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niqhtlord01 · 11 months ago

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Humans are weird: Evolutionary Adaptability

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps) When Kel had petitioned the human worlds of Jora, New Foundland, Davin VI, and Tesla’s Retreat he had thought he knew what to expect.

Though humans were still relatively young in the grand scale of galactic empires they had the most interesting, if not confounding, habit of setting up shop on any world they could find. Be it a dust ball with no atmosphere and three hundred degree sunrises, or a water world filled with ravenous creatures; humanity had shown their grit and made these worlds into new colonies and homes regardless of the danger.

Acting as a representative of his people Kel had reached out to each of those four worlds to establish trade routes. The possible wealth from each, let alone all four together, would be enough to sustain his world’s economic boon for several dozen generations.

He had been delighted when the transmissions came in one by one and each of the human worlds had agreed to meet on Kel’s homeworld to discuss the arrangements.

The first signs that things were running off the tracks was when the Jora delegation had arrived.

Kel had done his research after gathering many texts and documents regarding the human homeworld and thought himself prepared to handle the humans as they exited the landing ships. To say he was surprised when instead of tall slender bipedals massive mechanical suits ducked between the loading doors and on to the landing field would be an understatement.

These constructs were easily nine feet in height and four feet wide standing on two pairs of sharp metal legs that gave them a more insect appearance. Their hands were likewise far more different as they only had three metal talons that clicked and clacked as the machines approached him and Kel saw his reflection in the polished steel bodywork.

As if that was not enough the bodywork suddenly split open and Kel saw a fluid sack inside of the machine holding a frail looking human with numerous wires and tubes sticking out of them.

The human inside nodded to Kel in greeting and their mechanical suit mimicked the motion as well; to which Kel returned after an embarrassing moment’s hesitation.

Before Kel could inquire about the state of the Joraran’s they spoke through a robotic speaker built into their suits. It was then Kel learned that because the gravity of Jora was nearly ten times lighter compared to their natural homeworld the humans had needed to construct mechanical suits to move and live across the any other planet’s surface. If they had attempted to exit the suits and walk normally the gravity of Kel’s world would crush them like tin cans. Thinking to himself Kel imagined that was why the humans inside the machines looked so frail in comparison to their Terran born brethren.

---------- After the Joraran’s came the New Foundlanders some thirty minutes later.

This time the humans did not need to lower themselves to exit the shuttle craft. In fact, they barely came up half way inside the doorframe forcing Kel to tilt his head down and look upon them.

In contrast to the Joraran’s, the New Foundlanders were short and muscular built; coming up to Kel’s waist in height. They wore normal looking clothes standard to human fashion but the fabrics appeared strange as they New Foundlanders approached. It was as if the fabric was remaining static and unmoving despite the motions their wearers made.

Kel extended his hand in human custom to shake in glorious welcome, but to his shock the humans looked amongst themselves and shook their heads.

When Kel inquired if he had offended them somehow they stated that he had done nothing of the sort, and that their reluctance to shake his hand was more for his own safety.

Something of confusion must have cross his face as the lead New Foundlander motioned for one of Kel’s aides to toss him a pen. With a nod from Kel the aide handed a pen to the leader who promptly snapped it in two with the smallest of motions.

Kel learned that in opposite of Jora, New Foundland had gravity ten times heavier than that of earth forcing the humans who lived there to develop squat like bodies of raw muscle. On a lighter gravity world like Kel’s the mere flick of one of their fingers was enough to violently amputate the arm of anyone.

Kel thanked them for the warning and hurriedly sent the new information on to his waiting staff to ensure no one died from a handshake later that day. ---------------------

Next to arrive were the Davinites.

Kel was thankful that when the shuttle doors opened the Davinites were much like the human material he had researched prior to their meeting. They stood between 5 and 6 feet in height, were slender in body shape, and did not walk with mechanical suits or seemed overly careful what they touched.

The strangeness only began to reveal itself when Kel looked closer and saw that underneath the formal clothing the Davinites were wearing a full body bodysuit made from a strange black material. This covered every inch of what would have been exposed skin with even their eyes shielded behind large black goggles.

They shook Kel’s hand in human custom but then insisted that they leave the landing pad as soon as possible. When he asked why they were in such a hurry it was revealed to Kel that Davin VI was orbiting a red dwarf star that provided little light compared to most worlds. The day and night cycles of their world were a constant shroud of soft light, barely enough to see your hand in front of your face let alone the stars themselves.

As a result the Davinite skin had become increasingly pale in the absence of sunlight and their eyes had adapted to the lower light levels to see. Standing out in the open in natural daylight, even with the reflectors on their face, must have been like standing on the surface of the sun.

With great haste he ushered them inside and had his aides blot out the windows and greatly reduce light levels of their rooms for the duration of their stay. -------------------- The final delegation was by far the most unusual of the group in Kel’s eyes.

Unlike the previous delegations, the Teslins arrived in their own spacecraft specially designed on their homeworld. It was a massive freighter like construct easily five to six times larger than any shuttle that had arrived prior.

When the doors opened Kel was greeted by five Teslins all wearing environmental suits he had previously seen in dated records for human space travel.

They slowly walked towards Kel and shook his hand. Their leader was rather friendly and welcoming in their own right and matched him custom for custom as was befitting a delegate.

Kel had tried to resist asking about the suits they wore but thankfully they must have encountered this problem before and demonstrated the need for their suits.

With a nod from their leader one of the Teslins removed the gauntlet from their suit and exposed their hand to the open air. Nothing happened at first until Kel heard a rustle from behind him.

One of his aides was fiddling with their data pad; swatting it with their hands while they rolled it front and back. They caught Kel looking at him and said that it had suddenly died on him and that he was not sure why. The batteries had listed fully charged just a moment ago and now the device refused to power on.

Kel turned back to the Teslins and saw the previous member return their gauntlet to their suit with a loud click followed by the chime of the data pad powering up again.

The Teslin leader explained that the surface of Tesla’s Retreat was plague with frequent and violent electrical storms. The very air you breathed had a sub layer of constant energy in it regardless of where you were on the planet.

Their bodies had adapted to the electrical currents and were able to absorb and pass on energy in the surrounding area through their own bodies; much like a power relay passing on power from a power station to a waiting city.

The grandeur of their ship was a necessity as it contained multiple power units. In the event of a suit breach the Teslin’s could drain the power from a ship midflight and send everyone plummeting to their deaths; but with their design the backup generators would kick in and ensure a somewhat smooth landing.

Realizing the danger the Teslin’s presented while standing in a busy spaceport Kel ushered them inside while he tried to find transportation for them that would not kill them. -------------------------

Each of the delegations were so vastly different from what Kel had been informed of human genes and species type, and yet each of them still claimed to be just as human as the next of their kin, regardless of the vastly different features they wore.

It was a notion that Kel made scrupulous notes for future dealings with the humans, to which the delegation core all but awarded him a medal from the mounting confusion his notes would resolve in later negotiations.

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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aliferous-ly · 5 months ago

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Sometimes Tango sees gold. He's deep in the Warden's den, so surely everything is soaked in blue and green.

Prussian blue. DePrussian blue. Like depression. Eh? Good one, right?

Tango sighs. The gold only flits in the corner of his vision and he's tired, he's endlessly tired but he can't leave until he's done. It's already been so long. He's stuck making shitty jokes to haunted faces that would sooner blastificate his face off than laugh.

But the gold. It's like stardust on his tongue. Memories of hellfire. Gorgeous gilded blackstone, the stuff from his days as a blazeling. No, more like dandelions, like sunbeams through forest branches.

Tango sticks his tongue out in concentration, hopping between crackling soulfires. Navigating his own maze requires skill! Skill that he doesn't always have, admittedly.

Releasing a quiet sigh of relief, Tango approaches an unfinished pillar. He twirls his pickaxe and gets to work. Shulker boxes surround him in short order.

So focused on his work, he misses the gold. He misses the yellow, the soft, the scorching, but it draws near all the same, getting closer and closer-

"Ah! Ow, ow, ow, ow," a voice yelps.

Tango screams, fumbling with his pickaxe and building blocks. Both fall to the ground as Tango whirls, nobody's supposed to be here, especially not-

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy sadly stomps his wing out. Black marks mar the feathers, ugly soot staining the gold. "Hi, Tango."

"What are you... How are you here? What are you doing here? You're - you're on Hermitcraft!" Tango gapes.

"Oh, um, crossover event?" Jimmy tries.

"I didn't think there was one of those right now," Tango says. He roots around in his many pockets, making a small happy noise when he finds his comm. He boots it up and peers at the list of people online.

Strangely, Jimmy's the only non-hermit. Tango scrolls through a few lines of Jimmy-Skizz banter, then sees Grian's message of a simple, "join vc".

"Grian got you on?" Tango says, still mystified.

"No, it was more of a group - Tango, quit distracting me! I trudged through all this - this hullabaloo to see you!" Jimmy punctuates this with hands placed determinedly on hips, expression set to a hopeful scowl.

Tango can't make heads or tails of it. It might have to do with the several shots of espresso coursing through his system. Or the lack of sleep. Or the concentration-fatigue, or the way his eyes have been going crossed when he peers at redstone wiring. Any number of reasons, really.

"...why?" Tango finally asks.

This stumps Jimmy. He blinks a few times and furrows his eyebrows. "Why? What d'you mean why? You're my rancher, that's why!"

Well, that's true. Tango nods. Then he paused, frowns, and shakes his head. "Wait, you can't be down here! Spoilers, Jimmy, spoilers!"

Jimmy snaps his fingers. "I'm not a hermit! And I'm certainly going to watch the videos when hermits release them. I won't spill!"

"I guess..."

"But anyway, let's get out of here. It's so stuffy and - fiery," Jimmy says. He flutters his burnt wing helpfully.

Tango wilts. His desire to see Jimmy and guilt at causing him harm wars with his ever-present need to keep working. "I'm busy, Jim. Gotta keep working. It's already been so long, the hermits are getting antsy..."

Jimmy invades his space and as the cavern trickles to silence, he wraps his arms and wings around him.

Tango's always been weak for him. He exhales. Any scrap of energy still clinging to his worn-out body vanishes, and he rocks further into Jimmy's hold.

To his credit, Jimmy just makes a small noise and adjusts so he can support his weight.

"Come on, then," Jimmy says softly. He runs his fingers through his hair. "Let's go take a rest, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay," Tango breathes. He closes his eyes and sinks into Jimmy's warmth. It's rather terrible of his fellow hermits, he thinks absentmindedly. Using his rancher for such nefarious means.

But now the glimpses of gold haunt him no longer. His precious yellow fills Tango's vision, covering him in head to toe with deep contentment.

His rancher. His rancher. Tango smiles, and everything glitters.

#every goddamn thing i write is filled with unimaginable yearning. shrug.#FOR THE BEGINNING: Tango's seeing things hes hallucinating and exhausted. hes craving the companionship of his rancher!!#team rancher #womp womp #NINES. (POINTS) THIS IS FOR YOU!!!!!!!#unedited literally didnt read it over before posting so typos and odd phrasing r added spice #my snippets

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thr0wnawayy · 3 months ago

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So I was looking at the 'Get It Done Chargebolt' Fight and realized how bullshit it is.

Your telling me the MLA. A militia ideological group with numerous connections, a major one being Denerat (A Tech Company!) cannot give one of it's higher ranking members anything more than a taser!

(god, this is so forced.)

His quirk (Ampivolt) seems to work by taking electricity from any source and releasing it back out from his body, much stronger than it once was. (No, I did not read the wiki when writing this)

His body acts like a power amplifier, taking the watts absorbed and imparting some of it's own energy into it before sending it back out.

In a fair scenario (not manipulated by Hori and his bullshit), our elektromaniac here should have won out.

So, in a bid to do the MLA one better, I present to you my own contraption:

(Not my best. I made it on my cell while on the move, also yes that's the Denerat logo)

I've effectively strapped a car battery to this guy's back.

It's outer chasis made of a lightweight non conductive mesh, as to not drag him down. The battery stays locked inside, needing to be opened to charge beforehand.

The gloves are attached to gold wires to ensure maximum output and lifespan (as gold doesn't tarnish) and are wrapped in a sturdy carbon mesh. The gloves themselves act as tasers for both long ranged and short ranged attacks, having holes in the front and back to allow for combos and continous fire.

You may point to the Tesla coils that sit on either the sides of the battery's chasis and wonder what their purpose is?

Simple, destruction. They also ensure that the battery doesn't overload.

When the battery has reached it's max capacity, it will send some of that energy to the coils and these in turn transfer it to the single spike located at the end of each coil.

The spike on the end acts as a reverse lightning rod. sending the excess electricity outwards in a devastating attack that destroys anything in it's path.

Both coils are positioned outwards as to not harm the user as well as to ensure the electricity does not arch between the coils.

The battery then uses advanced tech in it's chasis to reabsorb some of the linering electricity floating in the air and recycles it back into the battery.

I don't show it here but the backside (facing the users back) of the chassis is a very plush material, as to not leave the user in discomfort. It is also where the straps are hidden.

--------------------------------------------------

Test Drive (Or Denki's cooked, literally)

Ok we have the equipment, we have the MLA soldier. Now what?.

Well we speculate of course!

We know from OFA and the USJ Nomu that absorption and accumulation quirks usually have some upper limit.

We've also seen Denki fall victim to his own quirk numerous times (and quite severely at that), so it's not much of a stretch to say he could be burned by his own quirk.

Let's say Denki gets hit with Count Shock-ula while he's wearing the battery.

Above is the amount of electricity he normally expells when using his taser. Even now it could probably cause severe nerve damage or even death.

To save on length, we already know this man is a trained soldier, likely has been his whole life.

Given this, his fighting prowess and strategic mind should lend to him getting the upper hand in his fight with Denki, one of 1A's lowest ranking students in both academic and physical.

He hits Denki with a clean shot, maintaining a constant transfer of energy.

Even even as his muscles spasm and clench, Denki thinks he has the upper hand as does Jirou.

But now the battery is there providing a constant supply of electricity and Denki can only keep up so much, as Shock-ula's quirk does it's magic and increases the output.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exposition Time:

Presuming that Denki's stockpile is located at his center of gravity, we can say that the focal point of the overload will start here.

The inside of human bodies typically sit at an average of 98.0 Fahrenheit or 36.64 Celsius, about the same as a 50w light bulb.

The maximum amount of heat a human can take before they begins to burn is around 140°F (60°C).

The human body temp can flare up to as high as 106°F (41°C) when in extremely stressful situations (though this is more in the regards of certain anxiety disorders)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

As Denki's stockpile begins reaching it's limits, he begins to stress slightly. He can begin to feel the effects of his body temperature climbing and his growing panick isn't helping.

Jirou may try and interfere, but is either hit when the tesla coils expell the excess energy being absorbed or she is unable to approach all together as electrical currents surround the two electricity weilders.

Either way this only contributes to Denki's stress. He begins feeling the heat build in his abdomen, just above his bellybutton. Soon his insides feels like the inside of a hotspring.

Any attempts to sweat are foiled by his own electricity's heat evaporating it as soon as it forms on his skin. His body has no real way to cool down.

The MLA member may feel guilt in killing a child, but chooses to look at the bigger picture and what's at stake if he fails. He tries not to dwell too hard.

A long, aching moment passes by.

Denki is actually burning now, his intellect increases with each passing second and with it comes the ability to truly comprehend the situation he is in.

Trapped.

Denki's blood feels like it's boiling as he struggles to shut his eyes, fearing they may melt out of their sockets. His head is pounding and his stomach is rolling with intense nausea, a sign of severe heatstroke.

Yet the heat continues.

Blood vessels burst in his nose, lungs and eyes as the heart goes overtime, the kidneys have long stopped functioning and by this point Denki can't even think coherently.

A few moments later.

His organs and muscle fibers are now becoming covered with burn scars, he can smell himself burning and is finally then that Denki passes out. Perhaps for the last time.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

So, pretty grim huh.

Had MHA been darker (and more thematically consistent) this could have been a possible scenario.

It really makes you wonder what the fuck the heroes were thinking sending teenagers to fight in an active war zone.

Really makes me question the competency of both UA and 1A's respective parents because lord almighty...

Sending them to raid the base of the biggest crime organization in the country is already bad, as mentioned in my Jaku Disaster Post, not knowing what your doing is even worse.

This isn't the first time we've seen this either, remember the Shie Hisakai?

Yeah they pulled that shit too, despite knowing the entire base was a death trap but I'll leave that dissection for later posting.

It's not just Midnight who could have died, we could have been looking at roughly 10-13 members of 1A being dead (Not counting Bakugo) and that's just off the top of my head.

You know if Hori wanted to add shock value, rather than pulling shit out of thin air he could've just tossed some excess weight by utilizing his threats properly.

Really his over reliance on surface level "shock"* value in the later seasons, doesn't exactly put me in high hopes that his horror Manga will do well.

(*Retconning Rei's family, AFO's constant returns, Stars and Stripes, The Mech suit, Vestiges, etc etc)

If Hori wants to write horror, he needs to reapproach how he writes. Simple as that.

===============================

Note: To the person that sent me the AFO ask. My apologies for not answering, I accidentally wiped it by mistake when trying to post, please feel free to resend the question to my inbox and I will glady give you an answer.

That was a wild one, so have a quick-sketch gag based off an MLA AU that's been floating around my notes for your troubles.

#mha critical #bnha critical #hero society critical #anti bakugo katsuki #anti aizawa #anti horikoshi #anti shota aizawa #horikoshi critical #mha ewe #mha rewrite #sort of #ua critical #it's there

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marimayscarlett · 27 days ago

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LIFAD turns 15 years old today 💿🎶

On this day, the 16th of October 2009, the album 'Liebe ist für alle da' was released. The work for this album started the year prior, as the preproduction for the album took place from February to October 2008. The focus of the band in the beginning period of the production lay on learning how to work together again, playing songs together and gather ideas. In Hermannshagen, over the course of about one month, the band came up with up to 90 recordings of little snippets (like choruses and riffs), which they recorded for later.

After this brainstorming period, the band moved to the Beesenstedt castle in Sachsen-Anhalt to rehearse. The process apparently was less than easy due to tension in the band. The individual members seemingly first had to reconnect with each other, since the last production had been some time ago. Richard described the process of working on the album as difficult at times: "Everyone was involved and interested in everything, which meant the decision-making power was practically zero because everyone wanted to go in a different direction. Six people on the boat and everyone playing captain – that's really tough."

After the work period in Germany, the band moved over to the US for recording. Drum recording took place in the Henson Studios located in Los Angeles, and the final destination were the Sonoma Studios in San Francisco. The studio they had booked there fell far short of their expectations – the band felt cramped and not as comfortable as they had hoped for a successful recording of their new album. Paul describes it as follows: "There we ended up in a studio that was in the middle of a retiree resort. We had imagined that differently, because actually the area was quite cool. There were cougars and deer running around, but we were in the middle of nowhere, and when we booked, we couldn't see the barbed wire that fenced off all the paths. We felt cramped, and on top of that, the studio wasn't exactly inviting. The owner had hung unsightly things everywhere that we had to take down first. However, after de-cluttering the rooms, we started to feel better."

In total, about 20 songs were recorded, of which 18 songs were published (15 on the special edition of the album, plus Mein Land and Vergiss uns nicht on the single for Mein Land, and Gib mir deine Augen on the single for Mein Herz brennt.)

The promotion for this album was done by advertising clips, for example an old lady enjoying "Frühling in Paris" and a bodybuilder lifting weights while listening to "Mehr".

Eugenio Recuenco was the artist behind the album aesthetic - he shoot the pictures for the booklet as well as for the cover of the album. Richard mentioned a similarity to the painter Hieronymus Bosch regarding the style and arrangment in the pictures. In the US, the cover was censored - an additional inlay paper on top of the usual cover showed the cover picture, but without the woman on the table

Less than a month after the album's release, it was placed on the German index. The reasons given for this were the song Ich tu dir weh, which was seen as glorifying violence, as well as this particular image of Richard:

Due to these reasons, from November 11, 2009, the original version could only be sold upon request to adult customers and was no longer allowed to be advertised. On the re-release of the CD following the indexing of the album, there is only a several-second pause in place of the song. On the cover, Ich tu dir weh is crossed out in red and marked with the footnote "Removed after censorship by the authorities of the Federal Republic of Germany." The letters of the song lyrics in the booklet were replaced with Xs except for brief excerpts.

After a lengthy legal dispute, the album was finally removed from the index in October 2011 and can once again be distributed with Ich tu dir weh.

Nevertheless: The album, like its predecessors, entered directly at number 1 on the German charts and stayed there for two weeks. In total, it was in the Top 100 for 83 weeks. It also held the number 1 spot for several weeks in Austria and Switzerland, and even reached the Top 20 of the album charts in the USA and the UK. In the ranking of the best-selling albums in Germany in 2009, Liebe ist für alle da ranked 7th.

Some additional facts surrounding the album:

During their tour for the album, Rammstein performed Ich tu dir weh with altered lyrics.

The album was originally supposed to be called Wiener Blut – like the Rammstein song about child abductor Josef Fritzl. However, they decided against it because there was already a Falco album with the same name.

Richard about the album title: '"Liebe ist für alle da" (Love is there for everyone) is a very Christian thought. Of course, one must ask, is love really there for everyone? I would hope that it is. Can we forgive those who have misunderstood love? I often think about that, and I fail, then make some progress, only to go back again.'

The chorus of Frühling in Paris is inspired by Edith Piaf's chanson Non, je ne regrette rien.

Four years after the album's release, Führe mich was used as a soundtrack for Lars Von Trier's controversial film Nymphomaniac.

The song Haifisch is inspired by Mack the Knife from Brecht's The Threepenny Opera.

Sources: rammwiki metalhammer rammstein.de welt.de noz.de

#rammstein #liebe ist für alle da #lifad #lifad album #idk. I treat tumblr like a journal when i make these posts #like a little scrap book with informations i find

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tortillamastersblog · 6 months ago

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ⴵ My Best Friend’s Little Sister - Part 2 | Yelena Belova ⴵ

Pairing: Yelena Belova x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: You get a second chance to tell Yelena how you feel about her. . .

Part 1

________________________________________________

Pain.

It’s the first thing I feel when I start to come around. I thought dying was supposed to be peaceful.

I groan and force my eyes open. Everything is bright. Too bright even, but I force myself to keep my eyes open.

That’s when I take in my surroundings. I’m in bed in a small, white room. The wall to my left is made entirely of glass, which allows me to see all the people that walk by without paying any attention to me.

They’re all dressed in white and as more time goes by and my brain starts to catch up, I realize where I am; The medical ward of the Avengers Compound.

This has to be some sick joke, I think. I died! How am I here? Unless this is what the afterlife looks like… No, that can’t be it.

My eyes travel around the room some more and that’s when I notice all the machines next to my bed. They have colorful wires attached to them that disappear under my blanket and are attached to me.

The heart rate monitor above my head beeps quietly, almost inaudibly, and indicates that I am, in fact, still alive.

A wave of pain rushes through me when I try to sit up, and I fall back into my pillows with a cry.

That’s when several alarms start to go off and I’m afraid I’ve done something wrong. However when one of the doctors rushes into my room to check what happened, she freezes at the sight of me staring back at her.

“You’re awake,” she says in disbelief and before I can reply she rushes out of the room only to return a second later with Dr. Cho in tow.

She looks surprised as well, but smiles when she sees me. “Welcome back, Y/N. I must admit, that was a close one.”

“H-how am I still here?” I rasp, my throat feeling like sandpaper. I cough slightly and let Dr. Cho shine her penlight into my eyes before the nurse from before hands me a cup of water. I thank her with a nod and drink slowly, the cold liquid easing my overwhelming thirst instantly.

“Well,” Dr. Cho slips the light back into her coat pocket and smiles softly. “What happened is nothing short of a miracle, but I guess you have to thank Wanda.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Wanda?“

Dr. Cho nods and mumbles something to the nurse before turning her attention back to me as the nurse swiftly leaves the room. “Yes. She got to you just in time and used her magic to stop your bleeding.”

I huff in astonishment and lean back against the now elevated part of my bed. My mind is still somewhat foggy so I don’t ask any more questions and let Dr. Cho do some more tests.

It’s quiet for a couple minutes before the door bursts open.

I slowly turn my head in the direction of the commotion to find a familiar redhead staring at me with tears in her eyes. “You’re awake…”

My heart swells at the sight and I manage a tired smile in response. “Hey, Nat.”

That’s all it takes for her to rush forward and pull me into a bone-crushing hug. I wince but don’t say anything because I need this just as much as she does.

“You’re such an asshole,” she says when she pulls back to sit on the edge of the bed. “You died, Y/N! Right in my arms. Who does that?”

I chuckle sadly and take one of her hands, watching as she wipes away her tears with the other. “I’m sorry, Nat.”

Nat shakes her head and squeezes my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on me as though I could disappear any second. “I know. . .I know. It’s just— No one could tell if you were ever going to wake up again a-and I just missed you so much.”

“I’m really sorry,” I say again. “H-how long was I out?”

The uneasy silence that settles between us makes my stomach churn. It can’t have been that long, can it?

“How long?” I whisper, now suddenly afraid of the answer.

Nat bites her bottom lip and averts her eyes. “Almost a year.”

“What?!“ I cough and take another sip of water. “A whole year?”

“Nine months,” Nat clarifies and I close my eyes in disbelief.

How can it have been that long? The mission flashes through my mind as though it only happened yesterday and then I remember those green eyes that watched me fall. Those beautiful, green eyes…

“Yelena,” I gasp and my eyes dart around the room. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

My eyes meet Nat’s and she frowns. “She’s alright, but—“

“But what?” I interrupt, groaning in pain as I move to get up. A hand on my shoulder pushed me back down and I don’t fight it because I’m exhausted.

Nat watches me with pity and takes her hand back to place it on my knee over the blanket. “She’s gone AWOL a month ago. . . She couldn’t handle you like, well, this.”

“Oh.”

My heart breaks at the thought of Yelena crying over my unconscious body for months. Where could she have gone if even Nat can’t find her? How is she now? Is she sad? Angry, maybe? I have to find her. I have to tell her I love her now that I’ve gotten a second chance. But first I have to find her.

Seeing how dejected I am, Nat nudges me with a small, teasing smile. “Hey, I still have to talk to you about that, by the way… I can’t believe the two of you have been going out all this time without telling me.“

I will find her, I think. For now, I have to recover though, just enough so I can get out of here. The thought of finding her lifts my spirits and I feel my cheeks heat up under Nat’s watchful eyes. “I know, I’m sorry. We were going to tell you after the mission,” I defend weakly.

Nat raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh. That doesn’t change the fact that you went behind my back to date my sister though.”

I cringe and don’t dare to look up. It’s silent for a moment but then Nat laughs quietly.

“I’m just kidding,” she says honestly. “I trust you more than anyone and I know you could never hurt her.”

I shake my head with wide eyes. “Never. I swear. She’s my everything.”

Nat beams at me and squeezes my knee. “I know, I can see it in the way you go all mushy when you think about her.”

I feel my cheeks heat up again and try to play it cool by scoffing. “What are you taking about? I’m a super soldier. There’s literally nothing mushy about me.”

“Sure, honey. Keep telling yourself that.” Nat laughs and it does nothing to tame my growing embarrassment.

I chuckle too and scratch the back of my neck. “Oh, shut up.”

After that we continue to catch up and Nat fills me in on everything I’ve missed which isn’t much. The rest of the team also stops by at some point and I almost crush Wanda in a hug when I thank her for saving my life.

She just laughs and squeezes my hand, saying I would have done the same for her if the roles were reversed.

I still can’t believe I’m alive and even though I’m happy to have everyone around me, I can’t help but think of Yelena being all alone, not knowing I pulled through.

It’s been two weeks since I woke up and I’ve slowly but surely gotten back on my feet. The rehabilitation exercises Dr. Cho showed me are helping me get around on my own and Nat being by my side every step of the way is also a big help.

She’s tried to contact Yelena several times, however like the times before, her efforts have been in vein. It’s not surprising though because if Yelena doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be found.

There is however one place she could be at that only I know about, so that’s where I’m headed now.

It’s pouring and I’m exhausted from the effort it took to get into the city unnoticed by the public. I took the subway and am now walking the rest of the way with my hood up against the weather.

When I finally get to the apartment building, I pull out my keys and unlock the front door. I’m just about to pull my hood down when a bunch of teenagers come my way, so I leave it up and look down in hopes of not being recognized.

They pass without saying a word, so I slip inside, keeping my hood up just to be safe.

I take the elevator up to the right floor and get off, my wet shoes squeaking on the ground as I make my way to the familiar apartment door.

I look around to make sure nobody’s in sight and unlock the door. I go inside and don’t turn on the light, letting the door close behind me with a soft click.

The place is just as I remember it, even in the dark, small, warm, inviting and filled with a bunch of memories. The person who’s part of all these memories though is nowhere to be found, so I slip off my shoes with a sigh.

I’m too tired to go back to the compound now, so I’ll just stay here for the night and return in the morning.

I limp through the dark, my scars hurting from moving around so much, and make my way to the bedroom to get a dry set of clothes.

The bed looks untouched, confirming my conclusion that no one’s here. When I reach for the closet though, I freeze when a gun is pressed to the back of my neck.

I still haven’t taken down my hood, so I can’t glimpse over my shoulder at whoever it is. I don’t have to though because when the person speaks, my heart swells.

“You have one chance to tell me who you are and what you are doing here before I shoot you.”

I find myself smiling and slowly raise my hands to lower my hood. “Well, I better make it count then…”

The gun drops from my back and I turn around slowly to find Yelena staring at me with wide, glistening eyes. She’s wearing shorts and an oversized black hoodie which I recognize as one of mine.

“What— How—?” she stutters, her bottom lip trembling. I reach for the gun and take it from her hands, placing it on the dresser beside us.

Yelena is frozen in place but when I slowly take her hand in mine, she crumbles. Tears spill from her eyes and her knees buckle and I’m quick to wrap my arms around her waist. Her hands claw at my jacket to pull me closer as she sobs into my chest. “You’re here,” she whimpers. “You’re here…”

Feeling my own tears rolling down the side of my face, I squeeze my eyes shut and kiss the crown of her head. “I am, baby. I’m right here.”

Yelena keeps clinging to me as if I’m about to disappear the second she lets go. “W-when did y-you—? she sobs against me and I know what she wants to know so I kiss the top of her head again and lean back a little to see her eyes.

“When did I wake up?” I unravel one arm from around her waist to brush some hair behind her ear. “Two weeks ago. We tried contacting you, but you��d gone off the grid.”

Yelena leans into my touch and closes her eyes with furrowed eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I should have been there. I just. . . I couldn’t. Y-you died, Y/N. I saw you d-die right in front of me and—“ she lets out another sob and buries her face back in the crook of my neck.

I just hold her close and whisper reassurances in her ear. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

It takes a couple of minutes for Yelena to finally calm down and pull away again to look at me. She raises a hand and traces her finger over my brows and down the bridge of my nose as if she’s trying to commit every little detail about me to memory.

I let her do her thing and stay silent, watching as the last of her tears escape her eyes. She is breathtaking, even now in the moonlit room. Yes, her eyes are sunken in and it feels like she’s lost some weight, but she’s still the girl I fell in love with all those months ago.

“You’re really here,” she finally whispers one more time before her eyes meet mine. I nod and kiss the pad of her finger which has landed on my lips.

Yelena sighs and slides her hand over my cheek to the back of my neck to pull me in for a kiss. It’s soft and our lips are barely even moving, but it’s enough to make me forget about everything other than this moment, right here, right now.

She really is my everything, so when we both part for some air, I’m finally ready to reveal my true feelings, but then she beats me to it.

“I love you, Y/N,” she whispers, her breath fanning my lips.

“You do?” It takes me by surprise. So much so that I pull back with wide eyes. Of course I knew that she liked me, otherwise we wouldn’t be in a relationship, but up until now I thought my feelings for her outweighed the feelings she had for me.

Yelena doesn’t seem fazed by my reaction and simply nods with a watery smile. “I do. I’ve loved you ever since you snuck into my room the first time to hold me after I’ve had a nightmare.”

I smile at the memory. That was right before we started dating. I knew about her nightmares because her room was right next to mine and my super soldier hearing always picked up on her jolting awake.

Closing the distance between us, I press another soft kiss to Yelena’s lips. She sinks into it, but starts smiling eventually which breaks the kiss.

I rest my forehead against hers and close my eyes, nudging my nose against hers playfully, whispering, “I love you, too.”

Yelena chuckles and runs her fingers through the baby hairs at the back of my neck. “I know. I can feel it.”

She pecks my lips a couple of times and I keep my eyes closed, savoring this moment as long as I can before I start shivering.

Yelena and I pull apart and it’s then that we realize that I’m still wearing my soaked clothes. It’s so bad that even the front of Yelena’s clothes are wet now.

“Sorry about that,” I whisper sheepishly, gesturing at her clothes.

“Don’t be.” Yelena unzips my jacket and helps me slip it off my shoulders. It lands on the carpet with a wet thud and I shiver again, so Yelena takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

I follow without complaint and turn on a small light as Yelena gets to work on preparing a bath. She adds some of my favorite oils and soaps to the water and checks the temperature several times before turning back to me.

She wordlessly unzips my pants after looking at me for approval and helps me out of the rest of my clothes.

“Y/N. . .” She whispers with horrified eyes when her eyes land on my new scars. Tentatively, she lifts her hand and traces a finger over the one on close to my shoulder.

It’s still a little sore and red, and Dr. Cho said it would take some more time to fade, but it doesn’t bother me.

“I’m okay, my love,” I say quietly, placing a hand over Yelena’s. Her worried eyes meet mine and I take her hand and place a reassuring kiss to her palm. “I promise, I’m alright.”

She bites her bottom lip with furrowed eyebrows before eventually relaxing visibly.

I press another kiss to her palm and brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Now, how about that bath?”

Nodding, she steps back and takes off her own clothes, taking my hand to lead me to the tub. She turns off the water and steps in first, sitting forward until I sink in behind her.

I wrap my arms around her middle and pull her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head once she’s relaxed against my chest.

Her hands find mine around her stomach and she interlaces our fingers with a sigh.

The rain outside pelts against the window and I turn my head to watch the twinkling lights of the busy city. Yelena does the same and by the look in her eyes I can tell she’s deep in thought.

After a couple of minutes she shifts and whispers, “Y/N?”

I tear my eyes away from the city and look at her. “Yes, my love?”

Her green eyes look soft in the low light and I can’t help but press a kiss to her forehead. “What happens now? I mean, what are we going to do?”

I squeeze her hands and run my thumbs over her stomach. I’ve been giving that question a lot of thought myself and I’ve come to the conclusion that I want to take a break from saving the world every other day. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

Yelena’s eyes flicker between my own and she frowns in thought. “I don’t know. Can we just stay here for a while?”

I smile and crane my neck to peck her lips. It makes her smile and when I pull back her eyes are glittering with happiness. “Of course. We can do whatever you want.”

________________________________________________

Here ya go, people. This is for everyone who wanted a part 2.

#fluff #x reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena x reader #yelena belova #marvel #mcu #angst with a happy ending

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frostedlemonwriter · 11 months ago

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A Re-Introduction to Writeblr

My name is Eric, and I am a writer. I am pansexual. Not much too it. I do a lot of writing.

If you are so kind donate to my ko-fi.

Hey guess what? I got an AO3 account now under afrostedlemonwriter!

Stories under the cut

STORIES

A Knife in the Dark

(Under Construction)

Everything under this is on hiatus, for now. They are not cancelled but I want to focus on ONE project.

The Voice in the Wires

Layer 0: Tourniquet

Layer 1: Computer Lover

After a classmate kills herself, Danika begins to get messages--both email and through her phone--from the girl several years after the fact. At first, she thinks it might be a prank, but delving into the recesses of her mind and into the wired. Something far more sinister lies just beneath the layer, where few ever go.

All layers named after song titles.

An old WIP that I will slowly work on between sessions of Cara

Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Cara Quin, a twelve-year-old precocious girl. As curious as a kitten, everything captures her fascination at one point or another. Her workaholic mother, who spends more time with her laptop than paying attention to Cara, along with her father, a illustrator and cartoonist, both work from home but never seem present. Thanks to her father's dreams and goals, the family moved to Mount Desert Island, Maine. In an old manor owned by the far-too-weird Clarke family, whose daughter Rowan becomes Cara's best friend, and within the attic lived an eccentric man Jakub Kaczmarek.

Then one night a little light and a little shadow make themselves known to her.

Currently being actively worked on to get out first draft.

By Axe & Arrow: The Saga of Teagen

Chapter One

Taking place a few years before the beginning of the Viking Age, there within the clan of Hrafnung was an adoptive princess. Though, like the Jarl's twin daughters, was more a warrior than anything else. To fulfill her destiny, foretold by the muses, Teagen will have to navigate turbulent political waters, deadly battles that rained with blood, and a romance that threatened to end her life quicker than anything else. Though, such is the life of myths and legends.

Tag: #axe&arrow

Slowly editing over time. The first draft has been done for awhile.

Short Stories

The Act

The Last of the Orc--Eithne's Faith

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #authors of tumblr

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lazydoodlesandfanfic · 1 year ago

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Answer The Phone (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader) *PARENTAL

Characters: Mycroft X Daughter!Reader, Sherlock X Niece!Reader

Universe: Sherlock

Warnings: mentions of being drugged via gas (fun story, this happened to me once lol), bomb, explosion, burns, unhealthy relationship with parent

Request: Hello could you do mycroft x daughter reader. Final problem the two have really broken father and daughter relationship and they haven't express themselves and because of it sherlock is kinda the father figure of the reader. So instead of Sherlock doing the phonecall its the mycroft who did the phonecall and reader almost said 'I love you ' to mycroft but its time up and mycrift witness the explosion in reader apartment and the Holmes are broken as they heard the shrill scream coming from the reader. Its up to you if you wanna turn out to let reader died. 😊

It had been a long time since you had actually gotten along with your dad. A long time since tensions weren’t running high when in his presence, well aware that things were one thoughtless comment away from a bicker or an argument. Whether it was wanting something from one another- more affection from him, or a more agreeable personality from you- or just not agreeing on things in general. He often commented on how you were more like your uncle Sherlock, even when you were young. Back then you took it as a compliment, seeing your uncle as a genius who adored you and was by far the funnest uncle in the world, but in your pre-teens you realised he meant it as an insult.

You could never forgive him for doing that, even if he didn’t mean it, or didn’t even realise what he was saying. Everytime he said it, it made you pull away from him even more. Spend more time with the man he compared you to, the only person who seemed to actually care about you. Of course, that was until you met Mrs Hudson and then John moved in with Sherlock. Mrs Hudson kept you company when your uncle was busy and you were avoiding your dad, and she’d softly poke into your home life and your relationship with your dad and try and give advice. John thought you were Sherlock’s assistant for a short while before Sherlock corrected him, acting insulted that he thought you were ‘just an assistant’. When he met Mycroft, he immediately began to understand why you weren’t close, and tried to be a responsible adult you could turn to. In the end, when you became a legal adult, you moved to an apartment much, much closer to Sherlock than your dad, and never in the 3 years you’d had it, had your dad stepped foot inside of it. He wasn’t allowed to.

You had a lot of feelings towards your dad from childhood to now. Anger, resentment, distrust. A disconnect you never thought and come to accept could ever be fixed. Whenever you needed support, you went to Sherlock. John. Mrs Hudson. Never him. But this time was different.

You were currently trapped in the said apartment. The one place you were supposed to feel safe no matter what, yet here you were, eyes focussed on the bomb that had been planted in the middle of your living room, the heart of your apartment, with several wires linking to it all across the apartment like spiderwebs. Linked to every possible escape route- the windows, the fire escape, and the only door in and out. You didn’t remember what had happened- you vaguely remember an odd smell as you wet to sleep last night, and when you awoke, you found yourself laying on the floor of your living room, and sitting up and seeing the device. Whoever had done this, had been nice enough to leave your phone right beside the bomb. You didn’t call anyone or even turn the phone on for several hours, scared that it had been tampered with as well and that was also a trigger, but you grew desperate. The first person you tried to call was your dad. You didn’t get through, so then you called Sherlock, and he picked up almost immediately, and you told him what was going on.

That was about two hours ago now. The police cars littered the streets outside, the complex and surrounding buildings completely evacuated. It was just you and this bomb within a 50 foot radius. Well, for a period of time, both Sherlock and John were on the other side of the door, asking you a billion and one questions about what you could see, and you described everything to the best of your abilities, and it was useful. One, Sherlock was able to piece together it was well made, and whoever made this was an expert and had experience with this- probably a military man, working in a bomb squad or something, and that this was purely explosive, no nails or anything to cause more damage, and due the size, the blast wouldn’t go far past the walls of your home. However, after demanding his honesty, he admitted he also had no clue how to diffuse it, or if that was even possible. It seemed too fragile, that even a light breeze could set it off. That solidified your decision to remain perfectly still within two of the wires attached to your windows, too scared to even touch the glass or move to quickly, remembering his comment on a breeze, and didn’t want to risk vibration.

You still hadn’t been able to reach your dad.

“John?” You had asked over the phone. The phone was often being in call between people, mostly Sherlock and John, though Mrs Hudson had called when neither were available to try and keep you calm. It was John’s turn as Sherlock was following leads.

“Yeah? Is something happening?” John asked.

“No it’s just… I can’t reach my dad. I keep trying to call him but he won’t pick up… I… I just want to hear his voice.” You admitted. It sounded ridiculous, childish, but you were tired, hungry, and the adrenaline had drained your energy a while ago now. “Does he know what’s happening?” You asked. He was silent on his side for a minute.

“I don’t know, but I tell you what, I’m going to personally find him, and drag him here, and make him answer his phone, okay?” He promised, and you could hear the anger oozing over the phone, which you couldn’t help but smile at. “In the meantime, I think Sherlock is going to call you later, I think he’s onto something. Hang on, alright?” He said, before handing up. You placed the phone on the floor, carefully standing up, and with distance between yourself and the window, you peered out of it, able to see John as he dashed off towards Lestrade, telling him something, before the pair got into a car and took off presumably to go and find your dad. Looking around more, you spotted Mrs Hudson peering up. She waved when she saw you, and you waved back. With nothing else to do, you sat back down in front of the bomb, trying to examine it to the best of your ability, seeing nothing of importance, before you laid down on the floor, closing your eyes, and waiting.

You flinched when your phone rang. You flinched every time it rang, even if someone had told you just a minute prior it was coming. You reached over, picking it up and placing it to your ear, remembering what John had said. “Sherlock?” You asked.

“How many pieces of furniture in your flat can you crawl under?” His question was far from reassuring, as you bolted up, on high alert.

“U-Um, I don’t know, why? Do I need to hide? Take cover? What’s going on?” You panicked.

“The wiring to the bomb is far too fragile for someone to be able to rig it from the outside after escaping. They must have either found or made another way inside, somewhere where you wouldn’t have noticed. If we can find it you can get out yourself, or we can get inside. Think. Lay on the floor and look around for anything, furniture that you can get under, or furniture light enough but large enough to cover an escape but be able to move from below. Be. Careful. Watch the wires. Call me back if you find anything, I’m on my way back.” He said before hanging up, leaving you alone with silence and overwhelming pressure. You looked at the wires around you, before trying to think of the best places for someone to hide a hatch- under the coffee table, the recliner that you knew was easy to move, your wardrobe in your room which had some crawl space underneath, and for you, the most creepy- under your bed. You quickly checked under your coffee table in front of you, of course finding nothing, because of course that would be too easy. Your recliner was across from you, so after a deep breath, you got down on the ground, and carefully crawled under the wires, spotting a wire that was too low to crawl under, and you stood and carefully stepped over it. You then carefully moved your recliner, checking underneath, and found nothing. That left your bedroom.

Your phone rang again, and your cursed yourself, realising you left it beside the table, and you hurriedly but carefully moved back, grabbing it and answering it. “Hello? Sherlock?”

“Y/N?” Your dad’s voice caught you off guard, and you gasped in surprised. “What’s going on? John told me to call you and said it was dire.” He asked. A relief came over you just from hearing his voice, your eyes burning as you sniffed.

“Dad… it’s bad.” You started, getting silence on the phone. “There’s… someone put some sort of sedative gas into my flat when I went to bed and broke in- they moved me into the living room and- there’s a bomb. There’s a bomb in the living room and it’s wired up to every escape and I can’t get out and I’m scared and I don’t want to die-” You rambled to him before you heard him finally repeating your name to try and interrupt you.

“Y/N, Y/N, breathe. Is Sherlock working on it?” He asked, that last sentence sound a little distance, and you faintly heard John confirm in the background, before he returned to the phone. “Alright. Sherlock’s working on it. What has he told you?”

“He um… He said that he thinks there’s a secret entrance somewhere- and that’s how the person who did this escaped after rigging everything. He told me to look for it- I’m going to check in my bedroom next.” You explained to him, looking over, being relieved when you saw no wire attached to the door.

“Is that door rigged?”

“No. Hold on, I have to crawl under the wires.” You explained, getting back down, crawling under the wires, before reaching it the door, and holding the phone to your ear. “Okay, I’m at the door.”

“Do you feel like a secret agent?” He asked, catching you off guard.

“What?” You asked, pausing in your plan.

“Crawling under and over the wires. It’s like the laser lights and those agents avoiding them. You used to love those movies when you were little. You thought that was what Sherlock did in his cases.” He reminisced. A faint smile met your lips. You’d totally forgotten about that.

“Yeah… I remember one time when I pulled out all the red thread from a jumper you had gotten me, pinning it all over the house so I could pretend to be a secret agent and then using it to make an information board… you were so mad when you came back home because the jumper was some expensive brand and I’d made the board on a wall and wrote on it and everything… sorry about that.” You told him, somehow finding the energy to chuckle pathetically.

“Don’t apologise.” Mycroft told you. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You were 6, you were just being a child.” He pointed out. “I’m… I’m also sorry that I didn’t answer your calls. I should have known something was wrong when you kept trying to reach me.” He apologised. You hummed, before you realised something.

“This is the first time we’ve been able to actually talk without bickering or arguing in years.” You pointed out. You heard him sigh.

“When this whole mess is over, I promise you we’re going to have a proper family dinner, catch up, and actually talk. No bickering. No arguing. A genuine conversation. How does that sound?” He asked. You smiled to yourself. This was the best thing that had happened all day, not like that was hard.

“Yeah. Let’s hope the escape is in my room.” You said, remembering your task. You reached out, grabbing the handle of your bedroom door, and opening it, and pulling the door open. “Hey, you know, despite not really getting along my whole life, I want you to know that I do love-” You looked up to search your room, but the sound of a beep made your eyes focus on the bomb attached to your bedframe, this one a lot bigger, that was rigged to your bedroom door, that you had just set off.

Mycroft heard you gasp, the sound of you running, hearing you muttering repeatedly ‘no, no, no, no”, the sound of you trying to open a door before the call ended. “Y/N?” Mycroft asked. He heard nothing. He tried calling you back, and it didn’t even ring. He got an awful feeling in his stomach and he wanted to be sick, but he looked up at John who looked confused at what was happening, having not heard what he’d heard. “Get me to her flat right now.”

By the time the pair arrived on your street, it was already blocked off and there was more than one firetruck trying to subdue the fire that was blazing where your flat used to be. Mycroft didn’t speak as he approached, seeing the sight, realising what it was exactly that he heard. He heard his daughter realise she triggered an explosive. He heard his daughter run across the one place she was meant to be safe to the front door. He heard his daughter try and open the door, and realise it was locked and she was trapped inside.

He heard his daughter die, terrified and alone. And for what? Why? Why not him, or Sherlock? He wanted to be angry, demand answers, find who did this and get revenge even if it isn’t lawful, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry right now. Only guilty. He should have spent more time with you. He should have tried harder to be a better parent to you, he should have been kinder, more understanding. He should have been there.

“John! Mycroft!” Mycroft didn’t hear Mrs Hudson at first as she dashed over as quick as she could- she was sobbing and sniffling, clutching a handkerchief to her face as she approached.

“Mrs Hudson, what happened?!” John asked alarmed and out of breath.

“There was a second bomb in the bedroom, when she opened the door it set it off.” She explained. Mycroft finally looked away from the blaze to look at the woman. The call had ended only 20 minutes or so prior, and since the flat was still in fire, so there was no way to examine the scene.

“How do you know that?” He asked her. She didn’t say anything, simply grabbing his arm and pulling him down the street, pass the firetrucks, past the police who looked defeated, and towards an ambulance. The back doors were open, and inside he was able to see two paramedics tending to someone in the bed. He felt his heart leap into his throat as he sprinted to the edge and jumped inside, able to finally see your face, an oxygen mask over your face, burns littering your body, and you were unconscious as a paramedic was placing bandaging on one of your burns. “Is she okay? Is my daughter okay?” He demanded answers, one of the paramedics looking up at him.

“She’s suffered burns and blunt force trauma from the explosion. She was conscious when she was able to get out, but she fell unconscious, and we need to get her to the hospital now. Please sit down if you’re coming with her.” He instructed, and Mycroft followed and sat down. He turned, seeing John and Mrs Hudson stood, staring at you.

“Please make sure Sherlock finds out who did this. They need to pay for this.” Mycroft demanded. John nodded firmly, before the doors shut, the sirens turned on and the ambulance began to move. Mycroft put his whole focus on you, making sure your chest moved up and down, looking for any sign of you waking up, and more importantly, any sign you were in pain. He only saw you breathing, and he decided for now he should be thankful for that. He didn’t know what exactly he was going to do, but he knew that somehow, someway, he was going to fix this. He was going to make everything better. He had to.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @holy-tea-cup-blog @sassy-specter @keenmarvellover @multifandomfix @sleutherclaw @otterly-fey @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines@huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

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tgmsunmontue · 3 months ago

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Life is too short to waste time matching socks... (4/5)

Hangster and Bob/Javy/Nat - set post mission with the Dagger Squad having been made a permanent squad.

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

“It says two to six people. You could have brought Phoenix and Javy as well,” Jake says, looking at the description for the room and turning to look at Bob.

“Why would I want to bring them?”

Jake exchanges a look with Rooster, because they know that Bob has slept with both Javy and Nat, but if the man wants to keep that on the downlow then Jake will respect that. Except the Dagger Squad are quickly becoming a squad where it’s impossible to keep secrets.

“Just stating it as fact. Mean nothing by it. You guys just seem pretty tight these days. I approve,” Jake states, slapping Bob on the back and stepping past him to pay his entry fee, letting his hip rest against Rooster’s as they exchange an eyeroll, because it was pretty foolish of them to think that maybe Bob would be the weakest link in whatever Trace, Javy and Bob have going on.

It’s a horror themed escape room, apparently their tour bus has broken down, they’ve sought refuge at a nearby house and are now trapped in this house by the local serial killer who will be coming back to kill them in an hour unless they escape. Delightful. They enter the room and it’s dark, bookcase, chair, desk, a fake plant… He’s never done an escape room before but Bob had assured him he’d like it. Which in hindsight maybe wasn’t a thing to take on trust. He’s aware they’re trying to force him into situations with Rooster, they’re not subtle. But he also doesn’t think they’re completely innocent either and he’s starting to think that maybe they’re right and Rooster might be more into him than he thought.

“I’m just going to go and use the bathroom and make a quick call.”

Jake doesn’t even try and hide the eyeroll this time, goes to exchange another look with Rooster, who has one of the books in his hand and is running it over the side of the bookcase, and then a drawer on the desk pops open.

“What the fuck?”

“Magnets and wires. First time?” Rooster asks, smirking and god, Jake wants to kiss him just as much as he wants to shove him. Instead he pulls the drawer out and empties the contents onto the desk, holds up a key which is clearly for the door leading further in, rather than the door the entered through, and which Bob left by. Fine. He doesn’t mind spending time with Rooster at all. He puts the key in and turns it, hears something click behind him and then there’s the sound of several somethings falling to the floor. Rooster is screaming and he turns to find him standing there looking pale, surrounded by fake, covered-in-blood, severed body parts.

… … …

Bradley is pretty sure he’s going to draw blood with how hard his nails are digging into his palms.

“You don’t like a little horror there Rooster?”

“No I fucking don’t. Get enough scary shit happening to me at work. Why couldn’t we be rescuing a kitten or something?”

“Because Bob chose this. And don’t worry. You’re okay. I’ll save you. I’ve had practice remember?”

“God you’re an ass.”

“Maybe, but you’re not scared anymore are you?”

“I wasn’t scared!”

“Not anymore…” Jake insists.

The kiss Jake gives him is brief, just a dry press of lips and it’s over so quickly he thinks he might have imagined it, except Hangman is squeezing his waist and then letting go and he immediately misses the warmth, wants to press back into it. He’s starting to think that maybe it was Hangman that gave him the socks. It seems like his way of flirting, little bit silly, but also something he can completely deny if he gets asked and he thinks he isn’t going to get the answer he wants. Bradley wants to give him the answer he wants.

“Thanks for the socks,” Bradley says, and he can’t really tell if Hangman is blushing or not in the poor lighting of the room, but Jake hip checks him and reaches for the door that has opened after the fake body parts had tumbled to the floor.

“You’re welcome. Now come on Bradshaw, I want to get on the leaderboard for this room and then take you out where we can do more of that.”

“Yeah. Okay. And if we don’t make the leaderboard?” Bradley asks, because he’s hopefully about this answer too.

“I’ll take you out anyway.”

“Deal.”

… … …

Natasha pushes the chair out with her foot and gives Bob a smile as he grins and settles into the seat; Javy slides his hot chocolate across and she takes a sip of her own drink that Javy bought for her. She doesn’t miss the fact that Javy stretches his legs out so his ankle rests against Bob’s, all while his arm rests on the back of her chair. Hmm. Maybe Bradley was onto something.

“I’m a genius. They’re both super competitive. An escape room forces them to work together and communicate, and it’s an enclosed space.”

“So you’re saying we’ve forced them together in a small space in which they’ll likely rile each other up. kill each other and that it already looks like a murder scene?”

“Uh…”

“Pretty sure any bodily fluids coming out won’t be blood…” Javy says dryly and Natasha pulls a face.

“I don’t want to think about them…” she says, and she looks between Javy and Bob contemplatively. “However I did have some thoughts.”

PART FIVE

#Hangster #Sereshaw #Life is too short to waste time matching socks...#Top Gun fanfiction #BobNixJavy

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 7 months ago

Text

04/08/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Vico; GreagBigCowBand; New Weekly Event Calendar; Emmy Nomination Discussion with Adopt Our Crew; New Watch Parties; Vote for GLAAD! Fan Spotlight: Stede Quotes Polls; OurFlagMeansFanfiction; Cast Cards; SchadenFreude; Short Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika.

Hey crew, yeah the whole taxes down to the wire thing is kicking my ass so please bear with me when I'm late with these. Once taxes are done I should be in a better spot to be on time and attentive again.

== Cast & Crew Sightings ==

= Vico Ortiz =

Just some Vico at the most recent Them Fatale Drag Kings Event, holding... Stede?

Src: Them Fatale's IG

Somehow we haven't had many cast & crew sightings the last day so I'm gonna add some peripheral family/crew today!

= Finn Darby / Great Big Cow Band =

Rhys' son Finn is back in LA, and apparently killed it at their latest gig!

== New Event Calendar ==

New Caldendar this week! If you haven't voted for OFMD on the GLAAD fan favorites, please do! Did you know you can vote with multiple emails or even the same email? Well you can! Please click here!

== Uproar ! ==

Uproar's in more theatres!

Visit Blue Fox Entertainment's Linktree for times

== What Parties! ==

Join OFMD Crew, and @iamadequate1 this week for Flight of the Conchords watch parties! You can watch each day at 4pm PT, 7 pm ET, 11pm BST! If you don't have access, feel free to join us on the #RhysDarbyFaction Discord server, you can hit me up for an invite. Hashtags:

#FlagOfTheConchords

#OurFlagMeansDeath

== Taskmaster NZ ==

Series 1 continues Weds at 11am PT / 2 pm ET / 7 pm BST on any of the @saveofmdcrewmates socials.

#Quartermaster

#OurFlagMeansDeath

Taskmaster

== Adopt Our Crew ==

Adopt Our Crew wanted to clarify the Emmy nomination rumor that's been going around!

Full Thread

Game of Thrones Self Submitting Emmy

Voting Reform Widens Emmy's Embrace

== Fan Spotlight ==

Our friend @iamadequate1 is at the polls again! This time for Stede's favorite lines from OFMD eps 1, 2, 3 of the first season! Have twitter and want to vote? Head on over to their Twitter page.

== Our Flag Means Fanfiction ==

New Our Flag Means Fanfiction! This one's about OFMD Lore! Find them on their: Linktree

== Cast Cards ==

Tonight's card is Jeff 'Not a Single Toureen on Board" Lorch! @melvisik's catching all the extras!

== Schadenfreude ==

Looks like WBD is doing some restructuring. Don those clown noses or honks m'dears!

WBD Article

AdoptOurCrew Twitter Src

== Love Notes ==

My brain is couscous loves. Just know you are glorious, and wonderful and I believe in you whole heartedly. I forgot to include this several days back when Ruibo Qian had it on her Story, but it's my vibe today so I hope it brings you some smiles.

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Today's Theme: Sassy Arms

Darby Courtesy of @funforahermit

Taika Courtesy of @ofmd-ann

#daily ofmd recap #ofmd daily recap #daily ofmd recaps #ofmd daily recaps #our flag means death #ofmd #taika waititi #rhys darby #ruibo qian #great big cow band #vico ortiz #adopt our crew #glaad for ofmd #our flag means fanfiction #ofmd watch parties

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ya-zz · 1 year ago

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Heyhey! So I just got a haircut (super short! Think of a fluffy boycut) and my cat HAAATES it!! When I walked in she puffed up at me, but she is getting used to it. Just didnt expect my head to change haha. But I was thinking, itd be kind of funny if Ramattra acted that way with his s/o? so if you're able I'd love to see you write about it😳😳❤️

Omg that is hilariously adorable!

Apologies this took awhile to get to, but I hope I have done it some justice ♥ I am running on two hours sleep so I do apologise if there are any mistakes!

Ramattra x Reader (gen)

Word count: 1029

Omnics used to all look the same. Same make, same model, neither one had their uniqueness until they gained their own thoughts and feelings. Months after they gained their sentience, omnics around the world began wearing clothes, dressing how they saw humans dress, whether that was to be casual or smart, punk or floral, they followed those around them.

Soon after, workshops popped up around the villages and cities with new parts were being made, upgrades and cosmetics suitable for any and all omnic. They began appearing with hairstyles, new attachments while some altered their look completely. There was a rise within omnic fashion; a sudden competition between human and omnic, one that broke several news reports yearly.

One omnic, however, kept his appearance as close to his factory model as possible. Save from a colour change here and there, his appearance rarely changed. Then again, his kind was feared. A ravager seeking customisation would’ve been talk of the town.

He kept to himself, only changing when he deemed it absolutely necessary. The only major change he went through was to make his appearance more friendly, despite his previous nature. Cabled hair attached, signature red wire down one was all he wanted, nothing too flashy. It was simple and he appreciated the work done.

He had always thought humans changing their style was frivolous, never any true meaning behind the changes, so he refrained from going over the top. He wasn’t seeking affirmations from anyone, he didn’t seek compliments, but when the words of “you look great” and “I like this on you” came from your mouth, he felt somewhat more comfortable within his chassis.

You were the first one to see him like that, and it brought a new and warm feeling coursing through your body. He definitely looked more approachable and even on occasion he would let you style it, keeping his thoughts locked away as he enjoyed the gentleness of your touch.

Ramattra had known you for several years, before, during and after his time at the Monastery. After saving his life, you stuck by his side for the years coming. You two became close friends, never anything more until he brought himself out of his robotic shell and confessed that he had liked you.

It was a day that you would remember for years to come. You had never seen an omnic such as him be so shy, so when he spoke to you that day, servos twitching and avoiding your eyes, you knew he had put a lot more thought into it than he would like to admit.

He planned it. He plans everything. The omnic loves to follow a schedule, never deviating from it unless absolutely necessary. Change, while he admits is a good thing, sometimes doesn't need to happen. He’s used to his surroundings, used to those he is around, so when you suddenly changed your appearance, all hell broke lose within his systems.

At first, his systems detected an enemy human, something of which he had yet to calibrate and turn off. System warnings flared up, blocking his vision as his body froze on the spot. His vocaliser became threatening, tone low and dark as he spoke out, demanding how you got this close to him without him realising it.

The familiarity of your voice sent his systems into overload, errors upon errors clouding more of his vision as he stepped back. He was angry and confused.

Part of him thought it was a joke, that someone had taken your voice and put it into another human, but he realised quickly that it was impossible for humans to undergo such a process… Unless it was a synth. His hands curled into fists at the thought. A sick joke indeed.

Once your hand made a connection with his, it felt like his entire body just overheated and froze on the spot. His systems shut down momentarily, lights flickering before his systems rebooted. A familiar voice and touch broke him out of the spell he was under.

Change was something Ramattra was getting used to. Sudden, unexpected changes were never going to go down well with him, and it was a lesson learnt for you. He apologised profusely, gentle servos holding your hand in an attempt to comfort you from his anger. You didn’t blame him, of course, you figured there was going to be a reaction, but this was not the one you had been expecting.

Ramattra stayed with you that day, complimenting your look, glancing at you when you weren’t looking in his direction. He’d steal looks as he’d burn the images into his memory files; video files followed after, the gentle curve of your smile with your new look, eyes glistening in the warm sunlight. You were an angel within his optics.

He would sit behind you, hands getting tangled within your hair, strands getting caught between his joints and being gently tugged. Ramattra mimicked the motions you showed him whenever you would sit behind him and play with his cables. Fingers brushed through your locks, sometimes a gentle squeeze of your scalp as he massaged your head. He enjoyed the time shared between you as he would style your hair the best he could. Of course, he’d miss a few strands, but the look and effort was too cute to change.

While Ramattra was still getting use to the sudden change of your appearance, he couldn’t help but feel conflicted as he stared at the back of your body, hands still playing. Why did you change? You were perfect before. I mean- you still are, of course. You will always be perfect to me. I just wondered what brought this upon you?

His hands continued to play, moving down the side of your neck, rubbing the tight knots in your shoulders. A sigh filled his receptors, a sweet noise he enjoyed hearing from you. It made him chuckle as he continued his motions, basking in warmth of daylight as the two of you sat together.

“You are perfect, [y/n].” He finally spoke out, leaning down and resting his forehead against the back of your head. “Always will be.”

#overwatch #ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch ramattra #reader #ow #fanfic #overwatch fanfiction #ow2 #overwatch 2 #yazzfics

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e-vay · 6 months ago

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CC ORIGIN STORY by @lubedoo

Hello! I’ve been following your art for some time and really enjoy it! I especially like the Tails and CC threads and have been mulling just how CC came to be and how she first met Tails, given the brief outlines you’ve published. I scribbled out the first chapter of a fan fiction expanding on CCs origins which I hope you’ll like. Let me know what you think… I can write more if you like it. Hope to see more of Tails and CC soon either way!

Chapter 1: Walter’s Widgets

“No, this won’t work… the gear pitch is misaligned to the functional plane!”

The camera aperture on the small robot’s spindly head focused in and out on the tiny interlocking mechanism as its grouchy furred boss pointed at the offending interface with thin metal pick. Its pincer-like hands reached for the device, but it was quickly snatched away. The robot retreated a few feet on its wheelbase at the sudden movement.

“It has to be at the correct angle or it will bind and fail prematurely!” He looked sternly at the two droids standing in front of him, the second a more squat construction containing a platform and several manipulators. “Assembler, you have the steady table and precision arms. Can’t you work with Gear Placer to match these up?”

Assembler responded in a series of low hums and groan-like noises, while Gear Placer rattled off high-pitched squeals and beeps.

“Wait, whoa… one at a time.” The old woodchuck removed his glasses and grasped the bridge of his nose. “I can understand both of you but not when you talk over each other. Didn’t the interface chips I installed help with translating your machine languages?”

Gear Placer reached a pincer inside an opening in its head and plucked out a small circuit board, which clearly had been overtaxed. The melted wires and burn marks were testament to its overuse and failure. Assembler groaned about its being in a similar condition, but was unable to remove it given its location.

The woodchuck sighed as he examined the ruined electronics. “I suppose that’s what I get for cobbling you all together from different control boards and drivers. I never expected my Widget business to be so complex.”

Walter Woodchuck had built WW Widgets into a local phenomenon. It started as a hobby business, building little devices for himself and his friends in his garage workshop. But word spread about his clever and unique designs, and suddenly customers were sending in requests from as far as Reclusivia. It provided him with a nice retirement income and kept him busy for sure, but he knew he needed help if he was to keep building these devices to his exacting standards.

And Walter was by no means a “people person.” He tried hiring a few Mobian assistants but none lasted very long. He was very particular in how he wanted things done, and few of his hired help was willing (or able) to keep up with his demands. Even his nephew William could only last for short stints in the WW manufacturing area before needing a periodic “sabbatical.”

So Walter decided with the size and scope of his business to move out of the tiny garage and into a “Fabratory” he had built towards the back corner of his property. It was a moderately sized but impressive facility that functioned as a device development lab, a manufacturing floor, a warehouse, and a store front. The store was more of an Automat, with remote payment devices and clear-doored cubbies where his customers could pay for and retrieve their items. It was very rare that any of them met with or even saw Walter… and he liked it that way. There was even a small living space so he could spend as much time as he wanted in his own little world. He would send one of the robots for supplies as needed, and the store owners in town knew Walter was good for payment.

But as with Walter and the outside world, communication among his robots was severely lacking. He built them as the need arose, from Circuit Solderer to Chip Mounter and Metal Stamper to Test Aligner. Their names were childish but functional, as Walter didn’t see the need to personalize his creations, only to have them do their job as they were told. And since they were constructed over time, the parts available to build them varied as did their internal machine languages, resulting in a maddening (to Walter) Production Line of Babel. The robots understood everything Walter told them but little of what the others twittered and beeped. They were still effective in producing wonderful Widgets, but frequently also manufactured a lot of stress for Walter.

Walter turned back to Gear Placer and Assembler, impatiently explaining to each what needed to be fixed on the device they had presented. They both excitedly responded in their own languages and raced off to fix their mistake.

“There has to be an easier way,” the tired woodchuck grumbled. “Maybe if I built another robot, one that could understand all their code and interpret for them… and me…” His voice trailed off as he turned to his drafting table and began drawing up yet another design.

After a few hours of intense thought and technical sketching (and with a few interruptions from the Production floor), he looked at his newest blueprint. “Yes, this should do nicely. I’m sure Oscar has the proper processors, auditory inputs, and servo impellers to make this happen. It will be my most advanced creation yet. I’ll need it to be able to learn, accept and provide feedback, and adapt to our design changes.” His brow furrowed. “This is going to be somewhat expensive, but that latest Widget order from Spagonia should cover the cost. Well worth it.”

He looked over the plans again and leaned back in his chair. Walter crossed his arms, smiled, and relaxed a bit. “Yes, you will be a great help to me… Code Compiler.”

-----

Evay: Wow, this is amazing! Oh I sincerely hope you do write more! I know I've been neglectful in all of the details of CC's origin. I promise I do have a script written for a comic for her, but I love when you all take the initiative and interpret how you think things went. It's an absolute delight for me 🥰 I really enjoyed this read and I look forward to more. Thank you so much!

#fan art #fanart #cc the ai #cc #fan art friday #fan fiction #fan stuff #submission #lubedoo #sonic trash

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faeriekit · 2 years ago

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hey gang I gave in and wrote something for the Holy Ageswap, Batkid! AU after all :) :) :) :) Whoops 🦇

Alfred turns the page in the Gotham Gazette.

It looks like there’s to be a stage show at the local theater next week. A performance of King Lear—normally, he would consider attending, if only to judge from a seat in the audience, but his usual operations have largely changed in the last few months.

For one, his free time has severely decreased.

“Alfred,” a tiny voice pipes up from somewhere around his knee. Alfred sets the newspaper on the plastic picnic table.

Bruce Wayne, second grader and aspiring crime fighter, has both hands fisting Alfred’s more comfortable dress pants. The boy isn’t stellar with eye contact— based on Alfred’s research, that may never happen—but he is a remarkably clingy child, when he can bear human touch.

“Bruce.” Alfred’s greeting is just as calm. Just because the other children in the kiddie gym may be raging doesn’t mean that Bruce doesn’t prefer quieter tones. “How was your lesson today?”

Bruce bounces on the balls of his feet, his little white socks raising and lowering. “I did a front flip today,” the boy reports, pleased. “Dick said I did a good job. I have a sticker now.”

A reward. Alfred does smile; he isn’t sure that Bruce fully appreciates the item itself, but the positive reinforcement Richard provides his students is certainly appreciated just as much. “May I see it?”

Bruce pulls his sleeveless shirt forward until Alfred can see it. With his reading glasses, he can somewhat make out a little blue figure with some sort of shield.

“Ah, Captain America,” Alfred realizes. His wire frames return to his breast pocket. “No Gray Ghost, of course, but highly respectable.”

Bruce hums, and kneads the fabric trapped in his hands. Alfred knows perfectly well who Bruce’s favorite crime-fighter is; after a few movie marathons, trips to thrift shops and secondhand sales to find more tapes and merchandise, and re-readings of the novelizations, all at his new charge’s request, the preference has become clear. There is no one who reigns in Bruce Wayne’s favor above the Gray Ghost. “Dick let me pick last, so I had more time to make a decision.”

“That is very kind of your teacher. Are you ready to say goodbye for the evening?”

Bruce nods. In the same way that he is uncomfortable with eye contact, he is often uncomfortable with prolonged skin-on-skin contact, so Alfred doesn’t offer to hold his hand. Bruce keeps himself tucked away at Alfred’s side, perfectly content, with three slim fingers keeping him latched onto the edge of Alfred’s wool jacket.

They are usually one of the last to leave the gymnasium, if not the last. Bruce usually wants to report about all he’s done for his lesson, and then takes a moment to dress himself in daywear once more, all at his own pace, before they leave. It’s optional to speak to the coach on their way out, but Alfred prefers to; although he is retired, and has no intention of either returning to his field of work or introducing Bruce to it, he still appreciates supervising and evaluating Bruce’s training for its level of quality.

Richard is a fun sort of lad. Loose—in the way that young men have been, he wears his hair long and enjoys colorful fabrics. In the gym, he wears his dark hair up in a ponytail and throws cotton tees on over his shorts.

“Hey, Bruce!” Richard recognizes, and waves. Bruce silently waves back. “Ah, and you’re his guardian. Alfred, right?”

No assumed family connection. Alfred accepts the handshake. “Rightly so.”

Richard grins, white teeth and patience. “Excellent! Well, I’m happy to report that Bruce is coming along well in his class. He’s very dutiful with his exercises, and works very hard on mastering the newer tricks we learn in lessons. I’m sure he’ll be able to place up into one of the higher level classes by next year.”

Bruce, of course, is touched, and kneads the fabric of Alfred’s jacket that much harder. The little nuances of childhood’s strong emotions. Alfred will never understand them.

Richard leans down, ever so slightly. It’s not low enough to be condescending, but manages to make himself at least more equal with the height of the child. “Do you remember what we worked on today?”

“Yes!” Bruce declares, happy to have an answer he knows. “First we sat down on the mat and then you told us about how the gym is going to be closed next week because they’re replacing the climbing net and then we did our warm ups and we did butterfly legs and we stretched out our arms and then we stood up so tall—“

“Bruce has an excellent memory,” Alfred explains to a clearly flummoxed gymnastics teacher. Bruce’s recitation of events does not end. “When we get home tonight, he is going to repeat the entire lesson on his mattress. I am certain he is going to ask for gymnastic mats for Hanukkah.”

Richard laughs and laughs until he runs out of air. He surfaces with tears in his eyes. Bruce accepts a very careful high-five, swiftly changes in the single-stall family bathroom, and is escorted to the car by his older guardian. Bruce buckles himself in and hugs his gym clothes.

They drive back to Wayne manor.

“I think Dick has secrets,” Bruce announces, apropos of nothing. His feet kick against the seat.

Alfred hums. His eyes stay on the road. “Oh?”

Bruce nods. Alfred catches the last edge of the gesture in the rearview mirror. “He has a lot of big scars under his shirt, and always knows if you’re beside him. Sometimes he practices before class, and he’s really good at climbing stuff. He has big knives in his locker.”

Alfred mulls over the stated observations. Well, the observations are valid at the very least. However:

“I believe we have discussed respecting others’ personal boundaries, Bruce.” This has been a frequent point of contention.

Bruce’s huff is audible. He is no doubt crossing his arms in the back seat. “Alfred.”

“Bruce.” Alfred is firm on this point. “Your aspirations of detective work are to be admired; however, you are still eight, and could be removed from your class or otherwise fined if you are caught. Breaking into one’s personal possessions remains illegal.”

Bruce goes silent. The sound of kicking feet stops. They sit, quietly in the car, as Alfred drives them home through dingy back streets of urban Gotham.

He really only turns to face his charge once they hit a red light. “I did notice, however,” Alfred continues, half as sly and satisfied besides. “That Richard has very prominent swordsman’s calluses.”

The boy, of course, lights up. Beyond his love of Gray Ghost and learning new detective skills, Bruce loves, beyond all reason, new clues. “I saw," Bruce breathes, fists balled up as he veritably shakes in his seat. “When we high-fived! What do you think??”

Alfred rights his position for appropriate levels of concentration whilst driving. “Well,” Alfred admits. “There is no point in making any assumptions now, of course. We only have half the information.”

“Aw.”

“We can, however, perform a very thorough background check.” Perhaps it isn’t ethical to bribe young children with borderline legal methods of informational gathering, but it does keep him occupied between his school hours and his extracurriculars. Alfred will take what he can get. “Would you like to learn how to gain access to several forms of paperwork when assessing someone’s trustworthiness?”

Bruce kicks the seat again, thrilled, squeezing his little gym bag taut in his arms. He buries his face in it, overwhelmed, and only surfaces for a second to shout: “Yes!”

“Good.” Now there will be something to do after dinner. “Now, don’t forget to wash your hands before dinner. We’re having pot roast.”

“Thank you, Alfred!”

“You’re very welcome, Bruce.”

#neurodivergent kid vibes all the way arouuuuund #faer winds #this one is not batfam but it is batfam adjacent #holy age swap batman!#holy age swap batkid!#batman au #dc #Batkid!AU

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geekyimagines · 2 years ago

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FANDOM:

Star Trek TNG

CHARACTER(S):

Q x GN!Reader, Geordi La Forge x GN!Reader, Data x GN!Reader, Deanna Troi x GN!Reader, Worf x GN!Reader, Will Riker x GN!Reader, Jean Luc Picard x GN!Reader, Reginald Barclay x GN!Reader

GENRE:

Humour, romance (sort of)

WARNINGS:

None

SUMMARY:

Oneshot sequel to 'Think'. Q returned you and the other nineteen crew members to the ship, but people are acting... strangely. (Inspired by a funny mistake in my previous Q fic)

Irresistable

It had been three days since you had been kidnapped by Q and forced to play his game. Three days since he promised to drop by every so often to make your life 'more interesting'. For a short period of time you lived in fear of when that moment would be and, more importantly, what he would do. Then, sometime around the second day, your priority shifted from Q.

You didn't know whether you were paranoid, whether your fear of Q was translating to other meaningless things, or if something was actually going on, but...

Everyone was staring at you.

At first you assumed it was because your experience with Q had made you and the nineteen other crew members the hottest gossip on the Enterprise. But then it got weird.

Conversations would stop as soon as you entered a room, people would go out of their way to talk to you or do you a favour, and if you didn't get at least six compliments upon entering a room then the room was empty. Not only that, but you had been asked on more dates than ever before in your entire life. Dinner, lunch, breakfast, afternoon tea - people were desperate to squeeze in some quality time with you.

But most of all, they stared.

You were in one of the jefferies tubes replacing a burnt out conduit. Commander La Forge had insisted on helping you... by standing just outside of the tube... and chatting. It wasn't really like him to stand around and talk while there was work to be done, but you weren't about to question a superior officer.

"...and then I came in and fixed the neutrino field in two seconds. Guess what the problem was!"

You smiled as though you were amused by Geordi's story as you worked. In all honesty, you were a bit worn thin by people trying to be relatable to you over the past few days. Still, even before the Q incident, Geordi had been nice to you. You weren't about to brush off his polite attempts at socialising now, even if it was a little exhausting.

"What was it?" you asked, humouring him.

"No converters! They thought they could not only start up a neutrino field, but stabilise the entire thing without any converters!"

While Geordi laughed, you gave a forced chuckle. You got the feeling that even he knew he was scraping the bottom of the barrel for conversation material. It was lucky for him that the burnt out conduit was behind several wires and tubes and partially melted to the framework of the ship, otherwise you would have come up with some excuse to leave over an hour ago.

Geordi sucked in a breath and you knew he had just thought of a new topic to discuss.

"That actually reminds me of the time -"

Commander Data's calm voice hit the air. "Geordi, may I have a word with you?"

"Not now, Data!" Geordi whispered harshly.

"Is now not a good time?"

"Lieutenant (Y/N) and I were just talking -"

"Actually, I'm done!" you announced, crawling back out of the tube. When you stood upright, you came face to face with Commander Data. He was an android - a tall, very pale and slightly yellowish android with golden eyes, who was well known for his inability to experience any emotions.

So why his entire face twisted into shock upon seeing you was something you didn't feel qualified enough to answer. His bright golden eyes were locked onto you like you were some sort of mythological being come to life. Whatever the expression was, you were pretty sure it meant that something was seriously wrong.

Geordi noticed, too. He put a hand on Data's shoulder.

"Data, what's the matter?"

"I..." The android appeared at a loss for words. "I am not certain. This is the eighth time in three days that I have been overwhelmed by this... urge."

"Urge?"

Data turned his head to Geordi and his tone became almost conversational. "It is what I came to speak to you about. I believe I am experiencing some kind of malfunction."

"Alright, let's go check out your neural net, see if there's anything going on we should know about." Geordi gave Data a light pat on the back and together the two commanding officers walked away.

You stood alone for the first time since waking up that morning. No one had noticed that you were on your own so no one was rushing up to impress you or ask you to dinner or... stare.

As much as you hoped Data was okay, you were glad for the distraction. For this brief moment, you could finally relax.

"Hello again."

You cried out and jumped away from the jefferies tube, where Q was laying flat on his stomach with his head propped up on his hands. He seemed to be in a good mood, with a cheery smile and mischief dancing in his eyes. He suddenly reminded you of a grinning Cheshire Cat.

"You!"

Q gave a light chuckle. "How observant of you," he remarked snidley. "And how are you today, (Y/N)? I must say, you have been quite popular since you came back." He raised his eyebrows. "A new shampoo you're using?"

"You're behind this, aren't you?"

Q pretended to be shocked, putting a hand to his chest and gawking up at you. "Me? Now, why would I do such a thing?" His face dropped into a wicked grin. "I'll see you later - if you can squeeze me into your busy schedule, of course."

In a flash of white light he was gone. You huffed and stormed out of engineering.

If Q was going to mess with you, then you were at least going to try and figure out exactly what he did. Everyone seemed to be experiencing some sort of strong emotion towards you - possibly attraction, but possibly something else. Either way, when it came to emotions, you knew there was only one person you needed to speak with.

You stood outside Counsellor Troi's quarters. It was within her usual therapy hours and you were fairly certain that she wasn't on the bridge. You pressed the buzzer and the door slid open almost immediately. Counsellor Troi stood before you in her red one-piece uniform with her long, dark, wavy hair tied up into a high ponytail. The second her black half-betazoid eyes locked onto you, a huge smile curled onto her lips.

"(Y/N)," she greeted warmly. She stepped aside and held her arm out toward her lounge. "Come in. Is there something on your mind?"

"One thing, actually," you said, walking in and taking a seat. She took a seat in the chair opposite you, crossing one leg over the other and linking her hands over her knee.

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"People have been acting strange around me. Ever since I came back from Q's..."

Counsellor Troi wasn't listening. You could see her eyes had dropped to roaming over your body. You cleared your throat loudly and she startled straight in her chair. She gave an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. Please, go on."

"Well, as I was saying, ever since I came back from Q's game, people have been all over me. People are staring at me, they're going out of their way to talk to me, and I'm getting flooded in requests for dates -"

"Maybe you're just popular?" Troi laughed.

"But it's more than that. Q visited me today. He didn't openly admit to anything, but I'm certain he's behind it."

"Q visited you today?"

"Yeah. I think me winning his game means I've just won a lifetime's supply of Q antics to deal with."

"Have you told Captain Picard about this?"

"No, not yet, but I -"

"I think," said Counsellor Troi, standing up from her chair and walking around behind you. "After this session, you should go and inform the captain about what's going on. In the meantime..."

Her hands slid down over your shoulders and massaged the muscles around your neck. She leaned down and breathed in your ear.

"Relax..."

"Uh!" You quickly shimmied out of her grasp and sprang back up to your feet. You backed away from her towards the door with a nervous chuckle. "I-I actually have to go. Important things to do. No time for massages."

"(Y/N)?"

"Thanks for the therapy! Bye!"

You raced out of Counsellor Troi's quarters and headed straight for the turbolift. Clearly, Troi was a little too distracted to help on her own.

Omnipotent being or not, Q was going to get an earful if he showed his face again.

You took the turbolift to the bridge. The second you stepped out, Lieutenant Worf, the klingon chief of security, looked to you. At first it was just him casually glancing over from his station, but when your eyes met he went rigid, like someone had come up from behind and electrocuted him. His expression was tight and his eyes were wide. You could barely believe the idea, but it seemed almost as though you had scared him.

"Just here to see the captain," you explained. Worf gave a stiff nod.

The klingon's eyes were trained on you the entire time you walked over to the door to the captain's ready room. Other personnel on the bridge who had noticed your presence watched you with stunned fascination. The word 'creepy' didn't cover just how uncomfortable you were.

The ready room door slid open and out walked Commander Riker, almost knocking you over with how fast he was walking. He grasped your arms to steady you. Then his eyes met yours and a large flirtatious grin spread across his face.

"Well, well, well..." he said, dark eyes sparkling as they took you in. "Lieutenant (Y/N), isn't it?" He dropped his hands from your arms. "What brings you to the bridge?"

"I'm, uh... actually here to see the captain."

"Oh? Lucky him," Riker smiled. "I don't suppose I'll see you down in Ten Forward tonight? We haven't gotten to know each other very well since you transferred here and I think it's about time we did."

"Uh... Maybe some other time, sir. I'm a little preoccupied right now."

"I see. Well, feel free to come talk to me after my shift whenever you're available. I really would like to get to know you better."

With that Commander Riker walked off. Sighing quietly to yourself, you buzzed the ready room door and you heard the captain order for you to come in. You pressed for the door to open and stepped inside the smaller room, delighted and relieved to be shielded from the stares of the bridge personnel.

"Captain, I -"

Captain Picard was sitting behind his desk, staring at you, stunned, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He cleared his throat and adjusted his position in his seat before giving you a nod.

"Please, continue. What is it you need, Lieutenant?"

"Captain, it's Q -"

"Q?!" the captain repeated, alarmed. A weary look overcame him. "What has he done now?"

"Everyone is acting strangely, sir. Everyone is staring at me, going out of their way to spend time with me, and it's not just some sort of spike in popularity. It's like everyone has suddenly become obsessed."

"And you think this is Q's doing?"

"He visited me earlier. It was pretty obvious that he had something to do with it."

Picard leaned forward onto his desk. "Any idea what he wants or why he might be doing this to you? In my experience, Q usually has some sort of moral lesson to teach or an ulterior motive."

"He told me three days ago that he planned on making my life more interesting."

"Why?"

You sighed. "As a reward for winning his game."

Picard's brow furrowed in thought. "So, you're saying that as a reward for solving his game he's rewarded you by making the entire crew overwhelmingly attracted to you?"

You blinked dumbly at the captain. Captain Picard's eyes widened slightly, realising what he had just admitted, and cleared his throat again. You had never seen the captain look so sheepish.

"I think perhaps it's best if you wait in your quarters until Q arrives again so you can question him further. I've had reports of personnel fighting over the others that had been taken by Q during his game. Whatever is going on between you and Q, I don't think that you're the only one that's been affected."

"I see. Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, Lieutenant." The captain gave a tight-lipped smile. He seemed just as uncomfortable as you in this whole mess. "Dimissed."

You left the captain's ready room back out onto the bridge. Instantly, every eye was on you. Commander Riker was the only one to smile at you from his seat, while everyone else seemed to be in awe of your very existence.

The second you stepped into the turbolift and the doors slid shut, you let out a deep breath. Unfortunately, the moment you arrived on your level and the doors reopened you came face to face with Mr Barclay. The poor man took one look at you and was stumbling over himself trying to say 'hello'. He was a shy man to begin with and this newfound effect you had on people was taking its toll.

You greeted him politely as you passed him. The man was bright red. You would have thought it sweet if you hadn't known already that this was all Q's doing.

Upon reaching your quarters, you looked forward to the time alone as you waited for Q to show up, to be free of the constant staring and talking and flirting. Your moment of relief was quickly ruined when soft music hit the air and you realised that Q was once again lying across your bed, only this time he was dressed in a red silk robe and surrounded by red roses. He held one of the roses in his hand, waving it just under his nose, and threw you a wink.

"Welcome to later."

"Very funny," you scolded. You walked closer to the bed, scowling down at the omnipotent entity. "Why are you doing this?"

"Can't a Q have a little fun now and then?" Q huffed and rolled his eyes. "Honestly, you mortals have no sense of humour."

"I heard you were forced to be a human once."

"What about it?"

"Well, would you have liked it if everyone was throwing themselves onto you wherever you went?"

Q hummed in thought. "Good point, I suppose. I must say, your nerves about me being here seemed to have disappeared. The (Y/N) I met in the shuttle three days ago would never have talked to me like this. The (Y/N) I met three days ago would have been terrified that I would do something horrific like throw them into a black hole or lock them away forever in a box and sell it to a ferengi merchant."

"Well, back then I thought every interaction with you would mean constantly dealing with the lives of both myself and the crew!" You gave a humourless laugh, "Not making everyone on the ship attracted to me for your entertainment! Really, what could you possibly gain from this?!"

Q raised an eyebrow up at you, still lying on your bed in his silk robe. "So you're not scared of me anymore?"

"You're bored, not evil." You shrugged, "I mean, sometimes you might be trying to teach..."

And suddenly you understood.

"You wanted to show me..." you said, looking down at Q in a new light, "That it wouldn't always be life and death."

Q stood up from the bed and smiled down at you. "You humans are so easily frightened by the unknown, yet always rushing towards it out of some blundering curiosity you can barely control." He shook his head at you, "I'm not here to be some undiscovered specimen or the monster under your bed."

You smirked. "You're here for your own amusement."

Q held a rose out to you, which you took and glanced over. There was nothing special about it; just an ordinary red rose.

"Leave the worrying to Jean Luc," said Q, watching as you studied the flower. You perked up at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting as he looked down at you earnestly. "Not everything that's unknown is a bad thing. Not everything unexpected needs to be analysed for a flaw or a trick. Sometimes, good things happen, too."

A flash of white light and Q and all the flowers on the bed were gone. Only the rose in your hand had been left behind. In the following silence, you looked down at the rose, and you smiled.

#q #star trek q #q x reader #star trek q x reader #star trek tng #star trek the next generation #geordi la forge #data #deanna troi #worf #will riker #jean luc picard #reginald barclay

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slavicviking · 2 years ago

Text

Long Odds (Steddie)

“Steve. My buddy. My pal.”

“No.”

Dustin purses his lips, tugging harder on the plastic wire of the phone. The school courtyard behind him is buzzing with life, warm and welcoming - finally - after a particularly harsh winter, for Indiana standards at least. A group of freshmen he faintly recognizes from one of his classes walks by, shrieking and laughing at a severely unfunny joke. He’s been subjected to Robin’s atrocious puns often enough to say so with confidence. He winces.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he informs Steve because, well, rude.

“I’m guessing one of you annoying shrimps need a favor,” the phone responds in a bored monotone “and I don’t know if you know, but I actually have a life outside of babysitting you all.”

“Steve, watching The Breakfast Club for the fourth time this month is not having a life.” An offended ‘dude’ from the other side of the line feels like a warning sign. He realizes he only has one chance to do it right. If Steve hangs up now, he’s done for.

“Have I ever told you you’re my best friend?” Dustin tries instead.

“Jesus Christ-”

Dustin taps his finger on the booth. Shit. He’s hanging on by a thread, he can feel it.

“Look, this is an emergency, okay? I need you to play D&D with us tonight! Lucas can’t come and we need someone to fill in his spot, that’s, like, life or death, Steve.” After a breath, he adds. “Pretty please.”

A pause.

“Henderson, that’s the least life or death thing I’ve heard in a while.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, sucking in a heavy sigh. It’s progress, though, he can feel the scale tipping in his favor ever so slightly. He knows Steve.

“You haven’t seen Eddie when we asked to reschedule,” he pleads, full-well knowing the super senior in question hasn’t yet been informed of their predicament. It’s better this way, Dustin tells himself. Eddie will be miffed they haven’t told him, sure, but if they find a replacement, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? “He looked like that one time when we were sleeping in the woods and all our stuff was stolen and then-”

“Wait, hold on, somebody robbed you?” Steve asks, muffled by how he, no-doubt, mashed the phone closer to his face to hear better. At least Dustin is sure he’s paying attention now. “And why the hell were you in the woods at night with this Eddie in the first place? Isn’t being chased by, uh, by dogs enough for you?”

“During a campaign, Steve,” Dustin quickly interjects. “It was part of the storyline. We weren’t actually in the woods.”

“Jesus Christ, kid,” the voice on the other side echoes, this time from some distance away and there’s shuffling that indicates Steve running his hand through his mop of hair,probably in order to calm himself. Dustin, for the record, does feel guilty. A little bit. “You and the rest of the little gremlins will be the death of me, I swear. Not cool, man.”

“Sorry,” Dustin tells him sincerely. Pauses. And then, “so?”

“So?”

“Steve.”

What follows is a long-suffering sigh. Dustin’s lip twitches.

“I don’t even know how to play your stupid game.”

It should be known that Dustin absolutely did not pump his fist in the air in a silent sign of victory. He did not. But the smile that broke out on his face? Yeah, he won’t deny that.

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know, I promise.”

-&-

There’s a familiar buzz in the air, absorbing all the pre-game excitement and nerves. Gareth and Jeff heatedly discuss their respective strategies from last week, while Grant feverishly writes something down in his notebook, be it a new song lyric or an addition to his character’s backstory. Just as Eddie finishes rearranging the chairs around the table, the doors open, and his favorite freshmen flood into the classroom.

Except-

“Heard you’re one person short for your Dancers and Dweebs game, Munson,” Steve Harrington (Steve Harrington, his brain supplies helpfully) smirks up at him, jacket sliding off one of his shoulders. On anyone else it would look awkward, for sure, but on Steve, it looks, well, it looks-

“Uh,” is what Eddie responds with initially, a streak of panic flashing through his gut and straightening his back. Where the hell is Sinclair? Why is He here, instead? There’s so much to address - as he stands there, blinking owlishly, fingers wrapped tightly around the back of a cheap plastic chair - with a witty remark of sorts most fitting, surely. He adds, then, seemingly for no other purpose but to dig his grave just a little deeper. “Um.”

“You know it’s Dungeons and Dragons,” Mike’s annoyed reply snaps Eddie back to reality just a little bit. He feels very much out of his depth, here, in his club, with his campaign notes strewn around, with his closest friends, and-and Steve Harrington? Granted, Dustin has been babbling his ear off about Steve, how awesome he is and the like; not that Eddie believed it for a second since it seemed like a highly idealized big-brother situation at best. But here he is, the King himself. Doing – what exactly?

No, he can make it work. He can, really. He’s made it out of situations much more awkward than this.

Steve wouldn’t beat him up in front of a kid, right?

Right?

Though, considering the amount of times he’s seen Steve Harrington walking around school with his face punched in, Eddie’s not so sure the guy knows how to actually win a fight.

Eddie definitely doesn’t, and so he’s not going to push it. Too much.

He’s curious, is the thing. It’s tempting, very tempting, to poke the bear - just a little bit. It’s not every day that the former King of Hawkins High enters your humble abode, not with snot-nosed freshmen trailing after him like he’s their personal hero (and yes, that does include Mini Wheeler, even though he’d surely throw a fit if Eddie as much as implied it). Steve Harrington should feel more out of place, surrounded by everything his former so-called ‘King’ persona would mock outright not even two or three years ago but, somehow, he does not and the thought weighs down on Eddie’s gut. He’s not sure if it’s dread or adrenaline yet.

So, in the end, Eddie does what he does best - he acts.

“We are, indeed, in dire need of a player,” he laments, clutching at his heart and leaning his head back. Tilting his head to the side, gazing at Harrington almost upside down, he smirks. “Why, has the king himself decided to join us this fine evening?”

Harrington rolls his eyes in response, brow twitching, but Eddie doesn’t mind. This is normal, expected. Usually accompanied with an insult of sorts but he can really do without one, and so he’s silently grateful. Small victories and all that motivational shit.

So. Here’s the thing.

Steve Harrington actually knows the basics (“I did all the work!” “Yes, Dustin, we know.”). First thing the poor jock (ex-jock?) does is fling a half-filled out character sheet in Eddie’s face with a proud glint in his eye which he does not find endearing at all – he does not, stop laughing, Gareth, for fuck’s sake-. Things get worse from there. Steve’s adorably confused through most of the three-hour playthrough, terribly, tragically unimaginative with the way he makes his choices, but he pays attention, or at least tries to, which is a lot more than Eddie has expected of him.

And, fuck, it’s attractive. It’s embarrassing as it is, to fall for a jock, Steve Harrington of all people at that. But then the guy turns out not to be a complete and utter douche? It’s confusing but exhilarating, in a way, makes Eddie want to push and poke and want. Eddie’s not a brave person, he’ll be first to admit that, but he sees Harrington’s confused pout or tentative smile and is tempted to do something utterly stupid and reckless, like kiss him, for example. And isn’t that a thought. A dangerous and foolish one, but a thought that clings to him the whole evening nonetheless.

Eddie can’t help the sigh of relief the moment Steve Harrington leaves the Hellfire Club with a wave and red-splotchy cheeks, throwing out a loose ‘see you around, Munson’ at the door. See you never, hopefully, he muses, if not a bit unkindly. Because Steve Harrington makes him feel confused and scared and hopeful and he wants more after only a few hours – and he knows, God, he knows, that could never happen. He and Harrington belong to two different worlds, two clashing ecosystems and it was nice, for an evening, but they’d always be just out of reach of each other.

Tomorrow, he’ll drive by Family Video and think nothing of it. In a week Steve would be waiting outside the school to pick up the little rascals and they will not talk.

A month from now, Chrissy Cunningham will die in Eddie Munson’s trailer.

Come find me at InsertACreativeNameHere__SlavicViking on ao3

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #st #pre-season 4 #my writing

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