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anonymousewrites · 3 months ago

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A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Seven

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Seven: Confused Mind

Summary: Sherlock's adventures in his own head come to a dramatic end.

“No. No. Not you,” said Sherlock. “It can’t be you.” Everyone was frozen around him. All that felt alive was him and Moriarty. He stared at Moriarty the bride, unwilling to believe it. It should be Lady Carmichael. It was the only thing that made sense.

“I mean, come on, be serious,” said Moriarty. “The costumes, the gun. Speaking as a criminal mastermind, we don’t really have guns or special outfits.”

“What the hell is going on?!” said John as Sherlock blinked.

“Is it silly enough for you, yet?” said Moriarty. “Gothic enough, mad enough, even for you?”

“Dad!” called (Y/N), and Sherlock tried to hold onto their voice.

“It doesn’t make sense, Sherlock,” said Moriarty. “Because it’s not real.” He spoke softly. “None of it.”

“What’s he talking about?” said (Y/N), but the world was blurring around Sherlock.

“This is all in your mind,” said Moriarty.

“Dad?” said (Y/N) again.

“You’re dreaming,” said Moriarty.

Sherlock gasped.

Sherlock was barely aware of anything as he blinked against the penlight in his eyes. He was lying on a cot, and John stood over him. Mary, Mycroft, and (Y/N) hovered around them.

“Is he dreaming?” said Mary.

“And there he is,” said Mycroft as Sherlock’s eyes opened fully. “Thought we’d lost you for a moment. May I just check, is this what you mean by controlled usage?” He raised a brow.

“Dad,” said (Y/N), hesitantly reaching out to touch his shoulder worriedly.

“(Y/N),” said Sherlock, groaning. “Mrs. Emelia Ricoletti, I need to know where she was buried.”

“What? 120 years ago?” said Mycroft.

“Yes,” said Sherlock, trying to sit up.

“That would take weeks to find, even if those records did exist. Even with my resources,” said Mycroft.

“Got it,” said (Y/N), who had taken Mary’s phone (already in the M15 database). They didn’t like Sherlock being high, but if solving this case would finish it all, (Y/N) would help. Sherlock knew that and was grateful.

Soon enough, they were at the cemetery, and Sherlock had a shovel.

“I don’t get it. How is this relevant?” said John.

“I need to know I was right, then I’ll be sure,” said Sherlock. He needed to know the truth. If he didn’t, then how was he to help (Y/N)? Protect (Y/N)?

“You mean how Moriarty did it?” said John.

“Yes,” said Sherlock.

“But none of that really happened. It was in your head,” said John.

“My investigation was fantasy. The crime happened exactly as I explained,” said Sherlock.

“The stone was erected by a group of her friends,” admitted (Y/N).

“Now, what do you think you’ll find here?” said Mycroft.

“I need to try,” said Sherlock. He stopped in front of the grave. “Mrs. Ricoletti was buried here, but what happened to the other one? The corpse they substituted for her after the so-called suicide?”

“They’d move it,” said (Y/N).

“But where?” said Sherlock, trying to focus and get (Y/N) to think only of the case instead of looking at him high.

“Are you suggesting they put it here?” said (Y/N).

“Yes! That’s exactly what they must have done,” said Sherlock. “The conspirators had someone on the inside. They found a body just like Molly Hooper found a body for me when—” he saw (Y/N) flinch and shut up “—I need to look.”

“You’re not seriously gonna do this?” said John.

“It’s why we came here,” said Sherlock. “I need to know.”

“Spoken like an addict,” said John.

“This is important to me!” said Sherlock.

“No, this is you needing a fix!” said John. “Moriarty’s back, we have a case! We have a real life problem, right now.”

“Just let me do this!” said Sherlock.

“No!” snapped John. “Everyone always lets you do whatever you want. That’s how you got in this state. Think about me! And (Y/N)! I’m not playing this time, Sherlock. Not anymore. When you’re ready to work, give me a call. I’m taking Mary home.”

“You’re what?” said Mary, raising a brow.

“Mary’s taking me home,” said John.

“Better,” said Mary. They turned and walked away.

“He’s right,” said (Y/N), staring at the grave.

“He’s always right,” said Sherlock. He swallowed. “Will you help me?”

“You know I always will,” said (Y/N).

Sherlock didn’t need any more encouragement and struck the earth with his shovel. He dug and dug and dug until the moon was high in the sky and he was six feet deep in the ground with (Y/N) and Lestrade. They hit the casket, and Sherlock and Lestrade lifted it out. They opened the lid and found a single skeleton lying within.

“Oh, dear,” said Mycroft. “The cupboard is bare.”

“They must have buried it underneath,” said Sherlock. “They must have buried it underneath the coffin.” He jumped back into the hole.

“Dad, it’s not here,” said (Y/N). “They could have hidden the body in a different casket, returned it to the coffin of the actual identity of whoever pretended to be Emelia, or any number of things.”

“At any rate, it was a very long time ago,” said Mycroft. “We do have slightly more pressing matters at hand, little brother. Moriarty? Back from the dead?” He glanced at (Y/N) as they stiffened at the reminder.

“Do not forget me,” whispered a soft voice, and Sherlock froze. “Do not forget me.”

He turned, and everyone followed the voice to watch in shock as the skeleton sat up in the coffin. It lurched up, and Sherlock let out a cry as it crashed down onto him in the grave.

Sherlock gasped and shivered as his eyes opened. He was soaked to the bone as water pelted down over him. As he rolled over, he found himself on a cliff overlooking a familiar waterfall—Reichenbach.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “Still not awake, am I?” Even finding the grave had been part of his dreams. He turned and sat up. He halted.

Moriarty stared at him, the moon shining on his pale features and black suit. “Too deep, Sherlock. Way too deep.” He watched Sherlock clamber to his feet. “Congratulations. You’ll be the first man in history to be buried in his own mind palace.”

“The setting’s a shade melodramatic, don’t you think?” said Sherlock.

“For you and me?” Moriarty looked around. “Not at all.”

“What are you?” said Sherlock, looking at Moriarty.

“You know what I am,” said Moriarty. “I’m Moriarty. The Napoleon of crime.”

“Moriarty is dead,” said Sherlock. “I killed him.”

“Not in your mind,” said Moriarty. “I’ll never be dead there. You once called your brain a hard drive. Well, say hello to the virus. This is how we end, you and I. Always here. Always together.”

“You have a magnificent brain, Moriarty,” said Sherlock. “I admire it. I concede it may even be the equal of my own.”

“I’m touched. I’m honored,” said Moriarty.

“But you are not equal to (Y/N),” said Sherlock. “And my admiration of your mind does not mean I won’t stop you from hurting them. They are the only thing that matters here.”

“Aw, even in your own mind you fear what I can do to them,” said Moriarty. He smirked. “What a virus I am.”

“Perhaps,” said Sherlock. “But when it comes to the matter of unarmed combat on the edge of a precipice, our minds are not what count.” His gaze hardened. “You’re going in the water. Short-arse.”

Moriarty grabbed Sherlock’s lapels with a wild yell and yanked. Sherlock coughed, and Moriarty grabbed his face, pulling viciously. Sherlock pushed him away into the cliff and punched him. Sherlock shook his head to clear it.

“Oh, you think you’re so big and strong, Sherlock?” sneered Moriarty. “Not with me!” He punched Sherlock.

Sherlock stumbled, turned, and punched back at Moriarty. Moriarty blocked it and threw Sherlock down onto the edge of the cliff. He stood over Sherlock.

“I am your weakness,” said Moriarty. He kicked Sherlock in the face. “I keep you down.” Another kick. “Every time you stumble, every time you fail, when you’re weak, I am there!” A third kick. Then a punch.

Sherlock coughed and gasped for air as he stared blearily up at Moriarty. The mastermind grabbed Sherlock and pushed him farther into the spray of the water, and Sherlock grappled with him to escape.

“No. Don’t try to fight it!” said Moriarty, holding him down. “Lie back and lose!” Sherlock pushed to his feet, but Moriarty tried to shove him over the cliff, the pair pushing against one another for balance. “Shall we go over together? It has to be together, doesn’t it?! At the end, it’s always just you and me.”

Someone cleared their throat, and Sherlock and Moriarty turned in surprise, still pushing one another. (Y/N) stood on the cliff, John’s pistol in their hand. They aimed it to Moriarty.

“It’s not you and him. It’s him and me. My father and I,” said (Y/N) calmly. “So do please let go of him and step away.” They smirked. “I do believe he and I find you a shade annoying.”

Sherlock grinned as Moriarty scowled and let go.

“That’s not fair, there’s two of you!” said Moriarty.

“There’s always the two of us,” said (Y/N). “We’re family.” They cocked their head. “On your knees, Moriarty. Hands behind your head.”

Moriarty was fuming at being foiled by (Y/N) even in Sherlock’s mind as he knelt down and put his hands up.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” said Sherlock. “You saved me.”

“We Holmses have to protect one another, even from ourselves,” said (Y/N). Sherlock blinked at the choice of words. “It’s time you woke up, Dad.” Sherlock stared at them, and they smirked. “Of course I figured it out. I’m clever, aren’t I? I knew Molly’s name, Lady Carmichael would never hire you if she intended to commit a crime, Moriarty can’t be alive, and in a world where women can’t vote, no one would respect my gender-neutral pronouns.” All the inconsistencies laid out before him. “This only makes sense if it was made by you for you.”

Sherlock smiled softly at his kid, his brilliant, brilliant kid. “Of course.”

“What’re they like?” asked (Y/N). “The other me, in the other place.”

“They’re brilliant and brave,” said Sherlock. “They’re the best kid I could ever ask for.”

“Oh, god, don’t tell me you actually adopted them, did you?” snapped Moriarty. “That doesn’t make them any less my child! A Moriarty!”

“Blood doesn’t make me who I am,” said (Y/N) coldly. They looked at Sherlock. “The people who raised me do.” They glanced back at Moriarty. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. It’s your turn,” said Sherlock.

(Y/N) walked up behind Moriarty and with a little, snakelike smirk, they kicked him. He toppled over the cliff’s edge and screamed until he disappeared below.

They looked back up at Sherlock. “For the record, although that was fun, I wouldn’t kill for pleasure if it really counted. This is all in your head.”

Sherlock smiled, reached out, and fondly touched (Y/N)’s shoulder. “I know. You’re better than that.”

(Y/N) smiled before looking back out at the waterfall. “So, how do you plan to wake up?”

Sherlock stepped closer to the edge. “Ooh, I should think like this.”

“Are you sure?” said (Y/N).

“Not at all,” said Sherlock.

“I’ll be there when you wake,” said (Y/N).

Sherlock smiled. “I love you, (Y/N).

“I love you, Dad,” they replied.

With a smile on his face, Sherlock jumped.

Sherlock exhaled harshly as his eyes opened suddenly. (Y/N) was leaning over him, and he was once more in the airplane. He smiled at (Y/N), whose brow creased in concern.

“Hello, (Y/N). Miss me?” he said softly.

“Are you alright, Dad?” said (Y/N), still hesitant due to the drug use, but he seemed much more lucid now.

“Course I am. I’m with you. Why wouldn’t I be?” said Sherlock.

“’Cause you probably just OD’d. You should be in hospital,” said Mary.

“No time,” said Sherlock. He sat up. “I have to go to Baker Street now. Moriarty is back.”

“And this?” said Mycroft, holding up the list.

Sherlock took it and tore it in half. “I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.” He looked at (Y/N). “I promise.”

He took their hand, squeezed, and pulled them with him to the plane exit. Mycroft watched him go and exhaled. At least Sherlock wouldn’t use again. He took (Y/N) seriously. Mycroft, too, looked at (Y/N) as family, but Sherlock saw them as everything, his whole world. Mycroft hoped that helped him. He thought of sentimentality as a bother, but he knew that Sherlock needed it after everything. And (Y/N) was just the family he needed.

“Sherlock, hang on. Explain,” said John. “Moriarty is alive, then?”

“I never said he was alive, I said he was back,” said Sherlock.

“So he’s dead?” said (Y/N).

“He must be dead. I shot him through the head,” said Sherlock firmly. “No one should be able to survive that.” He looked at Mary and John. “Now, to Baker Street.”

John and Mary glanced at each other before getting into the car. (Y/N) moved to the door, but Sherlock touched their shoulder, and they paused.

“Yeah?” said (Y/N).

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). Really,” said Sherlock. “I—I was trying to prove Moriarty was dead. I took some to cope with losing you, and then I took more to make sure he was dead, and I did it to protect you, but it…”

“Protecting me shouldn’t hurt me.”

“It hurt you,” said Sherlock. “And I should have focused on that more. Because you’re what matters. Not me, not Moriarty, you.” He gazed at (Y/N) intently. “I love you, (Y/N) Holmes. You’re my child. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

(Y/N) looked at him long and hard before nodding. “Thank you for saying that. I love you too, Dad.”

Sherlock smiled and opened his arms. He let (Y/N) decide if they were comfortable, and they took a step forward. They hugged him, and Sherlock smiled as he held them tightly.

The Holmes family was back together.

Taglist:

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@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

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@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

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sohardlovingyou · 18 days ago

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in honor of midnight's two year anniversary, do you have a list of how you'd divide the album into john-songs and paul-songs? would love to know your thoughts! <3

Oh, I don't have a list but I can make one right now! I don't care about my job that much, lol

This is interesting because I think Midnights (alongside Rep) is the least mclennon Taylor album, buuuuuut it does have songs that individually are a lot like both of them so let's see

John songs:

Maroon: this is one of the few songs that I think are mclennon, but specifically I think it's very John pov re: 1968 NYC Apple trip. (heartbreaking, I know)

Anti-Hero: This one is self-explanatory, really. I cried on a train the first time I listened to it because it was so John-coded that it made me sad he was never going to hear it ):

The Great War: this is like Jealous Guy 2.0 (with the caveat that he was an idiot and Taylor is a princess)

Dear Reader: As my beloved @idontwanttospoiltheparty once told me, John was not self-aware enough to write something this intimate BUT I can't hear "you wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking" and "You should find another guiding light, but I shine so bright" without thinking about him, so #JohnCoded

Hits Different: Again, self-explanatory. Probably top 3 most John coded Taylor songs. "I picture you with other girls in love, and threw up on the street" is sooooo baby mclennon it makes me giggle. And "Dreams of your hair and your stare and sense of belief in the good in the world, you once believed in me" is SO SO SO John thinking about Paul that it makes me want to rip my heart out of my chest. But then she says "or have they come to take me away?" and i get sad for both of them.

Paul songs:

You're On Your Own, Kid: If I didn't find looking for video clips so tedious, I would have made a post-breakup Paul edit with that bridge because o m g. "I gave my blood sweat and tears for this" It's literally Get Bak Paul, and it makes me go insane thinking about it. "I looked around in a blood-soaked gown and I saw something they can't take away" they're both thinking about music, aren't they? Anyway, he was on his own and he DID face it.

Question...?: Taylor is so nonchalant and chill in this song that the fact that she's fucking furious almost flies right above your head. And Idk, it reminds me of the way Paul wrote Too Many People and Dear Boy. I wish I was better at explaining this but hopefully, you'll get it. "Does it feel like everything is second best after that meteor strike?" is so petty, lmao, it just gives: you'll NEVER replace me as your soulmate, cry about it (it works both ways tho).

Vigilante Shit: I just think he should have sung it about Klein doing the Eras Tour choreography.

Karma: I'm just adding it for the same reason as Vigilante Shit. "My pennies made your crown". "Ask me why so many fade and I'm still here", it's also self-explanatory.

Mastermind: The first time I heard "I've been scheming like a criminal ever since to make them love me and make it seem effortless" and "I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian 'cause I care" I gasped and went "PAUL!", so make of that what you will. Like, it's just him in song form. Also, baby Paul following John around before they officially met, and then pretending he has to think about being in his band lmao. "Checkmate, I couldn't lose" indeed.

✨MCLENNON BONUS✨

I couldn't finish this without mentioning that Midnights has a song that's literally called PARIS!!! And I have said this before but I think it's just John trapped in a hotel room in 1966 thinking about them going back there, and then THEY DID! (Paul ruined it but whatever).

#this was soooooooo fun #thank you anon I hope you like it (:#not including sweet nothing because it's a paul story but i don't think it's him coded if that makes sense

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hedgiwithapen · 1 month ago

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Inspired by this https://www.tumblr.com/godzillalover/758711049782427648/ricks-dad-wasnt-dead-just-in-a-coma-does-that, rex wakes up when pat or rick are visiting him

“I still can’t believe Dr. King was some kind of criminal mastermind.” Bridgit Chapel said, processing more of Beth’s promised explanation of what had been going on in Blue Valley for nearly a decade, and what specifically had been going on with Beth for the last 7 months. “Your Dad’s old boss, though, I can see that.”

“In hindsight,” James agreed, “closing down and buying up small businesses to put under one umbrella is villain behavior.” “But Dr. King? You know he was always the first one to take on cases other doctors in other cities turned down, said there was nothing anyone could do, and it wasn’t just about the money or the fame. First to point people towards financial assistance, took a paycut before any of the nurses, and he sat in with John at least once a week, just to talk to him, keep him company. I can’t reconcile…” “Well, he was already rich from, you know, years of crime,” Beth said, “and would have wanted to keep a low profile. Again, because of the years of crime thing. Who’s John?” Her parents didn’t talk about there jobs nearly as much as they had when she was younger, but she couldn’t place a John as one of her Mom’s coworkers. “Oh, he isn’t my department. A patient in the longterm care ward. Been in a coma with minimal brain activity for years. Five? No, longer than that. Poor man, no identity, no family…” Beth frowned. There probably wasn’t an evil conspiracy lurking behind every door, manhole cover, and coincidence in Blue Valley. But there was some kind of conspiracy lurking behind about 60% of doors, manhole covers, and coincidences in Blue Valley. “Well, Dr. King was super evil, like… really really bad. So I should probably check that out.” At her parents’ Look, Beth amended. “ the Justice Society should. Tomorrow? How about nine? I’ll let Pat know.” She didn’t give her parents room to push back, but the words ‘Justice Society’ worked their magic.

Pat had been the first to recognize John Doe. Of course, Beth had only ever seen him in a hologram, and he looked different now, hooked up to machines. But Pat only took one look at him. “Rex,” he breathed. Beth pulled on her goggles, sending a text to Rick first-- I’m at the hospital, get here now. And then canning the patient. “He’s not dying,” she said, trying to sort through the data Chuck fed her. “He’s just… stuck. It’s like …” “Like what happened to Brainwave,” Pat agreed. “I guess Chuck never scanned him, though…and we never did learn how he woke up.” “Uh, I think Henry woke him up. Which… also doesn’t help.” Beth winced. “So what do we do. Did the JSA have a, a cure for….. Oh.” A file on Brainwave opened up in her green tinted vision, boiling down to a sharp ‘no.’ “‘Fraid not,” Pat said, reaching to pull a chair out so he could sit. “Hey, Rex. I don’t know if you can hear me, but uh. It’s your old pal, Stripesy.” Beth went to look at the chart, hoping Chuck could piece together something-- or rather, that Charles could, and let her know. Maybe Jakeen could make a wish? Risky, Chuck told her, but possible. Beth went to sit herself when the door slammed open. Rick panted in the doorway, hands braced on his knees, his face red from excursion. “Beth? Are you ok? What happened? Who attacked you--” “Oops,” Beth said. “ no, no, I’m fine! It’s just--did you run here? Up all those stairs? You could have taken the elevator.”

“I thought you were hurt! You said-- if you’re not hurt then why…”

“Rick,” Pat interrupted. “Come sit… with your father.”

“My--” Rick stopped, staring at the hospital bed. “Dad?” he finished hoarsley.

Rex didn’t move. Rick stared.

“How?” he asked the air.

“Brainwave,” Pat said. “He must have thought he could get JSA secrets or something…didn’t realize that he’d already sent me his book. That he’d already hidden you.”

Rick’s knees buckled. Beth shoved herself under his shoulder to support him while Pat vacated his chair.

“Is he… okay? Is he going to wake up?” he demanded.

“Without Brainwave keeping him in a coma… he should wake up.” Beth offered. “ That’s what Chuck says.”

“Yeah, but it’s been months! We beat that guy ages ago, shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”

“Think about Justin,” Pat tried. “It took til he knew he was with… well, me, before he healed from whatever Brainwave did. Maybe he just needs to know he’s safe. It may not be exact proven science but…”

“But it’s what we’ve got, right?” Rick asked. “Just… hope he wakes up?”

“Hope’s a pretty strong thing, Rick.” Pat gave him a small smile.

Rick pulled the hourglass chain from around his neck. “And so’s this.” He looked at Beth, waiting for a heartbeat to see if she understood and disapproved, but she nodded. Carefully, Rick arranged the fine gold chain, careful of the tubing, and turned the glass over. The sand gleamed. Rick waited, holding his breath.

Rex’s eyes flickered open.

#Dammit Hedgi Day #Dammit Hedgi Day 2024 #Stargirl #Stargirl spoilers #very technically but all the same #Rick Tyler

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cxlxrx · 3 months ago

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once i had the idea about a trikey stalker au, in which Michael is a depressed criminal mastermind and Trevor a psychopath nobody wanna work with willingly. I wrote the beginning but I'll never finish it so here is the snippet I wrote:

Trevor first met Michael Townley in 2006. He and Michael had been hired for the same job, robbing a little bank in fucking nowhere. Michael had buzzed hair and a sharp gaze. Sharper than anyone else in their group, he had looked at Trevor like he immediately knew everything about him, he had looked at him with such arrogant eyes, it made Trevor dizzy.

“I’m Michael”, Michael said, raising his hand for a shake. His look was calculating and cold, so fucking cold. Trevor was immediately hooked.

“Trevor”, Trevor answered and shook the offered hand. Michael's hand was warmer and bigger than Trevor's and his grip was vice.

“So”, Michael said, pulling his hand back, “you work often with L?” He leaned back against their getaway car, while he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket.

“No, but I used to”, Trevor answered and looked through the dead end street out into the busy mainstreet. They had to wait for Lester's go, only then they could go to the bank at the end of the mainstreet and rob it poor. Trevor would just bust through the fucking mainentrance when he pleased and kill every human being in sight but well Lester was a pussy and Trevor was only here because Moses called in sick. Fucker. He laid in bed with over 100 degrees boiling through his body so Lester needed an alternative and apparently he had found no one better than Trevor.

Lester had sounded so fucking pissed when he asked Trevor to fill in for Moses and the satisfaction Trevor got out of pissing people off was magnificent so he agreed on filling in, just to piss Lester off (and of the adrenaline kick he would (hopefully) get out of it).

“Why used to?”, Michael asked and cupped his left hand in front of the cigarette while he fiddled with the lighter in his right hand. After a few seconds of trying the cigarette gleamed up. Trevor watched in fascination how Michael dragged a lung full of smoke, then held it for a moment and exhaled it through his mouth and nose again.

Fuck. That was kinda hot.

“He doesn't like my attitude”, Trevor answered simply. Michael raised an eyebrow and removed the cigarette from his mouth, blowing smoke in Trevor's direction, “The fuck does that mean?”

“Well”, Trevor jumped on the dumpster next to their car, leg dangling and gave Michael a meaningful look, “I approach the stuff differently, you could call it more directly, and that pisses him off.”

And Trevor had sat one too many times in the forensic department, but Michael didn't need to know that.

Michael hummed, cigarette between his lips again. His lips were thin and dry, wrapping perfectly around it.

“I see.”

They fell silent. Michael smoked his cigarette until only the butt remained and threw it in the ground, crushing it with his boot. Trevor observed him with a burning gaze, head tilted to one side. Michael must be in his late 30s or early 40s, just like Trevor, he was a bit shorter and bigger than him. Where Trevor was all skinny and bony Michael had fat stretched over his muscles. He wore a black and white suit with a blood red tie, the outfit looked expensive, in contrast to Trevor's crusty and dirty cargo pants and stained (formally white) shirt. He had his Aviator Glasses pushed up into his thinning hairline to complete the look.

Trevor suddenly asked himself why he had never seen Michael before. Hadn't even heard about him? He seemed like he was used to this kind of stuff. Strange but on the other hand Trevor gave a fuck about other people.

Suddenly a loud ringing cut through the silence, Trevor's gaze jerked to Michael's pocket and Michael cursed while pulling out his flip phone.

He let it snap open, “L.”

Trevor observed how he pressed the phone to his ear, Michael hummed here and there an approval and then lowered the phone, let it snap shut again.

“B is ready”, Michael said and turned around to get into the car, “we should go.”

“Alrighty”, Trevor said cheerfully and clapped his hands together, “let's fucking go.” He jumped off the dumpster and got into the car with Michael.

#it would be sad to let it rot in my wips #so here is the beginning #sadly I'll dropped the idea shortly after I wrote the beginning :(#trikey #gta 5 #gta v #trevor philips #michael de santa #fanfiction

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asexualbookbird · 8 months ago

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finished among thieves! i didnt enjoy it! too many povs, i thought tristan and ivan were the same character, so when tristans Secret was revealed im just like. okay. whatever. he was so bland his personality was "crush on ryia" and "likes to be clean" he had maybe 2 full pages of action lmao

ivan wants to save his brother i guess. thats his personality but again. we hardly see him so why do we care.

nash seems cool? but again. what do we know about her.

evelyn is annoying there i said it girl youre running with thievea and criminals stop going BUT THATS ILLEGAL every time they want to be thieves and criminals.

ryia also had a Big Secret that the author narrator just. dropped in the narrative at like page 60 lmao and we were still supposed to be shocked when another character figured it out???? also she reminded me of caelin from throne of glass. i hate her.

callum clem has the worst fucking name and hes supposed to be this Evil Sinister Mastermind but HES NEVER AROUND!!!!!!!!! I dont even buy that hes The Worst because all we have to prove that is what others say about him. Say what you want about the bone season but at least Jaxon SUCKED ASS ON PAPER!!!!!

it was dumb and im mad because i was so excited about it its been sitting on my shelf for years i have it a home,

now if youll excuse me i have some library books i need to get through

#bookbird babbles #ezra reads among thieves #HEAVY SIGH

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mariana-oconnor · 1 year ago

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The Cardboard Box pt 2

Last time we had two severed ears from two different people, an old lady who probably wasn't a criminal mastermind, and a poorly addressed parcel. Lestrade still looked like a ferret and it was a blazing hot August.

“I am convinced, sir,” she said, “that this matter is a mistake, and that the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this several times to the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me."

Okay Lestrade, I like you, but laughing at old ladies who have received human body parts in the post isn't cool. Especially not for having a perfectly reasonable opinion about the situation. I, too, if presented with a parcel of freshly severed ears would be rather insistent that they were sent to the wrong person. After I'd finished shouting profanity, washing my hands, and contacting every person I knew to make sure they still had both ears firmly attached to their heads.

I'd probably also be washing the floor, because there's no way I wouldn't have immediately dropped them on the floor.

Miss Cushing is very composed. But I suppose she is channelling her feelings into her anitmacassar in a productive manner. Good for her. Either that or she is involved. Honestly, her saying she's not involved does make me more suspicious of her, but as we have previously discussed, I am a naturally suspicious person.

Still, fingers crossed for pirates.

“I think that it is more than probable—” He paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring with singular intentness at the lady's profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever.

Oh, did he catch a microexpression? Is she involved? But I just don't see why she'd call the police and say she didn't know what was going on if she was, unless she's a lot more cunning or arrogant than most of the villains we have seen.

“Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary.”

Ah, another Miss S. Cushing has entered the tale.

“And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by his uniform."

Liverpool, renowned port city. Knots, tarred string, sunburnt ears and earrings. My sailor theory gains steam.

“No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me, then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we don't know how things are going with them.”

I was going to ask what pledge, but this appears to be a temperance thing. And to get the family dynamics worked out in my head: Mary is the youngest, married to Jim Browner. and both members of the couple stopped talking to both Susan and Sarah, and now no one knows where they are.

Which gives us a sailor and his wife, both missing, and two ears that seem to have come from a man and woman (according to Holmes, I'm still not convinced he can tell, but for the conceit of the tale, let's say he's right) the 'male' ear being sunburnt and with a hole for an earring.

I'm sure there's absolutely no connection between these things.

Also, your sister's husband has a drinking problem that makes him 'stark, staring mad' and then he and your sister drop off the planet? That seems like a thing to be distinctly more concerned about. Miss Susan Cushing is losing sibling points rapidly.

She told us many details about her brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her former lodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account of their delinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals.

Wow, she really doesn't want those medical students getting any patients, does she? I dread to think what Victorian medical students were like. But they probably weren't as bad as Victor Frankenstein. Although that would be a hilarious crossover. These ears were actually intended for him to work on his 'project' but he forgot to change the forwarding address. Only seventy years or so too late, but still.

“Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper or you would wonder no more. I tried it when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when we had to part."

So you're saying the other Miss S Cushing also lived at this address until two months ago. So it's not even a case of mistaken identity, it's just that she forgot to send out change of address cards. Also, she has a temper. So my theory about pirates might be right? Although probably no illegitimate children. But it seems like Sarah might know what the ears mean. Whether she wants the couple dead or she's being threatened is a different question.

“Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went up there to live in order to be near them. And now she has no word hard enough for Jim Browner."

Oooh, family drama! Spill the tea, please. What did Jim Browner do? Did she find out he was having an affair? Is the second ear that of his lover?

"Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you should have been troubled over a case with which, as you say, you have nothing whatever to do.”

Apart from the fact that one of the ears might belong to your little sister, but whatever, I guess.

"We must strike while the iron is hot."

Either the victims aren't dead or he's worried the murderer is going to get back on a ship and vanish into the briny mists. Given how often that has happened, he probably should be worried. Although it seems like if they do get on a ship to run away, karma will catch them pretty fast in the form of a terrible shipwreck.

I wonder what's in the telegram he's writing. To the docks? To Liverpool to ask about the May Day? To Lestrade?

I didn't mention before how weird the name May Day for a ship is. That's got to be confusing, hasn't it? How do you know if they're sending out a distress call or just saying their name? Terrible name for a ship. Who in earth calls their ship May Day?

A grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared on the step.

Watson does like to comment on how shiny men's hats are. Can you see your face in it? Is he wearing a crown?But why is this man wearing a hat indoors in the first place? I thought that was impolite? Was he just on his way out? On his way in?

“Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill,” said he. “She has been suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her medical adviser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. I should recommend you to call again in ten days.” He drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the street.

On his way out, it seems. And another brain fever. But this one appears to be less severe, only eleven days in severity. Percy Phelps beats her hands down.

Were these brain symptoms possibly from learning of the dreadful fate of her sister and her brother-in-law? Is she being blackmailed? Did she try to blackmail someone else. Her sister Susan did say she liked to meddle. Or are these symptoms from a more malicious cause?

“I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her."

Little bit of a creepy thing to say, but I'll allow it. I assume that he wanted to see if she was in distress at all, and she clearly is.

We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker's in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings.

OK, Maths time.

So 20 shillings in a pound, a guinea was 1 pound and 1 shilling. so 500 guineas was £500 plus 500 shillings, 500 shillings is £25, so 500 guineas is £525. The equivalent of almost £54,500. Fifty five shillings is £2.75 old money or roughly £284. So yes that is a bargain. Or another way of looking at it, Sherlock cheated that broker out of a hell of a lot of money.

It's weird how people have Sherlock as this single minded crime-solving machine, when in reality we've seen him on numerous occasions when there's nothing actively to be done on a case, enjoying his leisure time. He and Watson went to that concert in The Red-Headed League, he went to have tea in a nice little pub in The Naval Treaty. He actually seems to have quite a reasonable work life balance.

Here, he and Watson are having so much fun that they don't even get back to the case until sunset.

“That is the name,” he said. “You cannot effect an arrest until to-morrow night at the earliest. I should prefer that you do not mention my name at all in connection with the case, as I choose to be only associated with those crimes which present some difficulty in their solution."

Ow. That was a burn. Also, if that's the case, why is Watson publishing it? Seems a little rude.

"That he may be safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do..."

At least he's not a ferret this time? Lestrade must love Watson's stories being published. I bet he finds little passages cut out and stuck on his door in Scotland Yard.

“It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of the revolting business is, although one of the victims still escapes us. Of course, you have formed your own conclusions.” “I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool boat, is the man whom you suspect?” “Oh! it is more than a suspicion.”

I was assuming he was one of the victims. But I suppose I should have put more credence in him being a terrible drunk. Did his wife have an affair? Is there an illegitimate child involved? Or did he just think his wife was having an affair.

Which means that there's another sailor caught up in all of this. So far no pirates, but I can still hope, right?

"We approached the case, you remember, with an absolutely blank mind, which is always an advantage. We had formed no theories."

I feel called out. 😅 ACD and Sherlock Holmes are reaching through time and reality to give me shade on jumping to conclusions based on vibes.

“The string was of the quality which is used by sail-makers aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When I observed that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so much more common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all the actors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes."

But this time I have actually put together the evidence. Though I feel like most knots are popular with sailors. Aren't they all good for different things? My grandma used to have a thing on her wall with all the different kinds of knots that were used on sailing ships.

“As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones."

Oh, he was looking at her ear. And it looked like the severed one.

I assume that ear similarities are hereditary, much like facial features are, that does make sense. They won't be identical, because we know earprints are unique, but I can accept they would be similar. Of course Holmes has written monographs on ears.

Very disappointed the tobacco doesn't seem to have come into things, though.

"And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy."

This is a really fucking dumb move on his part, though. Why send someone the evidence of your crime? Just weight the bodies down and throw them into the sea. By the time they come up again, no one will be able to recognise them and DNA isn't exactly known at this time.

Just... bad idea. Be better at committing crimes. This is just embarrassing.

"An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force..."

Alright, I don't feel foolish for thinking that the ear belonged to him, because strangely enough, I wasn't able to telegraph my friend in Liverpool to find out.

"If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already."

What the fuck happened in Liverpool that she didn't want to see her sister's murderer arrested? What did she do? Poor Mary Browner had terrible sisters. They should be ashamed of themselves.

"When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in.”

This is a really sad story. Poor Mary Browner stuck in what seems to have been a very abusive relationship with an alcoholic. Her sisters just let her disappear, and she ended up dead with no one reporting her missing and the only person who knew not willing to tell anyone. Or, I suppose, we could charitably say that maybe the brain fever took hold of Sarah before she was able to communicate with anyone about it.

Just... kind of tragic all around.

#The Cardboard Box #Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #long post #Well this took a sharp turn into the tragic #Poor woman #And poor random guy who may or may not have been having an affair with her #Imagine if he just happened to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time #We're too late for the golden age of piracy so there never was any hope really #but it would have been fun #Maybe Mary and her lover faked their deaths and cut off their own ears #then ran off into the night to pursue their dreams #We can hope

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buttercupsandboys · 2 years ago

Text

Sunshine & Rainbows

Alfie Solomons x Livy (OFC) — Chapter 14

18+ NSFW - minors don’t interact 🙅🏻‍♀️

MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 14: descending into madness

Summary: Alfie meets with Bernard and discovers Livy is missing. It doesn’t go well.

TW: language typical of Peaky Blinders, violence and angst

Word count: 4376

A/N: It’s been a while, so here’s a quick recap! (Or click here to read Chapter 13 again!)

Alfie and Livy were having a private moment by the Cut when they were interrupted by Thomas, and Livy learns the men are working with Bernard McCall from the High Rip Gang—the man responsible for her abuse and trafficking as a child. Livy panics and flees with the help of Polly and Esme.

This chapter starts with a small time jump. We’re back at the Cut, only this time, it’s from Alfie’s point of view…

"Livy, I need you to know that I—"

… that I love you.

Fuck, he was so close to saying the words that had evaded him for weeks, but as always, Thomas Shelby has the worst possible timing.

"We need to talk."

"No, we don't. Leave before I shoot you in the face."

Alfie refuses to turn around, his broad shoulders shielding Livy from view, his fingers gripping her hips as he contemplates pulling the trigger.

It’s fucking tempting. After a long week, the last thing he wants to do is talk business. Especially not now, with Livy in his arms, staring up at him with wide eyes and swollen lips. How someone like her finds pleasure in his company, Alfie will never understand. She deserves better, surely, but it’s too late for that. She’s his now, and he’s going to finish telling her how much he loves her just as soon as he can get rid of—

"Bernard and his boys are making a move."

Oh, for fucks sake.

Alfie knew getting involved with those useless cunts from up north would end up biting him in the arse. He curses, slamming his fist into a crate, wishing he wasn’t right all the damn time.

"He's on his way from Liverpool. He knows about Sabini and would like to renegotiate."

"Yeah, I bet he does," Alfie grumbles as he helps Livy down, his frown deepening when her heels narrowly avoid a murky puddle. It’s yet another reminder that she doesn’t belong in this filthy fucking city, but he’ll have to tolerate it a bit longer. There will be no getting out of this meeting now, not with Liverpool proving such a valuable asset.

Begrudgingly, he admits that expanding their network has been profitable. But at what cost? Bernard is no fool; he demands a premium for access to the docks, and now that Sabini’s gone, Alfie can only imagine what else he’ll ask for.

Or at least … that's what he would be doing if he wasn’t so fucking distracted.

Alfie prides himself on staying two steps ahead of his associates and rarely enters negotiations without knowing what the other party hopes to achieve. It’s what sets him apart; while his capacity for violence is legendary, along with his fiery temper, it’s his dangerous mind that’s responsible for his astonishing rise to power.

He’s astute, focused, and cunning.

But not tonight.

After being away from Livy and coming so close to confessing his love to her, he feels more like a nervous schoolboy than a criminal mastermind. Fucking hell. It’s taken him so long to get to this point, to find the courage to say what needs to be said, but with every passing minute, fear and doubt are creeping up his spine, the foreign emotions slowly consuming him.

Vaguely, he’s aware of taking Livy’s arm and leading her to a car, Cyril yapping at their heels, a cutting breeze chasing the setting sun, chilling without the familiar presence of his hat. But Alfie observes these things as if from a distance, still lost in thought.

I love you.

It shouldn’t be this hard to say, should it? They’re just fucking words, and he’s never been short of them before. In fact, he considers himself something of a master when it comes to weaponised conversation.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Alfie uses words to control, confuse, and manipulate; they’re like tiny foot soldiers in his one-man army. He’s confident on the battlefield, making deal or die offers with dangerous men, but here, with her … well, fuck.

As the streets fly by, a blur of grey and cobblestones, Alfie wonders what type of man he’d be if he hadn’t been hardened by life. Would sweet words—soft words, beautiful words, words a woman like Livy deserves to hear—roll as naturally off his tongue as the curses that pepper his speech? Would he have courted her, taken her to dinner at least, before fucking her at the goddamn breakfast table?

He’s never been prone to second-guessing himself, but as Thomas rambles on about Bernard, Alfie tallies his list of regrets. There’s so much he would do over if he could; fuck, he should have sought out Livy as soon as the war ended, protected her like he promised, instead of waiting for her to show up on his doorstep. If only he hadn’t been such a selfish bastard, she would never have set foot in the Eden Club, and those fucking wops would have never laid a hand on her.

Of course, Livy finds trouble wherever she goes, and under normal circumstances, Alfie would never allow himself to wallow in the past. But he’s not accustomed to feeling vulnerable or insecure—love is toying with his mind—-and she’s everything he never knew he wanted.

He’s afraid of losing her, scared of the moment when Livy comes to her senses and disappears from his life. Like a rainbow after a storm, here one minute, gone the next, leaving nothing behind but brightly coloured memories.

His chest clenches painfully at the thought, but Alfie quickly shuts it down. It won’t happen; he won’t let it. She’ll be back in Camden Town soon enough, and then he’ll take her somewhere, somewhere expensive, and tell her properly, be a fucking gentleman for once in his useless life—

“Esme.”

Livy’s soft voice catches him off guard, and Alfie finds himself blushing under his thick beard, grateful for the fading light. The car comes to a stop as he turns in his seat and fights to keep his expression blank.

“Probably putting the kids to bed," Thomas replies.

Alfie nods, avoiding her eyes, sure that if Livy looks too closely, she’ll see right through him. And now is not the time, not with Thomas Shelby watching on silently and Bernard McCall arriving any fucking minute.

"Why don't you go and say hello—alright, pet? I'll come and find you when we're done here.”

Time seems to freeze as he waits for her response, and there’s a strange tension in the air he would normally remark upon. But nothing about tonight feels normal, and he’s never felt less like himself as he hurries to help Livy out of the car, holding her close when she nearly trips over Cyril.

“Fucking mutt,” Alfie growls, his frustration bubbling over.

But to his surprise, his mild-mannered pup growls right back.

Alfie frowns at the odd behaviour, the hair on the back of his neck suddenly standing at attention. His instincts urge him to pull Livy close, to look deep into her golden eyes before she rushes off. But then her full lips brush his cheek, and Thomas is leading the way to the betting shop, and business is business, after all.

He lets her go.

“Right, Thomas, I think we both know this is a waste of fucking time.” Alfie is irate and can’t be bothered to hide it. “He wants a piece of London, and that ain’t fucking happening.”

“Of course not,” Thomas scoffs, pausing to light a cigarette before taking a seat behind his large desk. “But Bernard is … optimistic. Just talk to him, eh?”

“Talk to him,” Alfie repeats dryly, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. He hates everything about this fucking office; the trinkets and the smoke and, most of all, the smug fucking man sitting across from him. “Well, I know this is hard to believe, but I’m just about out of words tonight. So why don’t you stop dancing around and fill me in on your fucking plan?”

With Livy gone, Alfie has finally managed to gather his wits. Bernard is on his way because the Blinders and Jews are dividing up territory, and it’s so fucking obvious he can’t believe he didn’t see it earlier. But Thomas did—and judging from the look on his face, it can only mean one thing: a ridiculous, overly-ambitious plan.

And fuck, he’s too tired for this.

While part of him reluctantly admires Thomas for his initiative, and his ability to twist anything to his advantage, lately there have been rumours of Russians and Americans, politics and weapons, and silly things Alfie wants no fucking part of. Especially not now, with Livy in his life. It’s a ballache waiting to happen, and he has a bad feeling he’s already an unwilling pawn in one of Thomas Shelby’s games.

“We’re just buying time tonight, Alfie. That’s all. Send him back to Liverpool, let him find his head, and I’m sure we can all come to an agreement.”

“Fuck off, Thomas. Do I look like one of your dumb fucking brothers? I know you’re playing at something—“

Before Alfie can finish, they’re interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

“Come in,” announces Thomas, shooting Alfie a stern look.

Alfie grunts, eyeing a pretentious bronze horse from across the desk, fighting the urge to smash Thomas in the face with it.

His temper fails to improve when the door opens, revealing Arthur and Bernard. Now he’s stuck in a room with who he’s sure must be his three least favourite people on this fucking planet.

“Bernard,” greets Thomas. His tone is polite, but he doesn’t stand or offer his hand, and neither does Alfie. “Take a seat.”

Bernard doesn’t take offence. Instead he smiles, a crooked smile, revealing a prominent gold tooth.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he replies, dropping into the seat next to Alfie and nodding when Thomas offers a whiskey. “Straight to business then, lads?”

Alfie huffs. “Well, here’s the thing, right. I recall us making a deal just the other week—did we not?” He strokes his beard before pointing accusingly at Bernard, shaking his finger at the older man.

“Yeah. Yeah, we did, mate. And yet here we are again, sharing air in this godless city.” Alfie’s voice drops dangerously. “So I’m guessing you have something of considerable importance to tell us. Unless you enjoy wasting my fucking time?”

“Wastin’ your time?” chuckles Bernard, sipping his drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his weathered hand. “Oh, that’s funny, that is.”

“Is it?” Alfie glances across at Thomas. “‘Cause I’m known for a lot of things, mate, but my sense of humour ain’t one of them.”

Arthur snorts from his place near the door, having witnessed Alfie’s ‘humour’ firsthand.

“Well, ‘ere’s the thing, big fella. When we was negotiatin’, you failed to mention your plan for the Italians.” Bernard’s smile disappears and is quickly replaced with a menacing scowl. “Now I can’t ‘elp but feel you’re wastin’ my fuckin’ time here, mate.”

Alfie isn’t easily baited, but he can feel his patience slipping away, his temper rising in its place. The more he thinks about it, the less he cares about Liverpool, and he’s not sure how much more he can tolerate from this ugly scouse fucker. Right now, all he wants is to be home with Livy, and he’s not afraid to break a few bones if it will hurry things along.

“Is that so? Well, don’t be shy then.” Alfie leans forward and looks Bernard straight in the eye, just inches from his face, daring him to look away. “Tell us what you want, treacle.”

Bernard refuses to back down. “A third of the Italian’s territory,” he snarls.

“A third of …” Alfie can’t help it; he throws his head back and laughs, a barking sound from deep in his chest, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right, well, that ain’t ever going to happen, now is it? So thanks for coming. Now, why don’t you fuck right off—“

“I think what my colleague is trying to say”—Thomas gives Alfie a pointed look—“is that London is off the table. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Bernard narrows his eyes, jaw clenched as he waits for Thomas to continue. Alfie follows suit, wondering where the fuck he’s going with this.

“You’re a smart man, Bernard. You know you can’t maintain that kind of territory from Liverpool.” Thomas stands and looks out the window before turning back to face the others. “But you didn’t come here to talk about London.”

“Then what the fuck am I doin’ ‘ere? Since you know so fuckin’ much.”

Thomas reaches forward and places his palms on the desk. “Because we both know I’m a man of considerable resources.” He straightens up and inhales from his cigarette before pointing at Bernard, the smoke coiling between them. “And I have something you lost. Something you want back.”

And there it is, thinks Alfie.

The pieces are falling into place. Thomas Shelby has pulled a bargaining chip out of thin air, and Alfie would bet his left nut it’s because he needs Liverpool for more than his sad fucking gin.

He has a bad feeling about this …

But Bernard grins.

“There’s only one thing I want more than London.”

“Patience,” Thomas promises. “Go back to Liverpool. Give me 48 hours, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Bernard nods agreeably, leaving Alfie feeling like a third wheel with no clue what they’re talking about. But he knows better than to show his frustration and instead sits in stony silence, hands fisted by his side, fuming as Thomas wraps up the meeting.

But when the door closes, he explodes.

“What the fuck was that?” Alfie demands, coming to his feet, ready to wrap his fingers around Thomas’s scrawny little neck.

“Alfie,” he replies, raising his hands in peace. “I just needed to buy some time.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Alfie growls dangerously, stalking closer. “But time for what, mate?”

Thomas takes a cautious step backwards.

“To call in some favours. I want Liverpool, and I want Bernard out of the picture. It’ll be better for both of us.”

Alfie stares him down as he weighs up his options.

Beneath the whiskey and smoke, he can smell Shelby bullshit, and there’s no doubt in his mind Thomas would play him for a fool. The intelligent thing would be to keep pushing for more details—by any means necessary—before this whole mess has a chance to blow up in his face.

But he’s exhausted and just about out of fucks tonight, so for once, Alfie chooses the easy way out. Maybe he really is getting soft, but right now, he can’t find it in him to care. Not when he has other, more pleasurable, things on his mind.

“Right, Thomas. Well, as you know, I am a man of faith. So I’m going to let your blatant fucking lies slide—for now. But know this. I can smell your pikey nonsense a mile off, and I will only allow your little games for so long.”

Alfie steps back and collects his cane, absently reaching for his hat before remembering its fate. He curses, leaving Thomas with a final warning.

“Do not tempt me because I will not hesitate to end your measly excuse for a life.”

And with that, Alfie stalks out of the room, ready to collect Livy and finally get the fuck out of Small Heath.

“What the fuck do you mean she isn’t here?”

If Alfie thought Shelby men were infuriating, that was before coming up against Shelby women.

Esme leans against her battered door frame, arms crossed over her chest, shooting Alfie a look that would melt steel. Polly stands behind her, smoking a thin cigarette, looking bored.

But Livy is nowhere to be found.

“What are you deaf?” snaps Esme. “I told you she left earlier with your big oaf of a dog.”

His hand grips his cane as he silently counts to ten. Alfie isn’t the type to hit a woman, but he wonders if tonight will be the night he makes an exception.

“Listen, love. I’m just about out of fucking patience. So stop with the bullshit, yeah, and tell me what else you know before I knock it out of ya.”

Esme practically snarls, reminding him of one of the small yapping dogs he’s seen on Cyril’s walks; she looks ready to chew his ankle off when Polly intervenes.

“Look, Mr Solomons,” she proclaims, pushing Esme aside. “Livy left a half hour ago, said she was looking for you. That’s all we know.”

Alfie frowns and tries to hide the panic slowly rising in his chest. “Well, she didn’t fucking find me, now did she? Do you have any idea where she might fucking be?”

Polly shrugs, taking her time, inhaling from her cigarette before continuing. “Ask Thomas. He thinks he knows everything. Let him help you.”

Fucking hell.

At this point, Alfie is so tired he can barely stand, so angry he can barely speak, and so worried he can barely breathe. And now he has to drag his arse back down Watery Lane to enlist the help of Thomas fucking Shelby.

He wonders if this night could get any worse and then berates himself because of course it could. Fear settles in his gut, memories of Livy’s kidnapping fresh in his mind, the worst-case scenario increasingly possible.

Because how could she just get lost?

Lost …

The fear suddenly turns to ice, like glass shattering into a million shards, exploding, slicing him to ribbons from the inside out.

“And I have something you lost. Something you want back.”

He’s still in the dark, still missing vital fucking information, but a sixth sense tells Alfie that Bernard’s visit and Livy’s disappearance are no coincidence. With a speed he shouldn’t possess, not with his sciatica flaring up the way it is, he finds himself banging on Thomas’s front door.

When he doesn’t immediately answer, Alfie signals to Ishmael, who’s been patiently waiting by the car all evening. He has him blow the horn, not caring if he wakes the street. He’ll wake the entire city, burn it to the ground if that’s what it takes.

He promised Livy, promised her father, and promised himself this will not happen. Not again. After years of merely existing in this wicked world, he finally has something real—someone worth living for—and he’s not going to give her up without a fight.

Alfie feels a fresh surge of panic, and he’s ready to smash the door down when Thomas casually opens it, a cigarette dangling from his lips, wearing a bored expression just like his fucking aunt.

“Alfie,” he greets dryly.

“What have you done with her, Thomas?” asks Alfie, his voice deadly calm.

Thomas frowns, an unusual show of emotion. “I don’t know what—“

Alfie slams his cane against the door, splintering the wood, the sickening crack echoing down the empty street.

The floodgates have opened.

“No, Thomas,” he bellows, spit flying from his lips, rage thundering through his veins. “This is your fucking town. So tell me, where is she? What fucking happened to her?”

He reaches for Thomas, blindly shaking him. The fear is so much worse than the last time Livy went missing. Too much is unknown. He can’t make a plan, can’t mobilise his men; he’s fucking helpless, and all he can do is take out his rage on this cunt because Alfie is sure he’s involved somehow.

His fists start flying before he can stop himself, and he must break Thomas’s nose; there’s blood, warm and wet, coating his hands as he drags him into the street. The residents of Small Heath, accustomed to violence, shut their curtains and look away as Alfie continues to unleash his fury.

He knows he should stop—he needs Thomas’s help—but Alfie can feel himself descending into madness, fear and anger blinding him to reason. Flashes of Livy alone in the dark run through his mind, and he can’t control his body’s violent reaction. Every cell is calling for her; she’s the light in his life, and he needs her back.

“Where is she?” he roars, over and over, as the coppery scent of blood fills the air. Alfie barely notices when Arthur and John appear, shouting and pulling at his arms, or when Ishmael cocks his gun, bringing the others to a standstill.

It’s only when another voice rings out, strong yet feminine, that everyone stops and listens.

“She left,” Polly announces, standing in the street, surveying the scene with disgust. “And can you blame her? Look at the lot of you.”

Silence rings out, and Alfie‘s heart skips a beat.

“She left?” he repeats dumbly, oblivious to the eyes on him as his mind struggles to make sense of her words.

Polly nods.

Alfie lets go of Thomas, not looking when he lands in a heap, not caring when his brothers drag him away. His attention is on Polly, and Esme when she joins her from the shadows.

“Why?” Alfie asks, in a whisper so broken he barely recognises his own voice.

But he finds no sympathy among the Shelby women.

“Because she’s not fucking safe here, now is she?” snaps Esme, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Of course she is,” Alfie scoffs, his anger returning. “I keep her fucking safe. She’s safe with me,” he roars, thumping his chest with his bloody fist.

Polly raises an arched brow. “And how’s that working out for her?”

He opens his mouth, ready to unleash hell, but finds he can’t because she’s fucking right. Livy’s been in danger since the moment she showed up on his doorstep.

And Polly knows it.

“That’s what I thought,” she replies, her voice softer this time. “Listen. If you care about her, you’ll leave her be. She’s safe, for now.”

“I can’t just fucking—“

“Yes, you can,” Polly commands. “Get a room at the Midland and clean yourself up. She wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Alfie wants to protest, but the look in her eyes compels him to listen. There’s more to this, and he intends to find out. Besides, what choice does he have? He glances around and finds himself surrounded by angry Shelbys, with more Blinders lurking in the shadows, their familiar peaked caps concealing dangerous blades.

Yet they keep their distance when he turns away, and he can’t help wondering why they allow him to walk off after smashing Thomas in his pretty face.

It doesn’t add up, any of it.

His hip is grateful for the comfortable bed, but despite the late hour, he can’t fucking sleep.

How could he?

The clock on the mantle ticks loudly, keeping pace with his heart as he stares at the ceiling. Alfie’s deep in thought, trying to put himself in her shoes, trying to understand why Livy would leave him.

Just hours ago, she was wrapped in his arms, staring at him like he mattered … and now she’s gone? What is she so afraid of that she’d leave without saying goodbye? Why wouldn’t she let him protect her? Doesn’t she trust him?

These questions swirl around his brain with no sensible answers, leading him to the real possibility that Polly is lying. She is a Shelby, after all, and it’s not unreasonable to imagine her covering for Thomas and whatever he’s plotting. But if she is, she’s a fucking good liar.

Either way, Alfie can’t figure out his next step.

He could call for men, head north to Liverpool and track down Bernard. He still suspects the fucker has something to do with her disappearance.

But it’s risky. They’d be outnumbered, and what if he’s wrong? What if someone else has her? The last thing he wants is to waste valuable time on a wild goose chase.

Or what if she left of her own accord, as Polly claims, and wants nothing to do with him? The thought is heartbreaking, almost too painful to envisage, but he knows he has to consider the possibility. Is it worth chancing a war with Bernard when he might not have her?

Absolutely.

He’s already written off Liverpool; it’s too much fucking hassle, and there are easier ways a violent man can make a fortune. But more importantly, there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to get Livy back. With every minute she’s gone, Alfie realises just how much he would happily sacrifice to be by her side. He’d give up a thousand Liverpools without a second thought if that’s what it takes to get her back in his arms.

But right now, he doesn’t know where to strike, and the best he can do is weigh up the odds. It’s all a fucking gamble, and Alfie isn’t a betting man, especially with no clear favourite and so much at stake.

He stands, growling with frustration, fighting the urge to break something, when he hears a soft knock on his hotel door. His heart leaps, hope rising in his chest as he crosses the room in two long strides, praying he’ll find Livy on the other side.

For a moment, he swears he can smell her sweet scent, cherries and vanilla, flooding his nostrils and warming his heart. But then he flings the door open, and his smile disappears, disappointment washing over him when he sees Polly and Esme instead of his beloved.

His first instinct is to slam the door in their smug faces, but fortunately, the logical side of his brain takes over. He takes a deep breath and arranges his features into what he hopes is a welcoming expression.

“Come in,” he invites, standing aside.

Polly nods, sweeping into the room like she owns the place (and probably does). Esme follows close behind, looking less than pleased to be there, throwing herself into a chair by the window and planting her boots on a small table.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” mocks Alfie, sweeping his hand in a broad gesture and making no effort to hide his irritation.

“What was that?” snaps Esme, staring him down as she deliberately ashes her cigarette on the carpet.

He glares back. “Did I stutter?”

“Fuck off, you—“

“Enough!” shouts Polly, coming to stand between them. She turns to face Alfie. “We didn’t drag ourselves out in the middle of the fucking night for the fun of it. Now, do you want to bicker like a child, or do you want to find Livy?”

That shuts him up. He gives a slight, sober nod.

“Good. Now take a seat. We need to talk.”

Tag List: @noz4a2 @confessionbrain @omgeternal @potter-solomons @quarterpastmidnight @woofgocows @shaddixlife @redhead7799 @cillmequick

#Livy x Alfie #Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons x ofc #peaky blinders alfie #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fanfic

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babsil · 1 year ago

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Idk if I sent an ask alr but pls tell me abt the yandere au plssss

OMORI SPOILERS AND STALKING/KIDNAPPING

In a desperate attempt to fix the failing friend group, Basil finds himself taking pictures of the shut-in Sunny through his window- just until they can meet up again, he assures himself.

Of course, it’s never that simple, and it develops into stalking as Basil keeps relying on those pictures to feel as if things aren’t falling apart.

This desperation drives him mad and past the point of reasoning (like it did in the fight scene) and his stalking eventually develops into breaking and entering, taking photos and journalling about Sunny from inside his house (photos of Basil sitting beside him as he sleeps, in his hallway, etc.)

Basil, noticing Sunny is still grieving so much over Mari’s death, grows a savior complex where he believes he can help Sunny heal, that he’s the one to save Sunny from the suffering of life he’s faced.

Of course, these feelings are only amplified when Sunny saves Basil after Aubrey pushes him into the river (in his photo album the only caption is a repeated “he saved me”/“he cares” and a picture of Basil snuggled in one of Sunny’s blankets that he offered to keep him warm.)

(This part is a little hazy as I haven’t fully figured out HOW it happened)

Basil kidnaps Sunny and takes him to another house- Of course this AU was made in minecraft so I need to find an excuse for the new estate, so I’ll say summer house. Because Sunny is already so vulnerable mentally (after years of being a shut-in and living in his dreams) it’s not too hard for Basil to manipulate that vulnerability into borderline brainwashing after a while.

Adding onto his savior complex, Basil manages to convince Sunny that his name is actually Omori (how does he know Omori’s name? Don’t worry about it! This AU was made before I finished the game) and that while the others of the group abandoned him, Basil was the only one that stayed and therefore Sunny was indebted to him.

But Sunny’s disappearance doesn’t go unnoticed, and Hero, Aubrey, and Kel are on the case. Basil is ALSO gone at this point, but he wants to make sure there’s no chance that he left any evidence behind. So what does he do? Kidnaps the three of them of course! ^_^

Polly can testify that Basil had disappeared before the other three, which means Basil is simply a missing record alongside the others.

Basil does some criminal mastermind shit and locks the three under the basement (dramatized cells exist!)

Hero gets multiple stoves but nothing to cook with, Kel gets a padded room with a basketball, Aubrey’s room is barely tall enough for her to stand in. (I imagine Basil has some frustration against Aubrey for the harassment and bullying.) Every cell has one thing in common; a flowerpot.

But also, right beside Hero’s cell is a bigger cell that takes up an entire wall that Kel notices. Hero spends his time trying to dig through the wall when Basil isn’t checking on them and finds that it’s an entire cell “made” for Mari, fit with her picnic blanket and basket. In Hero’s journal, he mentions how Basil obviously noticed the hole in the wall, but does nothing to fix it. He believes Basil knows the sight of Mari’s items is fucking with him.

Also Kel loses an arm (and somewhat of his sanity) for being annoying and Aubrey loses an eye for constantly snarking off and trying to break out of the cell. Not like they have far to go!

I might copy over the 50 page journal that Basil wrote in his descent to madness. This is mostly a crack AU turned serious honestly. I wanted to match Omori skins with my friend who knew nothing about Omori so I described Basil as (oversimplified) a clingy bastard who begs Sunny not to go. Then came the idea of a yandere Basil, then the crack idea of Sunny living under the house because my friend decided to eat the dirt under my flower shop

#babsil omor #asks #yandere basil au #holy crap that was a lot #lmk if you wanna see #any of the journals #theres one for each character plus im making one for kim #teehee #omori spoilers #stalking cw #tw stalking #tw kidnapping #kidnapping cw #omori

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wastrelwoods · 1 year ago

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Got tag-gamed by El @willgrahambf!! Posting the list of all my current WIPs by title/description/whatever I have for them and then tagging as many people as there are WIPs! If you want to know more about any of them in particular send me an ask or a reply and I’ll find u a snippet or similar.

mille-fleur | nbc hannibal | abigail-centric primavera au, just sort of digging my teeth into the concept of abigail just happening to not die when she was supposed to Again and the way the cycles can keep cycling from there

and the deep blue sea | nbc hannibal | season one will character study I have been chipping away at forever made up of missing scenes and macabre fantastical dream sequences

fitcher’s bird | nbc hannibal | crimson peak au! hannibal and mischa lecter as a couple of codependent bluebeards and will in his haunted gothic heroine era...still working on the setup because i think it’s going to get long and involved but the vibes are really exciting to me

“genghis khan music video au” | our flag means death | i can’t look directly at fandom spaces for this show really but the goofy shenanigans of it did infect my brain so i am keeping this around for when the time is right. maybe by season 2. ANYWAY stede’s an off-brand james bond ed is a criminal mastermind they do a little dance make a little love etc

quicksilver in your hand | the left hand of darkness | god. fuck i was just consumed by the thought of pre-canon estraven pining for the weird alien. trying to make some of it happen but the way i need a glossary on hand makes it a little slow going

.....and that’s what I have! shorter than I expected but my list of unwritten ideas is much longer; the stuff i have actually put hands to keyboard about is blissfully brief. I am also not counting anything partly written that I will probably never have a reason to finish and post or we would be here all damn day!

damn the hannibal mutuals are tagging each other already well let me add @chaotic-plotter who may well have been tagged already and then ask around for @eternalgirlscout and @motherfuckingnazgul and @returnsandreturns and @heliological in the wider fandomsphere since we’ve been writing in different circles but I’d love to see what y’all are up to. FEEL free to ignore me or talk about original projects instead or whatever floats your boat

#tell em about malcom nolastname sarah. tell them all #my fic #tag game

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oh-surprise-its-me · 1 year ago

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So full disclosure @aki-draws-things I’ve got cold meds in my system sooo hopefully this makes at least some sense!

But here’s a criminal au!

Let’s pretend that marriage between three people is legal for shits and giggles.

(Also! Mostly inspired because we talked about Mick Rory and Leonard Snart and I spent all of yesterday doing through the fan fics)

Chris never thought he would be a lawyer. Let alone a lawyer for two art thieves.

Two art thieves he’s fallen in love with.

Chris always knew that Tommy was pretty. Ron was just as pretty. The rumors of them being together never fading.

When Chris walks back into his penthouse he catches sight of a new statue. “Tommy!”

Ron sticks his head out of the kitchen. “You okay Baby?” “Did I call you? No. I want the idiot we call a husband.”

Ron nods. He hopes Chris doesn’t yell at Tom too much.

Tom runs down the steps. “Hey Chris!” Chris smiles at him. He loops his arms around Tom’s neck. He leans close almost to kiss him but breaks off at the last second. “Is that a goddamn Michelangelo in our living room.”

Tom smiles. “Absolutely it is!” Chris sighs. He bites Tom’s neck. “Are you fucking insane!” Tom at least has the class to look guilty. “No? Just wanted the best of the best for you baby.”

Chris leans his forehead onto Tom’s shoulder. He hears Ron’s footsteps come up. Ron wraps his arms around the two of them. “If it makes it better I helped him?”

Chris raises a hand. He smacks it over Ron’s mouth. “I love you both but if I have to convince and blackmail another jury that y’all aren’t criminal masterminds I’m divorcing you.”

Ron winces. “Yeah that’s fair.” Chris leans back. “Fair? Fair?! Yeah it’s fucking fair! I want my husbands to be home for a while. Jesus Christ lay low.” Tom presses a kiss to Chris’s head. “We were careful don’t worry. It’ll all be fine.”

Chris shudders. He’s tired. So tired. “Help me with my clothing then I’m starving.”

They both grin. Chris has been compared to the most breathtaking art in the world. Better then anything in the Louvre better then all of the museums in the world. He knows how much they like stripping and taking care of him.

Ron slips away with a squeeze to Chris’s hip. “Gonna finish dinner. Tommy take care of him?” Tom nods. “Course Sunny.” Chris gets an actual kiss this time around. He leans into it, he’s tilts backwards and looses his balance. Tom catches him.

“Time for you to change babydoll. I’ll help.”

Chris is ushered upstairs, he changes fast. Knows there’s a statue to look at when he gets back down the stairs. They would never steal something boring. They only steal the best.

Tom is gone again when Chris exits the closet. The man is silent. Ron is too but you would never guess with how tall he is.

Chris stares at his diploma of law. Well. He’s definitely using it. Maybe for more crime related reasons then he originally thought but plans change. At least he can’t ever testify against his husbands and they can’t testify against each other. He can defend the hell out of them though.

“Baby come on food!” Chris snaps out of it to Ron’s call. He drags his finger across the Rodin that lives in the bedroom. “We’ll be back.”

#ron slider kerner #chris seresin #ron slider kerner x chris seresin #tom iceman kazansky #top gun #ron x chris x tom #tom x ron x chris #chris seresin x tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky x ron kerner #criminal au #thieves au #cold meds are rushing my system #kidding I wish they were actually working and not just making me a little loopy #mac writes top gun

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terrainofheartfelt · 1 year ago

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Do u have any book and movie recommendations?

sooooo many. you might regret asking.

I love books very very much, just in case you didn't know, so let me fire off at random some of my all time faves with and without blurbs.

poetry: Devotions, Mary Oliver | No Matter the Wreckage, Sarah Kay | Leaves of Grass, Whitman | Post Colonial Love Poem, Natalie Diaz

nonfiction:

My Life in France, Julia Child --- her memoir of moving to France with her husband post WWII and her discovery of cooking and deciding to write her cookbook and it's so charming and so her and it's just a delight

Open Me Carefully, Emily Dickinson --- a chronological collection of letters, poems, and letter-poems Emily sent to her lover sister-in-law Susan Dickinson. it's intimate, playful, kind, passionate, and the editors do a great job of putting it all together. and you read it and just know that you are only skimming the surface of the deep love these two women had for each other i gotta lie down

What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding, Kristin Newman --- funny sexy travel memoir by a TV writer who spent her hiatus months in the aughts summers by traveling solo and having whirlwind romances and also her reconciliation between being the woman who can't be tied down but also wanting to build a life with a partner.

The Real Traviata, Rene Weis --- an opera book because me. a biography about Marie Duplessis, the French woman who inspired Dumas to write La Dame aux Camellias and therefore Verdi's Traviata and THEREFORE Baz Luhrman's Moulin Rouge. she had by the most objective accounts a difficult and short life full of fear and illness and abuse but also full of strength and color and love and I found it really moving.

fiction: aka the novels I am thinking most about right now.

House of the Spirits, Isabel Allende --- an all time favorite. a historical, multigenerational epic that left me staring at the ceiling after finishing it. and cemented Allende's place as one of my fave authors

The Sentence, Louise Erdrich --- it's about ghosts and independent bookstores and indigenous women and community and love and trust and the pandemic. great novel.

Sex and Vanity, Kevin Kwan --- people are always looking for who they should crown the modern Jane Austen, and it's him. it's kevin kwan. this is a modern remix of A Room with a View and it is funny and sexy and sweet and was a delight to read.

Beautiful World, Where Are You, Sally Rooney --- my favorite of hers. I love how the chapters of story are interspersed with emails between the two leads. yes there's romance, but the real center of this story is the friendship between the two women.

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong --- entirely lives up to the tumblr hype. possibly exceeds the tumblr hype. I told my best friend to read this book. which she did. then scolded me because while she agrees it's beautiful it's also so heartbreaking. truly some of the most beautiful prose I've ever read. I checked it out from the library but i really want a copy of my own to mark up.

Bright Young Women, Jessica Knoll (out Oct. 3rd) --- i got this ARC at the librarian convention. I'm in the middle of it right now but I have to talk it up because it is sooooo good. It's about women who meet because they have the worst possible thing in common: their best friend was murdered by the same serial killer. It hops around between the '70s and the present day, reads like a thriller, and the thesis is really about destroying the myth of the criminal mastermind, a la all those true crime docs about dahmer and bundy. I'm almost halfway through and the murderer is only referred to as "The Defendant." It's about taking the narrative away from him, the universal defendant, and recentering it around the exceptional women whose lives he ended and/or destroyed. Again, please check it out when it comes out this fall. But be forewarned that the subject matter is dark.

as for MOVIES, well, if I tried to make a list like the one above I'd be here all day, so why don't I just list a handful that I consider central to understanding who I am as a person:

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

The Life of Brian

The Blues Brothers

The Princess Diaries 1 AND 2

Little Women (2019)

Juno

The Holiday

Pride and Prejudice (2005)

Star Wars, the OG and prequel trilogies

and, last winter I stumbled across The Four Seasons starring Alan Alda and Carol Burnett, and I thought it was delightful.

#asks #anon #recs #i'm almost done with BYW now and it's. god. it's so good. I've annotated my copy to bits #the themes of appearances over substance #and the systemic valuing of men's comfort over women's safety #it just HITS #also half the main cast is gay and you know I love that #if you like gillian flynn and feel weird about the true crime fandom phenomena then you will like this book #i shared a post by the author on insta and she responded which is super cool

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ess-presso · 2 years ago

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same anon again lol :)

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

and

do you have a beta reader?

(I am flabbergasted about the spice tolerance thing btw)

hello again i love u

advice to fledgling ff writers ?? - i think to write a story u should have a rough idea of the beginning and ending . that’s all really. you can do anything ever , mix up shit , but u should have a beginning and ending. like me , i knew i needed doa to start with the regulus being a criminal mastermind reveal , and end with [redacted] , but i barely know how i wrote 12 chapters . like idk. people kiss. people r hot. that’s all i know. AND AND. write ur story primarily for yourself. like before anything or anyone else - write it for yourself. always. because then u won’t find any joy in it , and that’s the whole point of ff in the first place. the JOY!!!

and , no i do not have a beta reader ! ‘tis simply because i say i went to a grammar school and i do not need one (this is a joke people can be good at grmmar without going to a grammar school too) and to be honest , i don’t need to edit when i’m done . what u see on ao3 is what i’ve literally finished writing. there aren’t really drafts because that’s a lot . a lot of extra effort which i simply do not have the energy for !

#ess waters a plant #ask game #advice to writers #fics #ess talks #ess talks crap #anons #asks

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handelplayssims · 1 year ago

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So before we pop into Nier Automata household again, we had something weird happen with 701 ZenView. Like the preview screen for the home had all of it’s furniture but when I thought to test and move someone in, because the lot said it had 0 value, I was like, “What, why?” And it turns out that somehow it was completely unfurnished! So I also went back in and saved the bathrooms and kitchen because I can accept the bedrooms and living rooms being completely barren but I like my plumbing and my kitchens to be set up, thank you very much!

2B is hungry. Why? I dunno. Something something uncontrolled Sims. Anyway, it’s a few hours until work for her so I have her take care of her needs. 9S is at an interesting part of his aspiration. He needs 50 romantic gestures towards his spouse and then 3 gold dates. I would but 2B has work to do. Have nothing really to do with 9S so uh, chess practice for his job, I suppose. ...he would have a Social Bunny, aka Twitter, though. 2B nah but 9S, absolutely. Time to work from home and it’s...research historic battles. Alrighty then. That’s easily done from home. After 2B finishes her yoga, we can do that. I checked the calender and oh fuck. It’s Geekcon. Of course it’s Geekcon. Annnd we got another Welcome Wagon thanks to the moving in and out for that one apartment. Nah, no thanks. Hmm. Don’t know when 9S is gonna wake up so we’re going to head off to fish somewhere with 2B! To the...ah, that shopping area!

Third location fished at and now we got her whim of fishing with bait finished. Woo! Next stage is to mount or bowl 5 fish and to fish for 10 hours. Already got the skill check finished as well. Everything she fishes today will go straight into the fish tank! Holy carp! Caught a sturgeon worth 133 simoleans! Jesus! Once it’s in fish tank, it’s getting sold. Fish bowled. Now it’s just a matter of time. But now it’s time to check in on 9S.

So 9S finally got his hug and got to talk to 2B about his brilliant ideas. And got a woohoo in before heading off to work. Anyway, time for 2B to fish some more. Alone preferably. -stares at the Sims who head to the fishing spots- Got four fish and one treasure. Time to head home, meditate a bit, gain the Time for Fun mood, and then head to bed. Same for 9S. He needs to head to bed as well.

Neighborhood Watch!

Kendra Donnelly in the Donnelly household left her job as an Assistant Manager in the Business career.

Riya Anand in the Anand household has died. Riya got on the bad side of a chicken.

Windenburg: The Stanford household has moved in.

2B is up and we got a little bit before work so more fishing time! Man it’s nice to have a fishing spot right next to your home. 9S is up and wants to date 2B. And hang around her so he doesn’t miss her. ...so we could have a date, if we manage to get an easy work-from-home. And I mean, it’s working from home so it won’t be that bad. Miko dropped by to hang out so let’s play a game of chess. It works for his job! She drifted off from the game – oh he won. Ah but let’s just play some more chess then. Annnd she decided to prank him by saying she’s a criminal mastermind. Alongside missing 2B, that pushes 9S into being tense. Annnd Liberty decided to be mean in 9S messages so she’s getting smack-talked! Online, of course. Work-from-home is write a report. Hmm. We’ll see how long that exactly takes.

Miko dropped right back in and asked to be best friends with 9S. Considering the tense moodlet, nah. You know what 2B can do? Other than fish and get onto the next stage of her aspiration? Give massages. She can help with 9S’s tense feelings! ...well it at least took him down from very tense into tense so let have 2B go fishing again! Ironically enough, the very tense now is from doing yoga. Sedentary lifestyle after all! Now 9S is feeling better and that report didn’t take long at all. Let’s ask 2B out!

...oh dang it. Both of the goals post the initial one are to be in flirty or playful moodlets. That’s no fun! (With Meaningful Stories that is) Thankfully we somehow didn’t need it, as we had one stage already clear. Welp!

Why yes! I did just add in a bush so that 2B and 9S could woohoo. Mweheheh. Annd it started raining. Welp. Might as well end the date early so we can head back home. And both still got great sentiments out of it! Huzzah! I’m at least getting the romantic gestures up to 10 before I go anywhere else. 9S wants to debate with geeks after all! 2B is no nerd so he must find those other nerds! And since online socials are heating up between the nerds in the Best of Friends household, might as well see Eddie instead.

Eddie’s scared. Likely because of the house he lives in and passes on his fear to 9S! Thankfully we are ultra focused so it doesn’t matter. We manage to successfully calm him down as well! Nice. And with some chatter, we are now good friends. Wooo! And with a quick check in done, it’s time to go home and time for-

Neighborhood Watch!

Ryo Fujiwara in the Fujiwara household has died. Ryo had his last laugh.

Yotsuyu goe Brutus in the Yotsuyu Goe Brutus household has died. Yotsuyu thought she could conquer a mountain, but the mountain conquered her.

NOT MY FAVORITE FFXIV VILLIAN! Alas and woe!

#sims 4 #blogging #nier automata #2b #9s

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