’s cheeks, “Hi Nikki.”

Nicole’s little ‘hi!’ only made the other woman smile more and Beatrice held her friend’s hand, “Hi Ev, how are you doing? How’s the post-partum life treating you?”

Evelyn's smile was warm as she gestured for Beatrice to come inside. "I'm doing well, Bea," she replied as they entered the apartment. "Life with a newborn has its challenges, but it's also incredibly rewarding. Little Jake here keeps me on my toes."

“Can’t believe it’s a Jake Jr.” Shells mutters from the kitchen, crunching another pretzel.

“That was also Jake’s grandfather’s name.” Evelyn explains as she closes the door, then points to the little bassinet by the couch, “He’s over there.”

Beatrice couldn't help but glance over at the sleeping baby boy in his crib. He was looking more like Jake than they thought, even his hair was pale blonde "He's absolutely precious, Ev. And you look fantastic," she added, genuinely impressed by how well Evelyn seemed to be handling everything.

Evelyn chuckled, a hint of weariness in her voice. "Thanks, Bea. I definitely don't feel fantastic all the time.”

“Anything…out of the ordinary?”

“Health wise?” Evelyn pursed her lips, “I’ve been going to the bathroom a lot more. But,” she shrugs, “That’s about it.”

“That’s good,oh” she pulls up her bag, “I uh, got you something else. It’s just another gift.” Beatrice shrugs, gently setting Nicole down on the couch.

Evelyn looked genuinely surprised by the additional gift. "Bea, you really didn't have to," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "You've already done so much for me."

Beatrice waved off her friend's concerns with a smile. "Nonsense, Ev. I just wanted to bring a little something to brighten your day. After all, you deserve it."

Evelyn's curiosity got the best of her as she reached for the bag. She carefully pulled out the gift, her eyes widening when she saw what it was. "Bea, this is beautiful!" she exclaimed, holding up a delicate necklace with a small pendant in the shape of a heart. "Thank you so much."

“You are welcome.” she sighs, ‘...so, ready to have this girl time started?”

Evelyn chuckles, “Honestly? Yeah,I am.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x named reader #tgm oc #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction

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boinin · 2 years ago

Text

Blue Lock Manga

Scanlation of Chapter 220, "See-Saw Game", just dropped! Chow time!

Thoughts under the cut. There will be two weeks between this release and Chapter 221, which will release in Japan on 7 June I believe.

Previous chapter analyses

I love this goofball. Can't start without saying that.

Anyway, what a chapter. It's very action orientated, and that speaks for itself: holy fuck Kaiser. But as usual, I have brain worms, so I'll share as is routine.

In one chapter, Kaiser collectively reminded the fandom why he's NG11, why he's been manmarked by another NG11 since the beginning of the match, and of the gap between him and the other players. No sweat for the 👑 Also, clear Predator Eyes in action, right? 🐱

It's an excellent play. He scored in spite of being pressed by two defenders, through the legs of another and past the goalkeeper. It got so close to Aiku, man must have feared for his future baby-making capacity 💀

Isagi's good. Kaiser is on his own level.

It's spelt out in the chapter: in the face of opposition from Aiku, Isagi did the rational thing and passed, forsaking a score on his own terms. In much worse circumstances, Kaiser believed in the impossible and scored. This is the fundamental difference in their ego and approach to football. I hope they revisit this theme in the next chapter.

It's going to be titled "Take Me" 👀 I'm dying to know who that refers to, especially if it ends up being shipbait. Ness? Isagi? Hiori? Who knows?

A shout out to our newly minted redhead. He gets clowned on, but I liked seeing him swap to a defensive role. Noodle legs, go! 🍜 It shows how well Ubers, and in particular the former U20s team members, can reforge themselves around new strategies and playstyles.

Also, Aiku is one of those captains with a coaching/affirmative leadership style. He endorses Sendou here, and Niko in the chapter before. Can't help but simp for the guy, even if he's a scumbag in how he treats women. 🐍

I don't have much more to add! Art-wise, it was glorious: Kaiser's goal is rendered vibrantly, from multiple perspectives. As usual, the reader gets a great sense of where everyone is, and their reaction. To the end, Ubers put up a good fight, and as mesmerised as you are by Kaiser, I really enjoy that the artist knows where the other players are in the context of the goal. Great spacial awareness, Nomura-sensei!

My favourite panel outside of His Excellency's is the one where half of Isagi's face is dissolving into puzzle pieces. It's more grotesque than it usually is, maybe showing how pissed off yet amazed he is by Kaiser. I love that Isagi hates him, but doesn't deny his talent. The best sports anime protagonist *pats head*

Random thoughts corner: Yukimiya didn't get much to do, but Lorenzo abandoning his mark is an indicator that he posed a significant threat to the goal. I'm kind of hoping he gets the next BM goal (if BM indeed win). I say him over Kunigami, because Kunigami HAS to get a goal against PXG (else we riot).

Speaking of, Kunigami is specifically mentioned to have vacated the goal area by Isagi. Wonder why? He's a goal poacher, so you'd think he'd be around somewhere... I'm kinda hoping he calls out Isagi for that ball steal last chapter, although that's my bias showing haha. In chp 219, Isagi's rationale for stealing was that Kunigami didn't have the capacity to evade the defenders. But Kunigami's levelled up his dribbling and speed since the Manshine match... I imagine he's nurturing some resentment in that little emo brain of his. Remember, he and Isagi are rivals to unseat Kaiser and become BM's lead striker in the NEL.

...just give us some Kunigami development. PLEASE.

Ness has done absolutely nothing but whinge since chapter 218. Kaiser just proved he doesn't need assists to score... in light of Ness's derailment, is it time for a substitute? manifesting that hiori sub c'mon

Last one: how many Ubers broke ranks this play? Sendou's a forward that ended up tackling Kaiser in the centre back lines. Lorenzo left his mark too. Now, arguably it was his only choice, in light of Yukimiya being unmarked and a valid threat to the goal, while Kaiser remained deep in defender territory, but nevertheless... will we see any remorse from Ubers? Any comment from the GOAT coach himself, Snuffy?

Two weeks until we find out 🥹

Prediction tracker

(alternatively: how wrong can one nerd be week to week?)

Last week, I predicted: Isagi will try to beat Aiku one-on-one, or maybe use Yukimiya as a decoy to do so. This is based on the recurring references to winning one-on-one duels being the key to beating Ubers. Also, Isagi’s got a hang up about passing near the goal, which he’s got to overcome at some point.

What I’m (and mostly everyone else) certain of is, Isagi’s not scoring the next goal. There wasn’t a peep out of Kaiser this chapter… maybe he’ll spring a surprise Kaiser Impact on Ubers while they’re busy fending off Isagi?

Actuality: Isagi passed, Yukimiya gets blocked by Lorenzo. Isagi himself was the decoy, and Kaiser manages to execute a brutal goal.

I got some of it! /copium Kaiser scoring was a foregone conclusion though, so not throwing everything away to go into fortune telling just yet.

Three more chapters for Hiori get subbed in. Otherwise, one of my hats is in danger... 🐑

Chapter 221 will be both teams reckoning with this goal. We'll likely get input from both Ubers and BM, and some sort of change in dynamic--be it a substitution or the coaches opting to play (reeeally doubt this will happen though, unless they get a nudge from Ego). In particular, I'm eager to see how Lorenzo and Hiori process this. Also, someone's going to yell at Isagi. Kunigami or Raichi are my guess.

#bllk chp 220 #text post #blue lock spoilers #isagi yoichi #michael kaiser #don lorenzo #aiku oliver #sendou shuto #yukimiya kenyuu #kunigami rensuke #mine #bllk #bllk manga spoilers #bllk manga #blue lock #boinin talks bllk

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myevilmouse · 2 years ago

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I posted 2,997 times in 2022

180 posts created (6%)

2,817 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ele-millennial-weirdo

@sheptronic

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I tagged 2,995 of my posts in 2022

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Longest Tag: 81 characters

#get you a guy who trails a hand along your underside like luke does to his x-wing

My Top Posts in 2022:

60 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

Day 20: Flufftober “Bedtime Stories”

Fandom: Star Wars (Legends)

Words: 100

“...but the Princess didn’t recognize the brave Knight as her true love, the Prince, and she tried to kill him!”

Jaina gasped and Jacen scoffed as their Uncle continued the bedtime story.

“Luckily the power of love was stronger than the evil magician’s spell, and the handsome Prince…”

The next scoff was Mara’s, listening from the doorway.

Luke smiled broader.

“...the VERY handsome Prince broke the enchantment just before the Princess attacked!”

“With a lightsaber?” asked Jacen.

“With a kiss?” squealed Jaina.

“Yes, and yes,” interrupted Mara. “Now sleep!”

“And they lived happily ever after,” concluded Luke with a wink.

See the full post

66 notes - Posted October 20, 2022

Lukeuary! Today’s 100 word drabble theme:

“I sense something...”

Luke crept stealthily around the palatial Coruscant apartment. Hide and seek with his niece and nephews was always a popular game, but tonight Mara was helping babysit, so they played teams. Anakin tiptoed with exaggerated care in his footie pajamas, rounding the sofa in the reception salon.

“I sense something…” Luke whispered, jerking his head to indicate a pair of booted heels peeking out from the ornate curtains.

The toddler squealed, lunging like a tiny rakghoul with arms outstretched towards Mara’s feet.

“You found me!” she laughed as Anakin hugged her leg.

“Best ever discovery,” Luke grinned, kissing her cheek.

72 notes - Posted February 5, 2022

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Arihnda Pryce/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo & Eli Vanto, Arihnda Pryce/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto Characters: Arihnda Pryce, Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Eli Vanto Additional Tags: Tags Contain Spoilers, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Beaches, Planet Corellia (Star Wars), Drinking, Secret Relationship, Crushes, Awkward Conversations, Inspired by Fanart, Established Relationship, Thryce Discord's Fluff Fridays, thryce, Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Propositions, Romance, Memories, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), One Shot Summary:

Governor Pryce and Grand Admiral Thrawn have managed to escape their responsibilities for a vacation that doesn't quite turn out the way they planned.

Inspired by blackmonitor's fanart of Summertime Thrawn & Eli

80 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

106 notes - Posted February 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #i'll tumblr for ya #tumblr milestone #i love everybody in this tumblr bar

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hanayumi · 3 years ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧-𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧

— ft. mikey, chifuyu, baji, mitsuya, draken, kazutora (tr) || tiny nsfw // timeskip characs. // fem!reader

➯ re: the tiny marks you leave in their lives

framed on his desk, fogging up his window, hidden under the fluffy linens of his bedsheets — little pieces of you are everywhere.

CHIFUYU —

Clinging to your shoulders he will find his favourite sweater — the one you purloined when you giggled so sweetly and told him it might just look better on you. It does. But I like it better when it’s on the floor, he murmurs. Fuzzy wool knitted into clothing by your pretty hands and smelling insistently of him can never compare to your soft skin under his fingertips. Everything is his as much as everything is yours.

Fluffy socks, Christmas stockings, denim and corduroy jackets — shared, shared, shared. After all, what is clothing if it doesn’t remind you that you belong to him?

MITSUYA —

On his desk. Lining every counter. Cluttering every shelf. Everywhere sits a pretty picture of you, smiling and reflecting rainbows back at him (he always smiles back). No, it’s not obsessive if she’s my girlfriend. People like to tease him to hell for it but he doesn’t give a shit as long as they know you’re his. An unlocked phone and there you are again, messy hair and fading gradually into sleep with his mug of coffee cupped in your hands — a fragment of precious time snatched and immortalised by a snap of his camera. He has more pictures stockpiled somewhere, somehow.

A notification from you. What’s for dinner? His beloved is calling.

MIKEY —

In his bed that’s always too big for one, under his blankets that are fuzzy around the edges (they got stuck in the dryer once) — is where he will find you all curled up and fast asleep. It’s your territory. Your blankets live here, too (he stole ‘em). A nuzzle to your neck; a little kiss planted on the crown of your head. An overexcited man snuggling his way into your cozy cocoon. When your eyes open he’s staring right back. His limbs are entangled with yours and everything smells of you — your cleaning detergent, your bath soap and sweet, sweet roses — just how he likes it.

Closer and closer still. He keeps pressing closer so every inch of you is infused with him.

BAJI —

Your soft humming catches his attention when he stops and stares from the doorway. The fragrance of flowers permeating the living room as you water the roses. Your hips, hypnotic, swaying to a rhythm you’ve constructed yourself. A greedy look in his eyes. Him, grinning, sneaking up closer to wrap his arms around your waist, deep voice likened to a whisper floating into your eardrums — g’morning, kitten. You look like you’re having fun.

Sparkles in your eyes when you greet him back; a giggle and a loving kiss to his lips. Today there are roses sitting in the vase. The week after there will be peonies. Blues, pinks, yellows and whites — your own idea of what makes a home. He thinks home is wherever you are — wherever your form greets him with a sight for sore eyes in the mornings.

DRAKEN —

In the back of his closet, tucked away — a box with your name written somewhere on it. The date of the first time you held hands and the date of your first kiss; important milestones archived in a place that you have no idea exists. Butter-smooth sentiment and adoration that he hides right under your nose, under the pile of old clothing he no longer wears since you started bringing him shopping (albeit he goes begrudgingly). Under his tough exterior that always screams defiance and strength — reduced to softness and compliance by a stroke of your finger.

When he leaves for work he leaves your favourite scented candles burning on the mantle. He breathes in the smell — breathes in you — and hopes you won’t find the box for another few years. (He would combust on the spot.)

KAZUTORA —

When did it start? When he caught your eye in the once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence of him going back to school. When he turned himself in mere weeks later — barely enough time to get to know you. When you began sending him letters upon letters, your pretty words adorning a page and sometimes three, sometimes four, sometimes too much for a carrier pigeon to hold. The bars are thick and at night the guilt is crippling. But in the hazy morning dew there is always your letter to look forward to. Today I went shopping with Chifuyu. Today there was a cat that reminded me of you. Ah, I miss you, you write.

The outside world has not forgotten him after all. When he gets out of jail tomorrow you’ll be the first thing he sees. The first person he’ll ever reveal his whole heart to — all bloody veins and throbbing tissue and tender cartilage. So that you can run your fingers through every mottled scar and whisper at long last how much you love him. Ah, he misses you.

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the-acid-pear · 3 years ago

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I just can't get enough it seems, time to start the next Baki the Grappler book!

It seems that this one will take on the saga i saw on the anime (at least by the end) so that's exciting

Chapter 1

First off quality is SHIT lmao

Yesss i remember this. I still think that shit about everyone trembling is a lil... Mmmm bullshit.

Baki be like <:] but in a smug way

Look at Tokugawa my man

OH RIGHT HE LEFT THE TOURNAMENT WITH A CAST

This feels so random

Oh right the synchronicity shit

Baki is so -_- in this manga

Look at the old timer go

YEAH FR TOKUGAWA JUST BROUGHT EXPLOSIVES TO A SCHOOL FULL OF CHILDREN TO MAKE A SHITTY ANALOGY SHSHWKWGGE FREAK OLD MAN

Chapter 2

Ahegao

Epic grandpa

HO NICE

Mf really swam thru the Pacific ocean

Chapter 3

Huh i thought he was Scottish

This random guy was pretty interesting looking, the one executing Doyle

Fucked up shit how they still do this stuff

King, i can somehow still remember his voice in particular fsr

Also since no one reads this i will say it: Doyle does NOT look white ahagdbafhsdbc

I like that he didn't bother killing the doctor

Is that Strydum? 🥺👉👈

Chapter 4

Shagddjd i was going to say that, this dude could have easily taken a different path from violence

GAARN? MY MAN? MY BELOVED GARLAND? IS HE ALIVE STILL?!

FFS NOT FOR LONG HHH LOOK HOW THEY MASSACRED MY BOY...

I mean it's fair, Sirkosky uses weapons, but man, Garland... :'/

This all hits so different once you know the characters :]]]

Chapter 5

That pic is still so brutal

What an absolute troll shsshwgxgd

Also fun fact when i watched the anime i didn't pay much attention at first so I assumed the Russian was Spec (i didn't even know Sirkosky's name)

I love how that was unnecessary shagdhsr

ADAGDFAGAFAD this guy was also great

Spec was fucking insane man aggsggahsfg

I love he's full of tattoos

The absolutely king

OH RIGHT Spec is sus *laugh track*

Chapter 6

Oh hell yeah, grandpa's ex

Baki tf you doing there in the cover you madlad

...bottom storage.

THEY ARE SO MEAN LEAVE HIS SHORT ASS ALONE SHSGJSGS

He's my size btw

Was there a motive for him to be naked or was he just a freak btw?

I love the shape of his eyes ngl

I love how scared the guards are while he just calmly rambles

I don't wanna call yanagi my grandpa because i think yanagi can get it and it would be like calling him daddy but the Gilf™ is Dorian man life is so hard when you are me

I love Yanagi's face lol he's handsome

Chapter 7

Poor Baki lmao he just got better from the maximum tournament and now this

Lmao Baki has a point

Unnecessary, Doyle

Chapter 8

I love how they were recruiting dangerous mfs to beat up this random guy bc his vibes are fucked up

This guy looked a lot like jack

You gotta be brave to shove a knife that sharp into your pants

I love how Baki literally did nothing to em

Baki's face just looks wrong this isn't my beloved child

Imagine you are about to fight this mf and he just shoves his hand inside his pants

Chapter 9

This dude really looks like, fully japanese jack hanma

JWGWKEGWKSGE I LOVE HIM

I love how Spec just showed up dressed up as a fucking monk or something

Chapter 10

You guys know, Dorian reminds me of my now dead great grandfather, with the moustache look even more.

Not impressed, 15 yo Hanayama did the same when throwing a tantrum

He's so insane i luv him

Okay but look at the cut of that outfit look at how well it hugs his chest and waist but flows bellow... Spec my dude you could have been a mad good model 😐 he's even giving me gender envy! 🥺

I love how Baki used both his hands for the handshake

Chapter 11

Ho, speak of the devil, i was just talking of this fucker with Blood

Mf got so old

I like how there was no motive for him to be naked he literally is just Like That

Also it's from here that he got that wasp waist lmao

Mf just flexing at this point lmao

GRANDPA!! <3

Yanagi got cake

That's so unnecessary rude, obsessed. Also, as if you weren't old Yanagi. I see why they broke up now ;/

Chapter 12

11 and 12 are the same fsr

Chapter 13

I honestly wonder where these prisoners got their clothes, like, aside from Doyle that one time everyone else is never shown shopping or even owning money

Also i love the fact that on a daily basis i dress the same as Spec, that definitely says something bout me jagsjsgwhwfwg 😭

To be honest, considering the size of Spec's body, they should definitely feed him more

He didn't wash his hands 😢

Dick and balls too strong ajgshsgsg

I love how fucking, polite he is.

Oh i see, i thought he might have stolen a wallet or something but nah

Btw i genuinely don't remember shit JAGSKSGWJGS even if it watched the anime i forgot most of this

Chapter 14

GOD the way the anime butchered Katsumi, he's so handsome in the manga in comparison 😐

Also i like how they aren't explaining this like, Katsumi was the one who lost, did he wait until Retsu was okay to fight again in HIS ("") dojo?!

RETSU STOP DOING THESE SORT OF TRICKS THAT'S PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE AJDGSJSG

HE'S JUST BUILT DIFFERENT

Okay he actually explained, oddly nice of Retsu to accept tho

Hoho this scene hits different now that i know and like Katsumi

Also I'm not even gonna question where Doppo is, dude is never just around skdgksgd

Chapter 15

I love this genre of cover

WHITE BOY SJDGSJGSHS-

I love that retsu is just watching, he's still an asshole QJGSJSGWH

If i didn't know Katsumi I would say he died

I did actually think he had died when watching the anime

Retsu still has his thicc ass i see

Chapter 16

See all this makes sense now that i know retsu and the shit he has seen and been thru!

Angry lad, lucky his hair didn't burn

I DIDNT EVEN REALIZE HE EXTINGUISHED THE FIRE WITH HIS SCREAM

Chapter 17

Ahegao in the cover

I'm looking at the pages and I'm obsessed with Doppo being described as a "bold, badass karate master", it's so accurate <3

Also Igari being called eccentric, and the mention he defeated Mount Toba!! <3

Baki is slowly looking more like Baki

"my mother is dying"

Tasks keep failing successfully

Chapter 18

mAh boy...

That happens and it's the worst

Musashi you good boy 🥺

Chapter 19

Igari <33

That's insane

Chapter 20

I love that Igari looks legitimately worried and sad, not sweating tho

I love how he didn't have any serious damage until the punches like, okay.

Poor Igari tho

DID HE CHEW EM OFF OR SOMETHING? SHSHWGEGCH

Was anybody going to tell me is Sikorsky and not Sirkosky?

Also i love how legitimately scared Tokugawa is, probably more than when Yujiro picked him up

Chapter 21

The heights are so off in this saga

Oh my fucking god i didn't know Spec was 221

Either heights are all over the place or Yanagi is not 160

Either way HOW CAN YOU BE THAT SMALL? 🤣

GAFSFWEAD Tokugawa like "i own this place 😐"

Doyle is still the most decent one of the bunch

URSURSUTSUSTSRU

LOOK AT YANAGI DORIAN AND SIKORSKY ALREADY GETTING THEIR HANDS READY SBDGSHW

I googled how big Andreas from the tournament was and like, 2.40 😦

LET'S GOOOOO EVEN WITH A BEARD OMFG 😳😳😳

I see Hanayama descended into alcoholism after losing in the tournament. Also tf is with that bag? Was he hiking or something?

Jsgsjsgd Shibukawa is so excited too

I think this is chronically the first time Doppo appears with fully casual clothes, usually he either was in a suit or in his karate uniform

I'm straight up simping to the public now sgsjsgwhw

Chapter 22

LOOK AT THESE DUDES..... 💞

FUCK I WAS GONNA SAY THERE WERE MORE BAD THAN GOOD GUYS THEN LOOKED DOWN AND REALIZED THAT NO, SHIBUKAWA WAS JUST NEARLY OUT OF FRAME 😭

They all look so upset about that information

SIKORSKY NAME GOT SPELLED AS SILCOSKI...

Looking at them drives me insane i developed such a bond with all these fighters

I haven't seen Doppo this excited since last time his wife showed up

BAKI SWEARING?! 😰

How did Tokugawa grab Baki's shoulder?

ALSO WHY TF IS BAKI SO SURPRISED AS IF HE DIDNT GO AROUND BEATING UP PEOPLE WHEN HE WAS 13...

Don't worry Baki y'all will, Tokyo is not that big it seems

Shibukawa swearing 😨

"Imagine being mid but and Spec pulls up on you" "imagine having sex and she takes the mask and it's fucking Spec"

To be fair i would fuck a 2.21 muscular lady without going "hmmm this doesn't seem like a good idea..." in any moment

Chapter 23

I love how Dorian is just looking up

ACTUALLY ALL THEIR STANCES, Yanagi making dead eye contact with Gouki, Sikorsky with a firm pose just as Hanayama, Doyle with hiss chest up but eyes down giving a sense of pride, and, well, then there's Spec being Spec.

I like seeing Sikorsky having fun

I love Spec he played so smart SGSGSGS

😳 love wins!

Oh i had already forgotten about the dojo

Old man Dorian just has that effect on people

Threesome i see /j

He really was just fucking hiking i would love if they ever explained that ough 🥺

Did his facial hair just disappear?? STSGSFSD

BWHEKEGWJG THEY REALLY JUST FORGOT TO ADD IT FOR ONE PANEL IM OBSESSED

Such a good kick tho

The relationship these men can have is so oddly nice like not Doppo and Retsu specifically but all of the fighters in general. Like many of them barely know each other, but they all know their fighting styles and respect each other, plus have no reason to be in bad terms with one another and specially not now that they are all fighting for the same cause. It's just so nice to see em idk JAGSHS

Hey Igari.

Chapter 24

Thank God Doppo went <3 again it had been so long

Babe are you okay? You hadn't put a lil heart in your speech bubble for a while...

King really punched the fire

I will chose to believe that's true bc it's impressive 😍

You know it's funny like, Katsumi is mad good but he doesn't has as much experience as his dad and that leaves him in disvantage

Hehe i remember that guy

The manga is so much better than the anime ffs

I love that he didn't even realize

Chapter 25

Manga i don't think that's science

Also Baki just chilling with some doves lmao

I'm looking thru old messages see how my og reaction to this was

Huh i found nothing, that's odd. Well my reaction would have probably been like NOOOOO anyway so, y'all can imagine it

You left my dilf handless you fucking asshole good thing he has a wife

Imagine this dude cuts your hand and then just flexes his knowledge about science or whatever

HSSGGSFS THEY FIXED THE NO BEARD ERROR

Illiterate king <3

A guy did this to me once btw!!! Obviously in way smaller scale but he just touched something and the bleeding soon stopped!!!!

Honestly that's the most huge dick energy thing Doppo has ever done

Pfff I'm starting to remember why i liked Doppo so much 🥴

Bitches confused over him running away, tf was he supposed to do? He played it smart since there are no rules

Though yeah an eye and NOW a hand, insane

Chapter 26

Sjshhdhsn tanuki?

Oh, fox, he was calling him slick

Manga is pretty faster than the anime

Chapter 27

Where's your honor, Igari...

He is right sadly enough 😔

Oh i keep forgetting Igari's nature, he was probably trying to pull his silly little tricks again

This is just brutal honestly

Hehe this time i didn't get scared ☺️

I like that at least I'm not the only one who needs their mind off the gutter

Chapter 28

Love seeing em datin <3

He's so aggressive accidentally i love these dorks sm 😍🥺💞

SPEC FFS SJGDHWGW

Chapter 29

SPEC FOR FUCKS SAKE SJSVSJWGSH

Hanayama is such a real bro man

I LOVE THAT HE WAS JUST STALKING BAKI TOO BTW SJDGJDGDHSBDGDGS

To think i will still love hanayama but for entirely different reasons 😌

Chapter 30

Kaoru looks different but idk how

What the fuck is Spec even saying?

The fact that that makes no sense, i still love it a lot tho.

ALSO I ADORE HOW QUIET HANAYAMA IS WHEN FIGHTING

Okay Spec really has a point it really is beautiful

GOD I'M STARTING TO UNDERSTAND THESE CHARACTERS TOO MUCH I NEED HELP AJDGSJSGSHS 😭

But it's beautiful in the sense like, look how built he is! Look at all those scars!!! It IS beautiful it's a masterpiece!!!!!!!

"i choose to believe this is how hanayama always undresses" KSHSKDGSJ THE AMOUNT OF SUITS THIS MAN DESTROYS.. OBSESSED

Though yeah Hanayama in general is also beautiful isn't he?

Chapter 31

I would sob man look at him. Look at Shiba.

NO ONE RISKS HIS LIFE MORE THAN SHIBA YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE I STILL HOLD A LOT OF RESPECT FOR HIM!

A BENCH...

I really don't get why he's letting himself get hit, is he just flexing?

I cannot way to see him do his Technique ™

Chapter 32

Manga is so much superior to the anime, like, i haven't complained about Spec even once bc he isn't annoying anyone, in the anime he was so infuriating!!

I love when they just steal their standing poses sjsgjssgsh

That distortion effect so good

Chapter 33

I still think it's weird they used humans and not machines, though it was effective

I love how Spec managed to punch that statue without calling the attention of much people that's impressive

And i love that he keeps saying man he sounds like me with bro

Hanayama my beloved

Chapter 34

Yeah I'm not reading all that 😐

Oh this explains the holes in his clothes

#luly talks #btg #having a shitton of fun #the anime is NOTHING compared to the manga #the only good thing about the anime is the voice acting which is just on point #but everything else SUCKS man #they made me hate my man Spec and now im seeing he wasnt as nearly as annoying as in the anime #AND THEY BUTCHERED SO MANY FACES... EVERYONE WAS SO FUCKING UGLY #HANAYAMA... KATSUMI... EVEN BAKI WAS MAD UGLY 😭😭#but everything is better now ☺️#also i hit the limit of letters again 🥴#baki liveblog

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raendown · 4 years ago

Link

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4879 Soulmate au: The one where every pair of soulmates finds each other in different ways or through different soulmate tropes

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 221

Watching the client who had come begging them for assistance with a typically ridiculous problem, Tobirama wondered what it would be like to have such an obvious connection to his soulmate as this man did. His already short sleeves were tied back even further as though to purposefully display as much as possible of the golden words flowing down the back of one arm, a greeting that must have been the first words his other half spoke to him. To have such easy proof of one’s connection, to know from the earliest ages that there was someone out there and how to find them, Tobirama could only wonder at the security this man must have felt in his bond from the moment he understood that it was waiting for him. It must have been nice.

It was also quite the pity for whoever had been the one to speak those words.

Privately Tobirama could admit that a small bit of the attitude he could feel bubbling to the surface was motivated by jealousy, petty retribution against someone who had something he wanted for himself. Out loud, of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead even hinting at such an admission.

“This is all very fascinating, Kirimoto-san, but I can’t help noting you have yet to explain what any of it has to do with Konohagakure. Were you perchance hoping to commission someone to record your story? Contracting a scribe would only be a D-rank mission, not the A-rank you proposed.” Lifting one eyebrow in judgement was probably going a little too far. If only he could bring himself to care.

“I was only just getting to that, Senju-sama,” their client spluttered. Anger flashed across his face but luckily for his continued health he was smart enough not to say anything. “The mission I came to contract your shinobi for is of vital importance! My son is a diamond among chaff; he deserves only the best! If the woman pressing suit upon him is truly so weak-hearted as to look at other men then she must be chased away!”

Tobirama blinked slowly. “And you wish us to…?”

“Why, to bring proof of her infidelity of course! I will pay the full price of an A-rank mission for two of your finest shinobi to approach her in disguise and seduce her away from my son! If her heart is as impure as I think it is then she will no doubt fall for such base tricks.”

He puffed himself up with the same false importance bred in to every idiot that had ever been born in the capital city, entirely ignorant of how little effect that would have on the one he was speaking to. When Tobirama got ahold of his brother he was going to throttle the man for taking today of all days off and leaving his duties to the next in command. Technically Madara would have been the next in command if he weren’t currently at home recovering from pushing himself too hard during training. No doubt that was exactly why Hashirama had taken the day off. Tobirama hoped the two idiots drowned in a teapot for making him deal with this particular client.

Despite his petty irritation he didn’t actually want to offend the man. Or at least not badly enough for the idiot to file a complaint that would bring another lecture down on his head about playing nice with their patrons. Several slow deep breaths helped bolster his patience until he could be certain none of the contempt he felt for this utter waste of time might show on his face; only then did he speak again.

“If you wish to pay for an A-rank mission then we will gladly accept your commission. Do you have any other information that might help us choose the two best people to accept this task?”

“You! I want one of them to be you!” For some reason Kirimoto-san felt the need to rise from his chair and point like there could be any mistaking who he was speaking to. They were, after all, the only people in the room. “I’ve heard all the rumors! Women from here to the capitol cry themselves to sleep every night over the hearts you break!”

Tobirama could feel one of his eyes twitching. He’d heard a lot of rumors about himself before but this one was new. Him? A country-wide heartbreaker? That went beyond laughable in to the territory of utterly absurd. If anything most rumors called him uptight and cold. Which, in all honesty, was certainly more true than the opposite. The last heart he broke was probably well back in his adolescence when one of his clanmates had taken some unnatural interest in him and refused to be turned aside with any gentler tactics than a flat out shredding of her ego.

Clinging hard to his temper, Tobirama bit down savagely on his own tongue before asking, “I don’t suppose I could change your mind on that? My duties here are many and rumors are easily blown out of proportion. Seduction is… not one of my strengths, shall we say.”

“Do...I want to know?” Hashirama’s voice asked in the same moment the door swung open. Their illustrious Hokage recoiled almost as soon as he stepped in to the room, eyes wide and confused upon being met with Tobirama’s acidic glare. Behind him trundled Madraa who looked a hell of a lot more put together than he had when Tobirama bullied him in to going home the night before with instructions to recuperate before he passed out over his own paperwork.

“Ah Hokage-sama!” their client bowed hastily.

“Hello! Um, honeypot mission?” The cringe in Hashirama’s voice was as obvious as the pain it caused him to think of his sibling in any sort of intimate context.

Unfortunately Kirimoto-san managed to speak first. “Senju-sama here has agreed to assist me in the matter I wrote to you about! All we need is one mo- ah! Perfect! You’re perfect! Pray tell, what is your name, miss?”

If nothing else. Tobirama decided while he was busily choking on his own tongue, that right there was worth the shame of having to take part in this ridiculous farce. Madara, to no one’s surprise, didn’t seem inclined to agree. His expression was particularly thunderous when he crossed his arms and leveled their client with a deadly stare.

“Uchiha Madara,” he growled. To Kirimoto-san’s credit he didn’t so much as flinch before breaking in to a massive grin.

“Even more perfect! A man! And here I thought I would have to pay extra for you to dress as one. Most excellent. It absolutely must be the two of you!”

Madara sneered. “I don’t think s-”

“Well now!” Hashirama spoke over him. “I’m sure you understand, my dear sir, that these two are my most valuable shinobi both administratively and in battle prowess. To allow both of them to be deployed on the same mission would be a serious detriment to our productivity - not to mention our security in the event of an attack.”

“But I must have them! Only them!”

“It simply doesn’t seem feasible. To fill the large spaces they would leave empty would mean keeping several extra people on active duty and I’m afraid the cost…” With a face of carefully constructed regret Hashirama sighed and Tobirama took a moment to reluctantly admire his brother’s ingenuity. People could say what they wanted about his overly active emotions. Very few ever realized how easily he manipulated them entirely because of that same buffoonery veiling their eyes to the wily genius underneath.

Kami forbid the idiot ever realize Tobirama admired that quality in him, though.

“Can I not convince you?” Kirimoto-san begged. “If it is a matter of cost I can of course make it worth your while to send them with me! Name your price, Hokage-sama, and I will pay it! Anything to ensure that my precious son lives his life only with a woman who will never betray him!”

The poor sod didn’t even seem to realize the mistake he’d just made as Hashirama turned to him with a beatific smile on his face and dollar signs in his eyes.

When he finally managed to leave the office Kirimoto-san’s face was as pained as his poor wallet was empty. Tobirama couldn’t find it in himself to even pity the man. Not when his own fate had been sealed with more than twenty thousand ryō above the typical asking price of an A-ranked mission. Regrettably, he hadn’t actually been lying when he said that seduction was not one of his strengths but apparently he would have to at least make an effort. It was hard to choose whether he regretted more that it would be a woman several years after he had finally accepted his preferences in the opposite direction or that, of all people, Madara would be there to watch him make such an utter fool out of himself.

“How exactly”-he demanded the moment their client was far enough down the hall not to overhear them-”do you propose I disguise myself? At the risk of showing my own ego, I’ll remind you that I do have rather distinctive looks.”

“You’re not the only one,” Madara growled with both hands going almost protectively to his extraordinary mane of hair.

Hashirama boomed a laugh that lacked even a shred of sympathy. “Oh I’m sure you two will figure something out! You could always wear a henge!”

“And if she’s chakra-sensitive? I notice you failed to even ask about that!” Madara reached out to smack his best friend across the back of the head for such an oversight. Familial bonds dictated that Tobirama should defend his sibling but, as he rather wished he was close enough to do that himself, he opted to pretend he’d seen nothing.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m sure we can work out something that will hide your hair. Like a big scarf or a hood or something you could tuck it in to!” Hashirama drooped and clasped both hands under his chin. “Please don’t be mad at me!”

“That still leaves me,” Tobirama pointed out.

Both of the squabbling friends turned to him in consideration for several long heartbeats. Hashirama spoke up first with a bright smile. “I know! We can cover your tattoos with makeup! Geisha use white makeup all the time, I’m sure we can procure you some in a discreet manner!”

“Covering my face won’t do much good if my hair is just going to stick out like a fox in a henhouse. The only bloodlines left that produce hair this color are all shinobi clans and as much as I would consider it a complement to be mistaken for a Hatake, that wouldn’t exactly help me fly under the radar now would it?” he didn’t bother to list all of the other shinobi clans he would likely take insult at being mistaken for but his brother, thankfully, had enough tact to skirt that entirely.

Instead he went even deeper in to stupid territory because of course he did.

“You could dye your hair!” he crowed as if with the triumph of a great idea.

“I hate you,” Tobirama told him.

Without another word he swept out of the office, calling over his brother’s whining protests that since he was here anyway he might as well finish his own duties for the day. More than anything he was angered that Hashirama’s suggestion had actually been a logical solution and in the depths of his private heart he admitted that his irritation stemmed entirely from self-image. He didn’t want to dye his hair. He liked his hair. Call him an egomaniac but he rather enjoyed standing out from the masses.

Sending a clone to go pick out some dye from the infiltration core’s private storage room felt somehow less painful than doing it himself. At least when he received the memories of it the deed would already be done. Tobirama completed the handful of duties left unfinished at the tower and then left to wait at home for his clone to return. The first thing he did upon dispelling his copy was sit in his living room to study the instructions on the back of the dreaded box in excruciating detail. The only thing worse than going through with this idiocy would be somehow doing it wrong; this was already going to end in mockery one way or another, he didn’t need to give anyone more ammo than necessary. After making sure he understood exactly how to use the stuff Tobirama spun the box around again to study the color.

Maybe he wouldn’t look entirely terrible with red hair. If the stars aligned in just the right way he might be able to convince himself he looked a bit like his sister in law. The Uzumaki, now there was a clan he would feel no shame for having a connection to and it would certainly be a logical assumption. They did have a rather sizable civilian population.

Turning the box side to side in an effort to determine whether he thought the color looked like a natural one, he couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to the golden letters embossed near the very top, an elegant curling script that greatly resembled the letters Kirimoto-san bore along one arm. What would he do, Tobirama wondered, if at last he managed to discover his own soulmate and he wasn’t able to reach out because of this? He’d never been all that fond of undercover missions for just this reason. To meet his soulmate while he didn’t even look like himself, to risk that they might fall in love with a falsity. A deep sigh escaped him and Tobirama spun the box around so he wouldn’t have to look at the letters anymore. Everything about this mission was stupid - including the emotions he was letting it drag out of him. Best to just get this over with before he got too maudlin about things so far out of his control.

All told, including the time he took to pause and investigate the chemical compounds, the dying process took just over an hour and Tobirama refused to look at himself in the mirror until he had thoroughly rinsed the mixture out of his hair and let the whole thing dry completely. Only then did he finally approach the bathroom vanity with trepidation and lift his eyes to take in the horror of what he’d done. He had just enough time to cringe in distaste before the front door of his home slammed open with a bang that ricocheted down the hall.

“Tobi?” Hashirama’s voice called out to him in an oddly strangled tone. “You here?”

“Unfortunately.” At his reply footsteps hurried closer.

“We may have to apply a slight change of plaaaa-....ns...oh my.”

“Anija I swear if you finish that sentence after I only just finished this nonsense”-Tobirama jerked an angry thumb at his own mangled hair-“I will make you regret ever being born.”

His brother stared at him. Stared some more. Blinked several times and then continued to stare, all while Tobirama’s ire grew closer and closer to the boiling point. Finally he drew in a breath that rattled ominously.

“Come with me,” he murmured shortly before spinning on one heel and marching back towards the front door.

“Now hold on! Anija, what the hell?”

Annoyingly, Hashirama did not stop. His only concession was to pause long enough for Tobirama to tear an old jacket out of his front closet and pull the hood up tightly. Just because lots of other strangers were going to see him in this state didn’t mean he had to let all of Konoha in on his shame. Vanity, apparently, would need to be added on to the list of character flaws he hadn’t even known afflicted him until this thrice blasted village was built.

Where the hell they were going he couldn’t tell since the hood of his jacket was pulled so tight around his head that it obscured most of the world around him. On sense alone he guessed they were bound in a general southern direction but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what existed to the south that had to do with his disguise or suddenly needed to be attended to the moment his brother saw him. Tobirama did try to ask, of course, but for once in his life Hashirama seemed to have lost his capacity for words. If only he could be like that more often. Well, if only he could be like that any other time but for now when Tobirama needed answers that none of his increasingly irritated questions were getting him. He did recognize right away when they entered the Uchiha district. Walking past the uchiwa-embossed gates always felt much like stepping in from the cold to a place with a thousand warm fires all around him. It was, he hated to admit, a very comforting place to be for a sensor like him.

It was also a great relief at the moment; Hashirama might profess to love the whole world but there were very few people he was actually close with and only one of them lived within the Uchiha compound. Tobirama frowned at the inside of his hood. It would make sense for them to go see Madara right now, he was the other half of this utterly ridiculous undercover mission, but it made no sense at all for Hashirama to be in this much of a tither over his best friend unless something had gone terribly wrong in the past hour since they had all been together.

How much trouble could one man get in to within the confines of their own village?

Despite how close the two of them were it was still a mild surprise when Hashirama let them both in to Madara’s house without so much as knocking. Tobirama wracked his brain trying to remember whether Izuna still lived with his brother while the two of them made their way down the hall. Since they were inside now, safe from the judging eyes of the general public, Tobirama allowed his fingers to loosen their hold on the material of his hood until he had enough vision to take in the home of the Uchiha clan head. Much more spartan than he had expected. If he were taking this first look a handful of years ago he would have expected bloodied weapons to line the walls and plaques bearing the heads of notable kills. He’d long grown past such childish assumptions but if he were honest he still would have expected this place to be a little more plush, a little more befitting the head of such a large and lucrative clan.

“Mads? Mads I’m back. Are you...okay if we come in?” Hashirama paused at the beginning of the hallway to gently wrap his knuckles against a plain shoji screen.

“End me now,” Madara’s miserable voice drifted out. “If a single person in my clan sees this I will never hear the end of it.”

“We’re coming in, okay?”

Hashirama waited just a moment longer to give his friend time for yelling if he was truly so opposed to them entering. When no protests came he nodded once and then opened the door, pulling Tobirama behind him as he walked forward in to the room.

Strange as it was to find himself in Uchiha Madara’s bedroom of all places Tobirama didn’t have time to even look around to see if the decor here was as barren as the rest of the house. He didn’t even have the time to ruminate on the odd places life had taken him just today. The moment he stepped inside the room all of his attention was riveted to the figure huddled on the bed with face in hands. Logic told him that was Madara. It sounded like him. Felt like him. His eyes, however, must have been playing tricks on him.

“The...hell...is going on?” Tobirama pulled his free arm away from Hashirama’s grasp to poke at him with confusion. “I thought you said he was going with the scarf idea? How the hell did you get a dye that color to saturate this much hair in such a short time? And for that matter, why on earth did you give him the same color as me?”

“Oh I didn’t do this,” Hashirama said.

“So he did it to himself?”

“No, I think you did it.”

Tobirama blinked slowly, one eyebrow rising. “I most certainly did not. You saw me when you came to get me, you know exactly what I’ve been doing since I left the tower.”

In his indignation at being accused he missed the sharp movement of Madara’s head snapping up to look at him for the first time since he entered the home. Busy as he was jamming a finger in to his brother’s side, he didn’t see those eyes zero in on him like a kunai finding its target but he sure did feel the weight of them. At first he ignored it - this was hardly the first time he’d been stared at - but when Hashirama managed to bat his finger away and pointedly indicated the man whose house they had just invaded he finally looked over.

“Can I help you?” he muttered, instinctively defensive under that much scrutiny.

“What do you mean the same color as you?”

His first reflex was to pull the hood tighter around his head. Then he realized how stupid that was. If the two of them were going on the same mission then obviously Madara would have to see him in this state at some point - and if anyone was going to understand the pain of having to dye his hair such a wildly unsuitable shade it would be the man whose head currently matched his own. A heavy sigh of defeat escaped him before, with great effort, he finally allowed his fingers to unclench so the hood of his jacket could fall back to reveal that his hair indeed was a perfect match for the ridiculous color of Madara’s. He expected the man to stare, of course. What he didn’t expect was for his jaw to drop and one hand to reach out blindly for Hashirama.

“You,” Madara croaked. “Go away. Now. I...I need to talk to...just go away!”

“Okay.” In a move possibly more surprising than anything else that had happened so far, Hashirama turned to leave the room as easily as that, not a word of protest. Tobirama watched him go with both eyes wide and blinking.

“I...how did you do that? I’ve never seen him leave so easily in my life. How did you make him do that!?”

Bed springs creaked and groaned like a symphony to announce Madara’s rise from the bed, eyes still locked on to Tobirama with all the intensity of the hawks he so enjoyed flying. He looked just as silly with the wrong hair color as Tobirama felt he himself did but something told him that mockery would not go over very well just now no matter that Madara was one of the few who could give as good as he got. The arguments they got in to were usually some of the highest points of Tobirama’s week.

“You dyed your hair.” Unfortunately his intelligence didn’t always shine through quite as obviously, such as moments like now when he felt compelled to state the very obvious.

“So did you,” Tobirama said with one eyebrow raised in judgment.

“No I didn’t.”

After a pause Tobirama canted his head to one side and lifted the other brow. “Well then I suppose I’ll need to get my eyes checked very soon.”

“No! Shut up, you don’t get it! I didn’t do this!”

“You’re claiming...what? Some kind of hair dye bandit snuck in and colored your hair when you weren’t looking?”

“I think it means we’re soulmates, you absolute fuck!”

“Oh.”

There were dozens of responses he could pretend he’d been expecting and that one would not have been even close to getting on the list. Tobirama opened his mouth only to close it, thoughts racing over each other in a jumbled heap because he knew exactly what Madara was getting at. Of course he did.

And of course the universe would be so petty as to give them a way to find each other only through humiliating themselves. Sometimes he really did hate other people for how easily they discovered their bonds. Not him, though, oh no. He couldn’t have a red string tied to his pinkie, he couldn’t have been born with the first words his soulmate would say to him imprinted on his skin, he couldn’t even have the moment of unquestionable knowing when he heard his partner’s voice for the first time. Because it was him and because it was Madara they just had to do things the hard way, waiting until one of them dyed their hair so the change of color could be reflected on their other half.

“That color looks awful on you,” was all he could think to say; perhaps a little too honest but from the very start of peace the two of them had silently agreed to never pull their punches with each other. Madara stared at him in disbelief for a half dozen heartbeats until without warning he burst in to raucous laughter.

“Seriously?” he demanded. “That’s all you have to say?”

Tobirama threw both of his hands in the air. “Well what do you want me to say? It’s not like I have some big speech prepared just in case I find out the other half of my soul has been riding around in you this whole time!”

“No? That’s almost surprising. You’re usually prepared for pretty much anything.” The smile on Madara’s face gentled his words from insults to fond teasing and Tobirama wondered how long the possibilities of this had been hiding right under his nose.

“I didn’t really want to go on this mission in the first place,” he mused. “Now I really don’t want to.”

“Because we match and it’s incredibly obvious that we shouldn’t?”

“No, dumb ass, because I just discovered my soulmate and I’d rather like some time to process that.” Tobirama rolled his eyes but there was a very telling hint of a smile on his own face as well. How could there not be?

Madara hummed and shifted his weight, coincidentally ending up just a little bit closer when he settled, though Tobirama chose not to point that out. “How much do you think it would take to convince your brother not to send us out?”

“Oh probably about a thousand yen more than whatever Kirimoto-san paid him.”

“Hn. I’d have to dip in to the clan coffers. And then I’d have to listen to the elders bitch about squandering clan funds. Ugh.” Madara’s nose wrinkled. Tobirama mirrored him if for no other reason than annoyance that he’d never really noticed how adorable that was. If he looked back on all the past interactions they’d had he would probably be able to drum up a thousand different clues that they were meant to be together.

Good thing he wasn’t the type to look back. Self reflection was so boring.

The problem of his brother forcing them to go through with this mission still was just something they would have to figure out later. Probably a very quick later since they were still expected to leave some time later that same day but still, certainly a problem Tobirama was willing to put off solving until he absolutely had to. If Hashirama was really so dead set on making them do this when he very clearly understood what situation was happening then he could come get them himself.

“Spot of tea?” Tobirama looked around as though he might spot a kitchen through the bedroom walls.

“Ah, yeah, I guess it would be polite of me to get you some, huh?”

Madara rocked back on to his heels and looked towards the door as well, the perfect opportunity for Tobirama to really look at him and take in all the little details he normally wouldn’t in another person, the shape of his jawline and the tiny amounts of baby fat that had never fully left his cheeks.

“It isn’t like you to be concerned about being polite,” he pointed out.

When his soulmate turned back to reveal an openly amused grin he thought maybe the universe did know what it was doing - but he was still a little annoyed that it had made things so difficult for him. Also quite annoyed that they were likely going to have to see this ridiculous mission through. What an absolute shame that he finally discovered his soulmate only for the poor man to bear witness to his complete lack of seduction skills all in the same day. He hoped Hashirama had already started running because he was going to murder his own brother for this.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madatobi #tobirama #madara #hashirama #fanfiction

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moonyinchaos · 4 years ago

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wotcher! i've been thinking about getting a beta for my fic but i don't know where to get one. does having a beta helps?

Hellou! If you’re thinking about having someone as your beta, I definitely suggest you to do it :) In my case, I don’t need help grammar/writing wise. Nat mostly helps me plot wise - when I have an idea I want to work with, or something, we discuss it a bit. Some of the things that happened, and will happen, in WiTS (I can’t escape being a Ravenclaw, obviously) are highly influenced by our conversations :) When it comes to writing, I send her the earliest early draft of the chapter - without proofreading or anything. Why? I like her to have the first product, and I hate having to change half of the work later. This way, if she has a suggestion, I fix it early on. The last chapter was a real struggle for me. I struggled so much I even considered not sending a half of it to Nat, but I broke down and sent her everything. Her reception, and comments made my struggle 10x easier :3

In my case, having a beta is helpful, and I recommend it 100%. It can help you with both writing/grammar, and the plot. And, it’s amazing to have someone for brainstorming the ideas, or someone who will tell you “whoa, that’s a bit too much” :)

And again, shout out for my beta @moony-221-b. You are amazing on so many levels 💙

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breaniebree · 5 years ago

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As Harry mourns do you think he’ll push Ginny away or want her around more often?

Well, you might have to wait and see for that... but not really, I’ll give you one small sneak peek ;)

SNEAK PEEK chapter 221 (Hinny moment)

“Go away,” he muttered, turning his head into his pillow.

He was buried under his blankets, his arm coming up to cover his face as if the sunlight would burn him.

“I’m not going away. I’m your girlfriend and you shouldn’t be alone, Harry,” Ginny insisted as she stood over him, the sunlight at her back.

“I want to be alone.”

“Don’t care,” she told him.

He lifted his head long enough to glower at her. “I don’t want you here.”

Ginny sat on the end of his bed and crossed her legs, closing the curtains behind her. “Too bad.”

“Ginny, please leave.”

“No.”

“Ginny, I don’t want you here — go away.”

“No.”

“I want to be alone.”

“Will you stop brooding if I leave you alone?”

“I’m not brooding,” he declared stubbornly.

Ginny only stared him down. “You shouldn’t be alone, end of story.”

“I want to be.”

“I’ll leave you alone when you stop brooding.”

“I’m not — everyone who loves me dies, Ginny! Do you not see that? It would be better for you if you just broke up with me. We can’t be together anymore.”

Ginny stretched her legs out across his bed. “Okay, Harry.”

“Fine, we’re broken up. Now will you leave?”

“No,” she said fiercely. “Because you’re still my best friend.”

His eyes softened, the glimmer of tears making her heart pitter-patter. “I’m allowed to wallow! Sirius is fucking dead!”

Ginny crawled up his bed and made herself comfortable in his lap. “I know, love.” She wrapped her arms around him and he tried to pull back. “No. No matter what you say right now, I’m not going anywhere. Let it out. You’re allowed to grieve. You go home in two days and Zee will need you — you’ll need each other. Remus and Tonks as well.”

“And you?” he whispered.

Ginny kissed his forehead. “Despite your rather pitiful attempts to get rid of me, I will also be right here.”

#a second chance #breanie #harry potter fanfiction #hinny #a second chance spoilers

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waitimcomingtoo · 5 years ago

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In Case You Don’t Live Forever - Chapter Nineteen Continued

Part One

Masterlist

You picked up your phone that was lying outside Peters door. You knocked on his door and examined the phone while you waited. Peter answered soon enough and let you in.

“Hey.” Peter said timidly. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to bed tonight a single man. He put his faith in the promise you made him that you’d never break up again. He hoped your remembered that promise. It was five years ago, after all.

“Hello.” You answered. Peter knew he was overthinking it, but your answer confused him. Since the day you met, he’d say hey, you’d say hi, or the other way around. “Hello” was never in the mix.

“What did you want to talk about?” Peter sat on the bed. He knew what you wanted to talk about. Your phone started buzzing so you chucked it on the bed next to him.

“Where were you tonight?” You didn’t waste any time. He’d wasted enough of yours.

“I-I was sick.” Peter stammered. He hated the constant lying to you.

“Bullshit.” You spat. “Where were you?”

“I must’ve eaten something that bothered my-“ Peter tried to excuse his absence but you weren’t having it.

“Stop lying to me Peter! I know you were at the festival with Mysterio. And I know you’re being Spider-Man.” You yelled, not loud enough for students in the other rooms to what you, but loud enough for Peter to know you were hurt.

“How did you-“ Peter tried to ask.

“First you stand me up, then you keep secrets from me. What’s next?” You cut him off.

“I’m sorry for standing you up but it was a four hour opera. I had to pick between that and saving the world. Would you have made a different choice?” Peter defended himself.

“I just wanted to see my boyfriend. Even if it was during a four hour opera. I don’t care where were are as long as you’re there. But you’re never there.” You laughed in vain. “There’s always something more important than me. Always someone else that requires your attention. How long am I supposed to wait to be your number one priority Peter? You told me you were gonna leave Spider-Man home. Why did you hide that from me?” You asked, your voice quivering with anger and sadness. Peter ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

“I never wanted to bring Spider-Man on vacation. But Nick Fury showed up at my hotel room one night and now he won’t leave me alone. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought I’d be able to get rid of Fury before you ever found out, but’s it’s harder than we thought to get rid of the Elementals.” Peter confessed.

“So you could’ve told me and I could’ve helped.” You reasoned.

“They’re made of water, Y/n. You can’t exactly bite their heads off.” Peter shot back. He looked like he regretted it the second the words left his mouth.

“Is that all you think I’m good for?” You asked in a pained voice. You turned to storm out of Peters room so he flew off the bed and grabbed your arm.

“Wait, Y/n, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Please, just listen-“ Peter tried to apologize.

“You know everyone told me to move on?” You whipped around. Peter blinked in shock and backed up. “Every single person I knew. Everyone. They said you weren’t coming back and I should just go out and enjoy myself. But I didn’t do that, Peter. I stayed faithful to you those five lonely years. Which isn’t even entirely true, but the way. Ask Loki if you don’t believe me.” You laughed bitterly. Peters face fell at your last words so you took a step closer and lowered your voice. “And now I’m left to wonder, if I had moved on, would I still be this lonely?” You asked, staring him down. Peter cowered at your action. His heart was breaking in front of you.

“Do-do you regret staying with me?” Peter asked weakly. You sarcastically shrugged.

“I didn’t. But you made me regret it. I regret everything. I snapped to bring you back and now I’m starting to think that maybe, maybe it wasn’t worth it.” You said maliciously. This wasn’t the Y/n that Peter knew. You weren’t cruel. He didn’t recognize the person in front of him.

“You snapped?” Peter whispered, in tears now.

“Who do you think brought everyone back Peter?” You had the audacity to have a wicked smile on your face. Peter felt like he could never smile again.

“I had no idea.” Was all he could say. His girlfriend used the Infinity Gauntlet? And survived? That must’ve been what happened to your arm. Peter felt like an idiot for not knowing of the ginormous sacrifice you made. He’d never even thanked you. No one had. People tended to focus on the second snap, for obvious reasons. Peters mouth felt dry.

“Because you didnt ask. You just go on pretending like everything is okay and you don’t even realize that I’m dying inside.” You said. Every word you said knocked the wind out of Peter. It didn’t even feel like he was talking to the Y/n he knew. It was like someone was wearing your face.

“Y/n.” Peter whispered. “I-I’m sorry. This is all coming out of nowhere. I don’t know how to fix it. Please, tell me how to fix it.” He begged, getting on both knees. You looked down at Peter and yawned.

“You can’t fix this Peter. The damage is already done. You know, I thought I changed in the past five years but you, I don’t know you anymore. And frankly, I don’t want too.” You said simply. You turned on your heel and walked towards the door once more.

“What are you saying?” Peter called after you desperately.

“I’m saying that I’m ending this. Whatever this is. Because it certainly isn’t a relationship anymore.” You said as you stood in his doorway. There was no emotion in your voice at all. Completely void.

“You promised.” Peter yelled. “You promised you’d never break up with me.”

You looked Peter up and down. Red, splotchy face. On his knees. Messed up hair. Completely devastated.

High and dry.

Just like Loki said.

You laughed at the sight.

“That was five years ago. Promises expire.” You shrugged. Peter looked at you in pain. He couldn’t even form words.

Right as Peter was gonna answer, your phone buzzed. Brads name lit up on your screen. Your phone was still on the bed, right next to Peter.

Brad: did you do it yet?

Did you do it yet. As in did you tell the front desk that Room 221 needed more towels. But no one in the room knew the context.

“Why is Brad texting you?” Peter asked before realizing something. “Is he asking if you broke up with me yet?”

“Yes.” You lied.

“Why?” Peter demanded.

“Because I’ve been cheating on you with Brad.” You replied like it wasn’t earth shattering news to Peter.

“What?” Peters broken heart turned cold. His sadness dissipated into rage.

“Why are you so surprised? He’s paid more attention to me these past few days than you have in weeks.” You pointed out.

“Why are you doing this? This isn’t like you.” Peter said through gritted teeth.

“You don’t know me, Peter.” You shook your head. “You haven’t known me for five years. Everyone I loved was taken from me. So I’m sorry if I’m not nice anymore.”

You picked up your phone and sauntered out of the room.

“I’ll see you later, Peter. Try not to cry too loudly. My bedroom is right above yours. And I hate the sound of dry heaving. Makes me want to barf.” You quipped.

You left the room and shut the door behind you. As you made your way to the elevator, you tapped behind your ear and your disguise melted away. Quentin Beck smirked as he got on the elevator. Both you and Peter fell for his technology. Beck slid EDITH over his eyes and tapped the side.

“Team! Y/n did not cheat on Peter with Loki, or myself disguised as Loki, like we hoped. But, we did get enough information out of her to form a convincing argument to use against Peter. He totally fell for it. He’s devastated. Nice work on getting that extra information about Y/n, too. Flirting with her in bars for months leading up to this trip? Genius. It takes a village. Alright. Beck signing off.” Beck tapped the glasses again as he walked off the elevator. He spotted you in the lobby, talking to the receptionist.

“Excuse me ma’am, I believe this is yours.” Beck handed you your phone back. He had no use for it anymore.

“Oh. Thank you.” You took the phone from the stranger and turned back to the reception to continue asking for towels. Beck walked out of the hotel with a cocky grin.

Tag List 🏷

@monimiin @truthdaze @honeyccoated @constellationswithapurpose @condy-wants-a-cookie @zipp0flare @vxidnik @maddie-laufeyson @bubblegumholland @the-blindwatcher @pmvelez97 @ziggyspurplehaze @grippleback-galaxy @fangeekkk @twilight-loveer @assemblemotherfuckers @bolivianchickennugget @founding-fuck-bois @neonpandicorn @charismas-world @justletmesleeptillidie @multifandom-fiasco @mellow-delight @dangerousluv1 @eridanuswave @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @devoted-cinephile @romance-geek

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angryrabbit42 · 5 years ago

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Bonus Tracks 2

@a-rose-by-any-other-doctor @dwsecretsanta

Read on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925084/chapters/52331086

Happy Christmas Eve! I spent it working. Now I plan on spending tonight fic-writing/editing.

Rose meets the Eighth Doctor while Dimension Hopping

Track 1: Prisoner

The word echoed through Rose’s thoughts and it became smoke drifting through her mind. The scent of tea and books and dry air solidified into the twitchy push of the dimension cannon. She could still feel the Doctor’s body cushioning her. She was still prone. She was also quite suddenly lurching into another world.

Rose stumbled to a stop. Breathing in through her nose and out through her nose, until the queasiness passed, she settled into her new surroundings. Flipping on her mike, she announced, “Control, I made it. I’m alright.”

Pete Tyler’s voice was tinny in her earpiece like he inhaled helium. “Where are you? London again?”

Rose stared at the lime green sky and the purple mountains. A rush of excitement set her heart racing. Eagerly, she hopped from foot to foot. “No, s’not Earth.”

“Impossible. The cannon isn’t set to send you off-world, Rose. It’s got to be Earth,” Pete argued.

“Yeah, it’s definitely not Earth, unless it’s far off the prime universe. There’s no sign of human habitations. S’just rocks, orangey purple grass, and a bright green sky. How long have I got, control?”

“Your mother’s going to kill me if she finds out you’re on another planet--Four hours, Rose.”

Disappointed, she argued, “that’s hardly enough time to do anything, Pete.”

“Control, Rose, address me as control. And you know how this works. Just maybe be a bit more cautious this time, alright? For me?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Right. See you in a few hours. I’m going to see if anyone’s home. Out.”

Rose had been hopping dimensions for weeks now. She was always on Earth and always in London. Some of them had been a bit scary and weird but always recognizable as home, almost home. Walking along the grass, she felt a bit lighter. “Different gravity?” she muttered. “This is going to be a helluva debrief.”

She wandered closer to the rocks. What she had mistaken for shadows were deep caves. The air smelled like diesel fuel drenched in lentils. She sneezed a dozen times getting used to the funky air until she smelled something else. Rose closed her eyes against the breeze. There was a hint of something familiar there. Rose wasn’t sure what to make of it. The scent tickled her senses. Rose was drawn in that direction. The scent thickened. It was tea! Good old English tea! On an alien world? Rose’s heart skipped. It could be a colony from earth hidden behind a perception field or an alien plant that smelled like it, or… Her heart skipped a beat.

“Anyone out here? Olly Olly oxen free!” she shouted.

“Hello?” a voice called, wispy, dry, and definitely masculine.

Rose froze. “Hello?” she called back. “I’m a friend. I won’t hurt ya.”

“I should hope not if you’re a friend,” the voice called back, stronger this time. The accent was English. “What sort of a friend hurts a body?”

“Not a very good one, I reckon.” Rose searched, unable to see him.

“Here!”

Rose shivered in the warm air. “Where?”

“Here,” he called again. “If you can see the mountain with all the caves in it. I am in the one farthest left on the bottom. Hurry up. I’ve been in here for ages and I’m terribly bored. I don’t suppose you’ve brought a deck of cards with you? Or another pot of tea? I’ve only got the gritty bit of wet leaves at the bottom now.”

Rose beamed. She didn’t know that voice. It wasn’t her Doctor, and yet... The closer she got to the mountain the more the caves looked less like natural pockets and more like jail cells. “How did you get locked up here?” Rose asked approaching the caves on the left. She thought she could see the shadow of a person at the end.

“Oh, you know, manners,” he said airily. “Hold the wrong fork in the wrong hand during the dessert course and end up accidentally toppling a regime or two or twenty. I had words with their high priest about the state of their people while using the fish fork on the cake. Great insult...or something. Took a nasty knock to my head for my troubles. It’s made today a bit… Hm, well, I suppose it’s made today hazy. I remember the cake was delicious. Tasted like cranberries and a sort of not chocolate. I had seconds!”

Rose snorted. She could see him now. Leaning against the bars of his cell, was a man with curly brown hair. A brilliant smile lit up his handsome face as he spotted her. “Hello.”

Rose stalled out. The familiar scent of tea was coming from him as suspected but along with that, there was a distinctive scent of Tardis. Rose dragged her hand along the bars evaluating him. “Dressed in crazy clothing, locked up for bad manners, rambles on to strangers, smells like home…Two helpings of dessert. You must be the Doctor!”

“You’ve heard of me, I’m flattered. Also, vaguely insulted.” He leaned forward treating her to bright blue eyes, not the same shade as her first Doctor, more like the ocean. “Whose home do I smell like, I wonder? You’re a curious young woman. I feel… wait, you haven’t just heard of me. You *know* me.” The Doctor hummed in a heartbreakingly familiar way. Rose just wanted to snog that puzzled look off of his face. “Or do I know you? No! No, no, I see! I WILL know you. Is that correct? Oh, I always enjoy meeting people out of turn. Gives me the edge at parties.”

Rose’s face was going to crack from the smiling. “I don’t know what to tell you, Doctor. I don’t want to cause a paradox.”

Delighted, he reached through the bars to shake her hand. “Oh, anything, everything. My people have a way of locking troublesome memories away until needed. You needn’t worry about that. Besides, Romana has a platoon of Timelords who just sit around all day monitoring me to make sure I don’t accidentally restart the Big Bang… again.” He made a face.

Rose broke into hysterical giggles. Covering her mouth, she turned away to contain her tears. Here he was! She’d found him. Her lovely, ridiculous Doctor, only not. If the Timelords were still alive, then Rose was much too early. She sniffed.

“Don’t be upset, please, I couldn’t bear it.” he crooned.

Rose’s eyes prickled. She gave him a watery smile. “I’m too early.”

His long face fell. “No, no crying! Please, no it’s alright if you’re early. Early is better than late! Perfect timing from where I sit.”

Rose nodded. The Doctor was right. At least she wasn’t too late. There was still time to stop the stars from going out. Plus, here was a rare glimpse at the Doctor before the war. Steeling herself, she met his not-the-right-shade-of-blue eyes.

He stared at her, gaze unfocusing a bit, “Come on Rose Tyler, you’ve found me. Chances are you’ll find me again later… I think. Yes, later before on time,” he blinked, focusing on her face, and said with a laugh, “Listen to me, I’m speaking nonsense.”

“Yeah, that’s--” Rose stopped short of saying, ‘normal for you.’ It wasn’t exactly. “No, hang on, did you just call me Rose Tyler?”

“Did I?” He was the picture of innocence.

“I never told you my name…”

He stared at her, winked.

“Where’s the Tardis?” Rose asked, changing tack.

“Um, on the moon? I think.” His puzzled face filled her with warmth, the same man, same confused expression.

Rose’s heart ached and the urge to kiss him increased. Rose squeezed the bars to resist leaning closer. The Doctor’s eyes dipped from her eyes to her lips before flicking back up to her face. He licked his lips. “Can you--”

“Hm?” Rose liked this Doctor’s lips. She wondered idly if she could get him to pout.

“Let me out?” he rumbled, voice low. “Oh, oh! Yeah, yep,” Rose remarked unable to stop an embarrassing chuckle from escaping her. She glanced away and felt his cool hand grip hers around the bar. Rose’s eyes snapped back to his. He smirked. Rose rolled her eyes. He squeezed her hand and used his index finger to point. “There’s a keypad.”

Recessed into the rock, she found the keypad. The symbols on it were like runes with funny hats. “Don’t suppose you know the code, Doctor?”

“Alas, no. I woke up in here nursing a head wound. I've got a knot.” He touched the top of his head, wincing. “Still, there are only 10,000 possible combinations. Can’t take more than a few days to work out.”

“I’ve got less than four hours. Don’t suppose you have a sonic screwdriver handy?”

“Sonic screwdriver,” he muttered patting his pockets. “Yes! I have!”

Rose bit down another giggle. The way he bounced around like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was a big outer space puppy in a velvet frock coat, ridiculous. He handed over the sonic, taking the time to run his hand against hers. Rose mock glared at him. His expression was all innocence and light. Rose focused on the screwdriver, hiding her smirk. The metallic tube was a comfortable weight in her palm. The settings were the same. The casing different than she was used to with its weird circular end and red center bit.

“Setting 221, I think. Point and press the button,” he encouraged.

The gate buzzed and popped open. The Doctor raced out of the cave and lifted her up. Rose squealed as he spun her in a circle, laughing. Rose kicked her feet merrily and he dropped her to the ground. The gravity was definitely lighter than Earth, Rose practically bounced after touching down. The Doctor took his sonic back, flipped it and made it vanish into an inner pocket.

“My hero,” the Doctor said. “What was your name?”

“You said it earlier,” Rose pointed back to the cave, “when you were in there. Don’t you remember?”

“I...did? Was it a spooky premonition moment? I can’t really hold onto that information. It’s just whoosh,” the Doctor shrugged.

“Rose,” Rose said and shoved her hands into his lovely cinnamon locks. The Doctor looked like he was going to protest before letting out a pleased noise. Rose gently touched his scalp until she reached the edges of the knot. He winced. He didn’t pull away. Rose rewarded him by gently massaging the scalp near the injury before letting go. His eyes were closed. They opened slowly when he realized she’d stopped. Rose couldn’t help grinning at him. “I-ah, I think you have a concussion.”

“You’ll have to mind me then.” He stared at her, amused. “At least for the next three hours and twenty minutes. For safety.”

“For safety?”

“Mm,” he agreed. “I need a chaperone back to my Tardis. You have the time. You’ve said as much. Will you take me home, Rose?”

“Did you just--No, nevermind.” Rose shook her head, cheeks hot. “Yeah, you definitely need a chaperone. C’mon Doctor, let’s get you to the Tardis.” She reached out her right hand and wiggled her fingers.

He entangled their fingers, swinging their joined hands. “How do you propose getting me to my Tardis? Do you have a ship?” the Doctor asked, glancing up.

Rose followed his gaze. The sun, a pale mint green in the lime green sky was sinking fast. Just above the horizon, the moon was peeping out. “No ship,” she sang out. “No transmat. No vortex manipulator…”

“I should think not, those things are a disaster for the vortex. Causing all sorts of holes and potholes… dirty method of travel. Cheap.” The Doctor grumbled. “I once got my Tardis trapped in one of their holes, nearly fell out of the vortex into E Space. Messy, stupid people movers. I shouldn’t wonder if it’s the reason she never goes where I want her to go.” Tugging her along behind him, the Doctor took off at a brisk pace away from the mountains. “We’ll do what the locals do, we’ll hitch a lift at the way station.”

Rose let him drag her along, enjoying the feel of the Doctor’s hand in hers. The scent of him was overpowering the naturally occurring scent of lentils. Which reminded her… “Why does this planet smell like lentils?”

The Doctor was brought up short. “You know you’re right! It does reek of lentil soup. I suppose it’s the natural odor of the place. No wonder everyone works on the moon. It smells pleasantly of pine. How did you get here if you have no obvious means of travel? Astral projection? Apparate?”

“Still with the Harry Potter references, then,” Rose snorted. “You’re going to make yourself forget this, yeah?” He nodded curls bouncing enthusiastically. “I have this, well back home there’s this sort of cannon. It tosses me into dimensions.” Rose pulled the device from around her neck. “Needs a few hours to charge. Each place I land it gives me a bit of time before I’m pulled back to where I came from.” “Hm,” he remarked and resumed dragging her along, next to him this time. “What’s wrong with Harry Potter? No, hang on, you said ‘back where you came from.’”

Rose bit her lip. “Did I?”

“Yes, back where you came from, not home. Where are you from, Rose Tyler? Your accent says London. The artron energy around you says time travel and you said I smell like home. You’re one of my companions! Yes, you are, you travel with me. And wherever you go back to isn’t where you’re from.” The Doctor beamed.

“I’m sort of, well, until recently I was trapped there.”

“And you’re looking for me because you want to go home? I can take you anywhen, anywhere in the universe. Let me take you home.” He offered blue eyes twinkling.

They climbed a hill. Below them, a futuristic city was laid out. The homes were bright white with yellow windows. Domes covered little areas of purple foliage. In the center of town was a tower with a large arrow pointing up. “See? There’s the town of Cahoots, funny name I know but that’s not what it means in their language. It means pizza.”

“Making that up,” Rose accused.

He winked. Rose’s heart threw itself at him, only stopped by the bones of her ribcage. He squeezed her fingers and caressed the inside of her wrist. “Maybe. But if we go to that tall building there, we can get sent up to the moon. Shouldn’t take us long to walk there. Am I doing alright? No slurring?”

“No slurring,” Rose remarked after a pause. “How’s your vision?”

He stared at her face. “My view is lovely. I’m almost disappointed I’m not seeing double.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You’re awful.”

“I really am. It’s the lack of tea. Can’t go so long without it.” The Doctor led her into town.

By the time they reached the tower, Rose’s watch beeped. “Oh, my time’s almost up.”

“Oh no, and we were just getting to know one another.” The Doctor pouted. “Sure you wouldn’t like a lift home in the Tardis? She can go to whatever dimension you choose.”

Her heart dropped. Could she? Could she just take a lift with this Doctor to the other? “If something big happened, what would the Timelords do to protect the universe from it?”

“Easy, they’d timelock it. No one in, no one out. They’ve never had cause to use an expansive one. Just a solar system here and there. The people inside go on as if nothing happened… Rose? What happens in my future that is so big?”

“You get to kiss me.”

Distracted, the Doctor turned a delightful shade of pink. “I--yes, well, erm that’s something to look forward to…” he stammered, catching her free hand so he could hold both between them. “Rose… tell me…”

“I can’t take the risk,” Rose whispered. “It’s too important that your future stays intact.”

“Rose,” he scoffed.

“No, it’s too important.”

The pink in his cheeks intensified to an almost brick red. “Oh,” he drawled, swinging their hands, “I suppose we will meet again soon since I am who you’re looking for after all.”

“Are you?” Rose raised her eyebrows.

“I should hope so. I’d be disappointed if you were searching for someone else.”

Rose looked into his blue eyes. He tugged her to him. Rose went willingly. The Doctor pulled her into a tight hug. She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight. There was so much he was going to go through soon. Rose tried to fill him with as much of her warmth as she could. He responded, tightening her grasp.

He pulled back when her watch beeped again. “How long?”

“Ten seconds,” Rose whispered.

“See you in my future, Rose Tyler.” The Doctor kissed her, his cool lips pressing against hers fervently before he let her go. Rose felt the pull as Pete called her home.

#dwsecretsanta #ROSE X EIGHT #Eighth Doctor #Doctor who

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thebeethathums · 6 years ago

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Observers - 1

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: No real warnings for this chapter but I will warn you that later on there are some very dark themes and lots of blood and injury as well as smut.

A/N: This is a VERY long series. Like.... Could be a book at this point. I’m going to ease into posting it here bit by bit but just be aware. Also SLOW BURN. This series has a Watson sibling reader and the reader has long hair for a specific reason. Please read at your own discretion if either of those bother you.

John bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently. What was taking you so long? The scheduling board said you had arrived over 15 minutes ago and you were usually efficient and quick with moving to your next destination, so where were you? Spying your older brother across the station, you crept up behind him with a mischievous grin and pounced on to his back. “You really need to be more observant, Johnny.” He laughed and yanked you over his shoulder so he could sweep you up into a warm hug. “(F/n), you little brat! I was starting to worry. What took you so long?” You giggled, pulling him to you tightly. “You always worry, you old worry wart. I was just delayed a bit. Ah! It’s so good to see you!” “It’s good to see you too, Squeak.”

He swept you off your feet again and you squealed, “John, put me down this second!” When he wouldn’t, you poked his side lightly, causing him to drop you as he let out an involuntary laugh and batted your hand away. You grinned at him. Growing up with him, you knew exactly where he was ticklish, but he returned you a frown. “What happened to your face?”

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, knowing he was referring to the bruise that was surely spreading across your cheek and jaw by now. “Like I said… I was, umm… delayed.” “(F/n),” he said warningly, stepping forward to get a better look as he leveled you with a demanding older brother glare. You sighed and rushed, “I maaaayyyy… havegottenintoarowwithaguyonthetrain.” John frowned at you, how did you always manage to get into trouble like this? You were like a trouble magnet. You gave him a little grin and tried to reassure him, saying, “It’s not that bad; he only got in one good shot. Besides, he looks a million times worse than I do.” John did not find this as amusing or comforting as you did, giving you a look that said you-are-in-so-much-trouble-you-don’t-even-know. Your eyes went wide all the sudden as your hearing picked up a conversation behind you and you pulled him in front of you so you could hide behind him. A couple of coppers were pulling a badly beaten man from the train. He was yelling something about a quick bitch from hell as he nursed a broken arm and then demanded that they find the whore who broke his nose and put her in jail. The police officers shook their heads, one saying, “If the witnesses on the train are to be believed, which I know they are, she did the public a service. Did you really think you’d get away with kidnapping a child in such a public place?” John spun to look at you, careful to keep you concealed from the man’s wild eyes, and hissed, “You did that? I can’t say I blame you but still... can’t you stay out of trouble?” You grinned as you noticed the pride that was now creeping into his face and gave a slight shrug. “What can I say? Trouble always seems to find me. It’s not like I go looking for it.” He sighed, knowing what you said wasn’t exactly true. “Come on; let’s go put some ice on that.” He took your bag and linked your arm with his, leading the way. -- 221 Baker St. It looked nice enough from your position at the bottom of the front steps; well-located, quaint, quiet, but not too quiet… It could work. You glanced down the street. It wasn’t Montmartre or Paris, but London would do. John rolled his eyes at you when he realized you were still down on the very edge of the sidewalk and not following him through the door. “Well? Are you just going to stare at it or are you going to come inside? I don’t have all day.” You snapped out of it, pouting as you bounded up the front walk to catch up, “Not even for me?” He chuckled, taking your hand and pulling you inside and up the stairs after him, all the way to apartment B. Seeing the door, you tugged at his arm. “Shouldn’t I at least see where I’ll be living before you drag me all over your apartment, Johnny?” He waved a dismissive hand at you, opening the door. “Later. I don’t want you meeting Mrs. Hudson before we take care of that bruise. She’ll think you're some sort of hoodlum – though I’m not entirely convinced you aren’t.” You let out a smooth, melodious laugh as he pulled you into the flat, shoving you down into a chair before he went to get something for your face. You took everything in with a little grin. It was just as John had described to you – the skull on the mantle, the bullet-ridden smiley face on the wall, the mess in the kitchen. You bounced up to look at the collection of books on one of the walls near the window, running your fingers lovingly over spines old and new until you came to one you knew well. You pulled it out, yelling over your shoulder, “John, you twat, I’ve been looking for this everywhere! You might have told me you took it.” There was a deep chuckle from behind you that most definitely was not John’s. You froze, thoughts racing. Roommate. Right. High-functioning sociopath. Often sleeps late. More likely than not is dressed in night clothes. Woken by the noise. Younger than John, from the timber of his laugh. Tall. Standing in the doorway that leads to the bedrooms and bathroom. You remembered the blanket on the couch and smirked. Wrong. Not asleep at all. Thinking. Got up to use the restroom. John came back in carrying a bag of ice and some Advil. “What is it that I took? Oh… Hello Sherlock. I’m sorry. Did we wake you?” Before the man could answer, you turned, saying, “Stop fretting, John. He wasn’t asleep. By the look of it, he was on the couch, probably thinking, and got up to use the loo just before we came in. Also, he’s wondering why I’m here as he’s figured I’m a relative of some sort, but more likely than not wasn’t listening when you told him I’d be moving in downstairs, when you told him I’d be arriving today, or even when you were leaving to pick me up. I’m taking this book.” You walked over and took the ice from John casually before returning to the armchair you knew was his to look over the familiar book. John floundered a little, looking over at Sherlock, unsure of how he’d react. To his surprise, there was a slight smile on the consulting detective’s face. Realizing you’d only taken the ice, he began to scold you. “(F/n), you need to take these. They’ll help bring down the swelling.” You waved a hand. “The swelling will go down on its own. You know I don’t take pills.” Sherlock decided to observe this little interaction for a while longer before saying anything and went to sit on the couch. John sighed. It would do him no good to try and get you to listen and you were right about the swelling going down on its own. He shook his head and went to make tea. Pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged, you smiled as you ran your hands over the smooth, worn leather cover of your prize. You’d bound it yourself when you were young and going through a bookbinding phase. You opened it to flip through its pages, stopping when you came to a particularly interesting drawing you’d done, or to read something that John had written. It had started out blank but was now entirely full of John’s and your own youthful adventures and thoughts, like a shared journal or sketchbook of sorts. Sherlock watched you carefully as you chuckled quietly at some pages and frowned at others before John re-entered, bearing tea. “Oh, that one… sure, take it. It belongs more to you than it does to me anyways.” You took the tea without looking up at him. “Lies. It is just as much yours as it is mine, but I shall take it all the same, as you’ve been hoarding it all this time.” He knelt in front of you, pulling the arm holding the ice away from your face and frowned. “Does your jaw hurt or click? It looks pretty bad. It must have been a good hit for a bruise to appear so quickly.” You pushed him away with your foot, still flipping through the book. “I’m fine. He got in one good swing, but it’s not anything I can’t handle. It’ll heal up in a couple of days.” John gave up, going back to the kitchen while grumbling, “The fact you even know that at all is worrisome.” You rolled your eyes and turned your attention to Sherlock. He expected you to say something – comment on his staring, introduce yourself, or something of the sort – but you didn’t. You simply stared back at him, doing some observing of your own. He was as you thought; tall, slightly younger than John, wearing nightclothes. You took in some new facts as well – the icy blue of his eyes, the dark curls that fell in his face, and his blank expression. He was watching you, trying to read you and deduce as much as he could. Arrogant. Cocky. But underneath was something else… Caring, possibly. You were wondering what he might be deducing from you when he spoke. “I’ve been informed it’s rude to stare.” You kept your gaze on him. “As have I, though I believe that, as you started it, I have every right to reciprocate.” He seemed surprised by your answer and you gave a small smirk before he continued, testing you, “It is also rude to enter the living space of another and not introduce yourself.” You didn’t even flinch, replying, “A host who does not greet or offer an introduction to a guest cannot rightfully expect to receive either in kind.” Silence enveloped the room again as you both went back to staring. It wasn’t as though Sherlock was having trouble reading you, it was simply the fact that he was curious enough for him to stay quiet. He was about to break the silence when you suddenly giggled, “I like you. You’re interesting.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, and then went to the kitchen to make sure John wasn’t messing with his current experiment. As soon as he left, you rummaged through your bag, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen, and began scribbling. It didn’t take you long to finish your task and you tore the page out, slid everything else back in your bag, and laid the paper on the coffee table. You stood, slung your messenger pack over your shoulder, and called, “I’ll be back later, Johnny!” as you darted out the door. Before John could even register what you’d said, you were gone. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, trying to remind himself that you were an adult and could take care of yourself. Sherlock’s eyes locked on the paper you had left and he went to pick it up. It was him – a drawing of him, rather. You’d captured the bullet holes and smiley face on the wall behind him and the wrinkles of the couch, but more importantly, was the way you’d perfectly rendered his face and position as he stared at you. His eyes expressing a slight curiosity within the overwhelming sense of superiority, the corner of his lip turning up ever so slightly, the way his hands were clasped together confidently - you’d put it all down on paper. Underneath it, in loopy handwriting, it said, “A pleasure meeting you, Sherlock Holmes,” and in the corner, in a flurry of elegant swirls, “(F/n) Watson.

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jewish-privilege · 6 years ago

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On the night of August 16,1933, a six-hour, violent street brawl took place on the streets of Toronto between swastika-brandishing Anglo Protestants and Jewish and Italian Catholic immigrants. The Christie Pits riots were dramatic, but with the passage of time, the memory of the anti-Semitism-fueled rampage has faded.

“When I teach about the riot today, there are a few students who have a small recognition of the event, but most don’t have any real knowledge of it at all,” said teacher Rachel Urowitz of The Anne & Max Tanenbaum Community Hebrew Academy of Toronto. She said that twenty years ago, many of her Jewish history students had heard of the Christie Pits riots; some had even had grandparents who had witnessed or taken part in them. Those grandparents are now gone and their history has been forgotten.

“Students are typically very surprised that this happened in their own city, and they want to understand how this could have happened in Toronto,” said Urowitz.

A new graphic novel on the Christie Pits riots published this month will help answer Urowitz’s students’ questions. The book, written by Jamie Michaels and illustrated by Doug Fedrau, brings to life a largely overlooked period of overt anti-Semitism in Canada. The book is a stark reminder for those who have lived their entire lives in an extremely multicultural Toronto that the city was not always so tolerant.

“Christie Pits” covers the four months leading up to the riot, as Depression-era resentment toward Jews and other “undesirable” minority immigrant groups grew among some of Toronto’s then-majority Anglo Protestant population. “Swastika clubs” formed to intimidate Jews and keep them from visiting the city’s public beaches on the shore of Lake Ontario. In turf wars, Protestant gangs tried to keep Jews and others from entering certain neighborhoods or playing sports in particular parks.

At the same time, reports in the Toronto Star filed by foreign correspondent Pierre Van Paassen alerted Canadians to the discrimination and violence against Jews in Germany by the newly governing Nazi party and their domestic supporters.

Yet, the Canadian government decided to implement a “none is too many” immigration policy, letting in no more than 5,000 Jewish refugees between 1933 and 1945. Many Canadian Jews, while facing anti-Semitism at home, were also trying to bring their persecuted loved ones over from Europe.

The lens Michaels uses in “Christie Pits” is not the Holocaust (which would not begin for another six years), but rather the lead-up period of global uncertainty for Jews. There is terror in Europe, a virtual halt to Jewish immigration, and unease among Canadian Jews in a country still somewhat hostile toward them.

Michaels tell this history through character-driven narrative, with each chapter focusing on a different main (fictional) character as the plot leads up to the riot itself. The riot broke out at a baseball game at Christie Pits (Willowvale Park) on August 16, 1933, when a local Protestant gang held up a large Nazi banner to taunt the Jewish players and fans.

All hell broke loose among those present, and soon also among thousands more citizens who heard what was going on and ran or drove in as reinforcements. Fists, clubs and pipes were wielded as the fighting spilled out of the park and into the streets of adjacent neighborhoods. Fortunately no one was killed...

The level of violence in these young Jewish men’s lives [in the graphic novel] seems jarring by today’s standards, but it was a reality of the time in which the characters lived...

Michaels was “horrified” he had never heard of the Christie Pits riot when a stranger in a pub mentioned it a few years ago. He knew of individual cases of anti-Semitism — he himself had been called a “dirty Jew’ at a baseball game while growing up in Winnipeg — but had no idea that there had been an anti-Semitic riot in the streets of Canada’s largest city. Michaels started to research the topic, and decided in 2016 to begin work on “Christie Pits.”...

Prior to this month’s publication of “Christie Pits,” the only other book written entirely on the riot was “The Riot at Christie Pits” by Cyril Levitt and William Shaffir...

“These were not Hitlerites or members of Nazi cells. They weren’t pro-German fascist ideologues. In fact, they were anti-Germany after Canada fought Germany in World War I. They did, however, know that the swastika would incite the Jews and let them know, ‘You are not wanted here,'” Levitt said.

...Michaels...garnered positive feedback from other scholars, including Irving Abella, co-author of the groundbreaking “None is Too Many: Canada and the Jews of Europe 1933-1948.”

Michaels said that he did not equate anti-Semitism prevalent in 1930s Toronto with Nazism, and that he went to great lengths in the novel to explore these differences, in part by conveying them through dialogue among the characters.

“That being said, the Christie Pits riot was not ignited by the flying of a maple leaf banner, but rather a swastika. Semitics and semantics aside, it seems incongruous to me that flying the swastika at a public ballpark to antagonize Jews does not come across as Nazi-inspired,” Michaels said.

...Michaels mentioned that a scene in the graphic novel is inspired directly by a visual from the August 2017 white nationalist and supremacist rally in Charlottesville, Virginia.

“Charlottesville is not the same as Christie Pits. In 1933 regular, ordinary people poured out of their houses to attack Jews. In Charlottesville the [white nationalist] outsiders who came in were condemned by the locals. We’re talking about different universes,” Levitt said.

Toronto of 2019 is not Toronto of 1933. However one could argue that “Christie Pits” does speak to the current times in important ways. A recent study funded by the Azrieli Foundation found that 22% of Canadians under age 34 had not heard of or were unsure of what happened in the Holocaust. The same study found that few Canadians knew that Canada has roughly as many neo-Nazis per capita as the US.

In addition, police-reported hate crimes in Canada targeting religion were up by 80% in 2017 from the previous year. According to Statistics Canada, hate crimes against the Jewish population increased for the second consecutive year, rising from 221 in 2016 to 360 in 2017. Hate crimes targeting Jews (who are just 1% of the population) accounted for 18% of all hate crimes in Canada. Over half of hate crimes against Jews took place in Ontario, Canada’s most populous province, and where Toronto is located.

...Michaels asserted that all Canadians — Jews and non-Jews alike — can benefit from reading this graphic novel about a painful moment in their country’s past.

“Jewish history is Canadian history,” he said.

[Read Renee Ghert-Zands’s full piece at The Times of Israel.]

#Christie Pits riots #antisemitism #swastika #toronto

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superwholocklmt · 6 years ago

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Chapter 1

Silence enveloped the city warm and thick as a blanket in the early morning hours. Tiny prisms of light danced on the floor of John’s bedroom from dew drops on his window. The stillness was broken as a groan erupted from beneath the mountain of covers of the queen size bed. Had he fallen asleep in a boat? The sensation of riding waves would have made complete sense to him at that point. Being that he was very much on dry land at 221 B Baker Street, secured his diagnosis that something was not right. He blinked many times to clear his eyes and to reduce the double vision as he stared at the clock.

‘Thank goodness it’s a long weekend.’ He thought. ‘I won’t have to go to work for a few days and can recover. That is if Sherlock doesn’t drag me all over London and back.’

Another groan escaped him as he slid from under the covers and stood. The ache in his chest had returned as he willed his body to cooperate with him.

‘It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again.’ He closed his eyes and clung to the mattress as wave after wave of vertigo overwhelmed him. ‘I must get some food in me to fight this.’

The floor beneath him tilted and pitched as he stumbled downstairs to the living room. Pausing to catch his breath, he found his flat mate on the couch, hands steepled to his lips.

“Morning.” John mumbled to his friend. When he didn’t receive a response, he turned and looked at his friend who mimicked a statue.

“Ah we must be in our mind palace. No telling when that’s going to be done.” He said to himself as he began preparing tea and breakfast for the both of them. Hunger wasn’t at the forefront of his needs, but something needed to be on his stomach before taking another dose of ibuprofen to combat the ache in his body.

With the water boiling, he reached up into the cabinet causing excruciating pain to flash through his chest. The pain made him lose his breath and a grunt escaped him as his forehead rested against the cool tile of the counter. White knuckling the counter top, he tried calling out to Sherlock. Tiny blonde hairs stood up on the base of his neck in panic, with each failed attempt to call for help. His breath was coming in short gasps as the mug in his hand slipped and fell to the floor with a crash. A whimper escaped him as a new wave washed over him causing him to double over in pain. Meanwhile, his flat mate opened his eyes in the living room and shook his head.

“John?” Sherlock called from the living room when the noise broke him from his thoughts.

‘How long had he been in his mind palace?’ Clearing the fog, he waited for a response. ‘Had John gone to the shops again?’

‘Downstairs?’ Shaking his head and dismissing the notion. He closed his eyes and concentrated on remembering the sound.

‘Glass? From the kitchen?’ He deduced frowning at his discovery. ‘John would never be so careless.’

“John?” His voice echoed in the silent flat as he opened his eyes and rose from the couch. Something wasn’t right, and he didn’t know what it was. Sherlock didn’t like not knowing. His bare feet padded across the living room in 3 long strides and rounded the corner.

“John, we should have your hearing checked if you are not going to answer.” He boasted, pleased that his search ended as swift as it began. His smile faded at the sight of the ceramic bits littering the floor from a broken mug. Again, his brow furrowed as a thought nagged at his brain. Something wasn’t right. His friend’s knees gave out as Sherlock approached him. Catching and helping him to stand, he immediately saw the look of agony on his friend’s face.

“John!” Adrenaline collided in his brain all at once as his body snapped into high alert.

“What’s happening?” The deductions were always clear as words floating to him from a person. Now all that he saw were question marks.

“Chest pains…shortness of breath.” John grit out through clenched teeth leaning into Sherlock for balance. The floor seemed to tip and turn under his feet as his chest continued to tighten. His blood pressure roared in his ears accompanied by a high pitch ringing that almost left him deaf.

“Heart attack?” he questioned, baffled at the absurdity of this possibility with John's health. He retrieved his phone from the pocket as John seemed to lean further into him and rested his head on his chest.

“John, I need your help! I don’t know what to do.” Panic creeping into his voice as adept fingers began dialing for help with one hand, as he reeled from recent events.

“999 which services do you need?” The operator asked after a few rings.

“I need an ambulance at 221 B Baker Street. My friend is having chest pain and shortness of breath.” He informed the Operator as he leaned back and looked into John’s eyes.

"Please hold on John. Help is coming" he pleaded. His stomach dropped as he read the message in his friends’ eyes.

‘The pain is too much…’

An underlying current tugged at him coaxing him to give in to the dark waters. He closed his eyes and struggled to maintain consciousness as wave after wave swept over him.

“Sherlock…” John whispered before his knees gave out and he slumped into Sherlock. The darkness finally winning the battle.

“No!" He cradled him in his arms and eased them to the floor. John’s body was heavy as he held him close, phone forgotten on the counter above them.

“What happened sir?" The operator’s muffled voice carried through the phone. “Sir an ambulance is on the way. Stay on the phone with me until they get there.”

“Hurry!” He reached up above him, hung up the phone and returned his attention to John. He paused a moment as he thought of what to do next. Absorbing the gravity of the moment, his mind shifted into overdrive.

“Mrs. Hudson!” he cried, “Mrs. Hudson! We need help!” He took a deep breath and gazed down at his friend’s unconscious form.

"Come on John. Hold on! Help is coming." He whispered as he leaned over him, his long fingers sliding to John’s neck for a pulse. He sighed with relief when he found it. It was rapid and erratic, but it was there. Bending his head low, his eyes widened as he felt no whisper of air across his cheek.

“John please…. please….” he whispered as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Sherlock? Are you two having a domestic?” Her voice trailing off as she rounded the corner and saw both of her beloved boys on the floor.

"Oh Sherlock."

“Mrs. Hudson! John isn’t breathing!” He shouted as she came and knelt next to him on the floor. Through the dark veil, John could hear the pain in his friend’s voice. Helpless to answer his friend's pleas, he struggled with the burning in his lungs. Much like rising from the depths of a pool, his lungs burned and fought to take in air. He felt the pain climb higher and higher until hot pain shot through him. He arched his back as he gasped for breath and began coughing.

“John!” Sherlock cried as he put a hand to his friend’s cheek and gently stroked the skin with his thumb. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

“Aspirin…. please.” he managed to get out between gasps for air. Sherlock was instantly on his feet and running to the medicine cabinet in the loo. When he reappeared with aspirin, he gave one to Watson, who quickly chewed it as he lay propped up in Mrs. Hudson’s lap. Just when John seemed to settle, he arched his back as another wave of pain washed over him. He couldn’t help but cry out and clutch Sherlock’s sleeve.

“John! What’s happening?” Sherlock said as he watched his friend writhe in pain, feeling helpless. He pulled him to him in the only way he thought he could comfort him as Mrs. Hudson rose and went downstairs to the front door to wait for the ambulance.

“It won’t stop.” He gritted out through clenched teeth as he clutched the front of his friend’s shirt as a life line in the sea of pain. It was taking all John's remaining strength to stay awake as he felt the darkness trying to pull him back under again.

“Stay with me John.” Sherlock murmured into his ear as John rested his head on his shoulder. “Help is on the way.”

“It’s coming again. I can feel it.” John groaned as he felt himself slipping under again. Before he could say anything more, he went limp in Sherlock’s arms.

It was at that moment, the paramedics appeared in the door. Sherlock allowed them to pull John away from him and begin hooking him up to oxygen.

“Sherlock….” Mrs. Hudson whimpered. She went into his arms as they watched the paramedics attempt to revive John. He held his breath as he waited for him to breathe again. With each passing moment, his heart beating faster at the absence of breath. He watched as the paramedics carried him downstairs to the waiting ambulance. Sherlock was behind them and leapt in with them. @janeofcakes here we go!

#johnlock #sherlock #bbc

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