#master stranger protocols

[innominaterifter]

You can fall madly in love with someone and let them into your heart, but the Worm was there before and will remain forever.

Or

How the Worm saved my friend from a dangerous man.

I'll tell you the story. My friend really loves Worm (who doesn't?) and its sequel Ward. She especially likes Victoria Dallon, aka Antares. It's funny that my friend's name is also Victoria (however, this could also have influenced the emergence of a feeling of kinship with the character).

Some time ago, my friend started to communicate less often, started skipping workouts, and I asked her if everything was okay.

She said that everything was fine. She just had a crush on a guy and was trying to spend more time with him. It was weird because it was so different from her usual attitude towards training (she hadn't had this with her other crushes). We talked a little more, and I found her general behavior strange and out of character.

I made the assumption that if nothing had changed in her life except for the appearance of this person, then he was the reason for the change in her behavior. I decided to observe the development of events, maintaining contact and not expressing my suspicions so as not to cause rejection.

I managed to learn more about this guy and even keep an eye on him at a meeting with a friend and mutual acquaintances. Overall, I had enough red flags to confidently identify his behavior as abusive and dangerous.

I decided to talk to my friend about it. I made a list of red flags that I noticed in him and uncharacteristic behavior patterns in her. I also prepared a list of red flags that are characteristic of abusive behavior and signs of the abuser's influence on the victim's behavior. And I highlighted the points that matched in both lists (and there were a lot of them!).

I was confident that I had crafted my message well. I had made a point of eliminating anything that could be perceived as bias or attacks on him. There was no bias in the message, no insults to this person, and no subjective interpretations. There were only and exclusively facts and a list of abusive behaviors for cross comparison.

Well...

I clearly didn't expect such a reaction from her. There were a lot of emotions, a lot of resentment, a lot of hurtful words addressed to me and the desire to stop communicating with me expressed at the end.

I didn't have time to answer before she blocked me. And literally, 5 minutes later, a message came from her boyfriend, where he wrote that he didn't want me to communicate with his girlfriend, that I was toxic, paranoid, and generally crazy. Well, and some other very personal things that I said to my friend, but not to him.

This hit me hard. I felt total injustice, ingratitude and betrayal towards myself. I won't describe my thoughts here, but besides everything else, there was strong anger and a desire to hurt both him and her in return. But then the skills of self-observation and self-control kicked in, I exhaled and took a break.

As a result, I decided to try to reach my friend again. But even just contacting her turned out to be a difficult task: she banned me everywhere, didn’t come to training, and I didn’t want to pass it on through a third party, as this could cause even more rejection on her part.

I knew where she lived and could have just approached her on the street. But I figured that might be perceived as stalking, which would certainly not endear her to my words.

Moreover, it turned out that her boyfriend now lives with her, and she practically never appears anywhere without his accompaniment.

I considered the option of targeting him instead of her but decided to leave it as Plan B.

I decided to leave a message for her in one of the places she visited on her own, without that guy. One of those places was a cafe she went to when she needed to work on her laptop. She had mentioned that cafe in a conversation once, and I decided to check if she still went there. As it turned out, she did. But now that guy was coming there with her and coming back for her when she needed to leave.

I decided to give her a note through the barista and asked they to do it only when she was alone, without her boyfriend. The barista looked at me and asked only one question: "Is it that bad?" I answered: "I'm sure it is, but I think she can handle it. She's really smart and strong."

I thought for a long time about what to write in the note. It was actually a difficult question because what seemed to me to be the ideal and logical choice did not work. Moreover, it caused rejection and a break in contacts.

I was also sure that her boyfriend had done his best to destroy her connections with her friends, creating a prejudice against any criticism that anyone might say about him and the destructiveness of their relationship.

Thus, any message from me, any of my arguments, thoughts, and attempts will initially be perceived by her as coming from a hostile object. So what should I do in this situation? Well, I had an idea.

To get past these defense protocols, I needed to reach out through something that wasn't marked as hostile to her. Something she loved, liked, and trusted. Something that made her feel warm inside.

At the same time, something that would help her to turn to those qualities of hers that she needs in this situation: reason, analysis, and logic.

And I knew what it could be.

I composed the message based on this. The message was not long; I was afraid that she might stop reading as soon as she realized that it was from me. So I had to compress the whole meaning into just a couple of lines so that they would have time to penetrate her mind at a glance. Such a nam-shub, you know.

Also, when I handed the note to the barista, I dressed differently than usual so that my friend wouldn’t immediately understand who the note was from if she asked the barista who gave it to them.

I am not a fan of strict style, I almost never wear it, and that is why I decided to use it in this situation. I have one black suit with a white dress shirt and a black tie.

To make my hair less noticeable, I pulled it up into a ponytail and used contact lenses instead of glasses. When I looked at myself in the mirror before heading out, I realized that this look needed one important detail to be complete. I'll be honest, I was giggling while adding this detail.

I came to the cafe, had that conversation with the barista that I mentioned above, left a note, and left the establishment. I had an idea to stay and watch from the side, but firstly, I didn’t know when exactly my friend would be there, and secondly, there was a risk that she would see me and recognize me. And hanging around on the street, staring at the cafe window - that’s a bit too much, don’t you think?

So I left, crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.

Four days have passed since then, and guess what? Today my friend called me! Her voice sounded muffled and nervous, but how happy I was to hear her!

She said a little, literally it was "Um, hi, it's me... I know I was rude to you, and I'm really sorry, but... maybe we could meet and talk? There's really some shit going on."

Of course I said yes, we will see each other soon and I hope everything will be ok.

P.S. What was in the note? Literally, these lines:

“Follow the protocols,” he said.  “You’re compromised.  You know you just interacted with a strong Master.  Your team’s at stake.  Master stranger protocols.”

— Ward, Gleaming – 9.3

Vicky, you are actually in contact with a strong Master. Use the protocols, please. I am available at any time."

[thepariahcontinuum]

Are you really writing Victoria Dallon if you don't manage to work the phrase "Master Stranger Protocols" into a fic somewhere.

[tulipatheticee]

Hi! I had an idea of Eloise x fem reader, reader being Queen Charlotte’s daughter. They get caught together, and readers mother suggests marriage. With that Eloise and reader start the acceptance of the same sex love/marriage.

love story e.b

eloise bridgerton x queen charlottes daughter! reader

synopsis; In the heart of Regency London, Princess Y/N, daughter of Queen Charlotte, and Eloise Bridgerton find themselves entangled in a clandestine romance amidst the glittering balls and gossip of high society. Their love defies conventions and faces scrutiny, ultimately prompting Queen Charlotte to propose a marriage that could change society's perception of same-sex love forever.

word count; 5.3k

master list

a/n; i went a little ham on this one, i was not joking when i said wlw unlocks something inside of me

as always, kinda proof read, kinda not :p

So I sneak out to the garden to see you

We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew

So close your eyes

Escape this town for a little while, oh oh

In the bustling midst of London’s social season, Queen Charlotte's daughter, Princess y/n, found herself at the centre of attention. Raised amidst the pomp and protocol of high society, she was no stranger to the expectations placed upon her. Attending debutante events was simply another facet of her role as the queen's daughter—a duty performed with grace and an impeccably polished facade.

It was at one such event, a gathering of debutantes adorned in their finest, where y/n first noticed her. Eloise Bridgerton, amidst the sea of hopefuls vying for attention, stood out not just for her striking beauty but for an air of defiance that seemed to hover around her like an invisible shield. Eloise, with her quick wit and sharp tongue, had garnered a reputation as the most outspoken and unconventional of the Bridgerton siblings—a title she wore proudly, much to her mother Violet's simultaneous exasperation and admiration.

From across the room, y/n observed as Eloise engaged in animated conversation with other debutantes. There was a sparkle in her eye and a hint of mischief in her smile that drew y/n's attention irresistibly. Eloise's laughter, free and unbridled, cut through the polite chatter of the event like a breath of fresh air in a stuffy room. For a moment, y/n found herself captivated, her gaze lingering longer than was strictly polite.

Meanwhile, Eloise, amidst the whirl of introductions and compliments, couldn't help but notice the queen's daughter. Elegant and composed, y/n exuded a quiet confidence that commanded attention without demanding it. Unlike the other debutantes who fluttered around Eloise, y/n stood apart, observing with an intensity that hinted at a keen intellect beneath her composed exterior.

Their eyes met briefly across the room—a fleeting moment charged with unspoken curiosity and intrigue. It was a simple exchange, unnoticed by the swirling crowd around them but leaving an indelible impression on both Eloise and y/n. In that brief encounter, something stirred, a silent recognition that hinted at possibilities yet unexplored.

The grand presentation at the Palace was a spectacle to behold. The ballroom was adorned with glittering chandeliers and opulent decorations, filled with the crème de la crème of London society. Eloise stood in line, fidgeting with her gloves as she prepared to be introduced. Her mother gave her a reassuring smile.

“Stand tall, Eloise,” Violet whispered. “This is your moment.”

As Eloise stepped forward, she caught a clearer sight of Princess Y/N, standing beside her mother. Their eyes met once again across the room, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Y/N’s gaze was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the intimidating grandeur of the palace. Eloise felt an inexplicable pull towards her, something she couldn’t quite understand.

Just as Eloise was about to be presented, the attention of the room shifted abruptly. The queens guards charging through the doors, whispers of “Lady Whistledown '' spread like wildfire, next thing you know, the queen is declaring she's seen enough and everyone is dismissed and Eloise found herself relieved of the spotlight as gossip overtook the ceremony. The mysterious writer had once again stolen the show, and Eloise couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the diversion.

'Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet"

But you were everything to me

I was beggin' you, "Please don't go, " and I said

The opulent ballroom of Lady Danbury's estate shimmered with the flicker of candlelight and the murmur of polite conversation. Eloise Bridgerton, dressed in an exquisite gown of deep emerald silk that Lady Danbury had insisted upon, moved gracefully amidst the crowd, her gaze sweeping over the assembly of London's elite.

The event was a dazzling affair, attended by the highest echelons of society, each guest meticulously adorned in their finest attire. Yet amidst the glittering array of guests, Eloise's eyes sought out a familiar figure—Princess y/n, who stood with Queen Charlotte, radiating an air of quiet elegance that set her apart from the throng of debutantes.

Eloise couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation in her chest as she made her way towards y/n, navigating the maze of guests with practiced ease. Her heart raced with a mixture of nerves and excitement, unsure of how their conversation at Queen Charlotte's debutante event would influence their interaction tonight.

Meanwhile, y/n observed the revelry with a regal composure, her gaze occasionally drifting towards Eloise amidst the swirl of dancers and the lilting strains of the orchestra. The princess was acutely aware of the scrutiny she faced as Queen Charlotte’s daughter—the expectations of duty and decorum that shadowed her every move. Yet amidst the splendour of the ballroom, y/n found herself drawn to Eloise’s spirited presence and unguarded authenticity. 

Violet Bridgerton, determined to secure another diamond among her brood, guided Eloise through the throng of guests towards the queen and y/n. Eloise, begrudgingly adorned in an elegant gown befitting her station, maintained a facade of polite disinterest as Violet introduced her to the queen and her daughter.

"Your Majestys, may I present my daughter, Eloise Bridgerton," Violet announced with practised grace.

Y/n, acknowledging the introduction with a nod, offered a polite smile that barely concealed her curiosity. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Bridgerton," she greeted eloquently, her voice carrying a warmth that belied her royal stature.

Eloise, though outwardly composed, felt a rush of nerves mingled with an unexpected flutter of excitement. She had anticipated the formality of the introduction, yet y/n's presence seemed to alter the air around her, making her acutely aware of every gesture and fleeting expression.

"Likewise, Your Highness," Eloise replied with a hint of her trademark wit, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Though I must admit, I am more accustomed to lively debates than royal audiences."

Y/n's smile widened subtly, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I look forward to those debates, Miss Bridgerton," she replied in kind, a gentle challenge underlying her words.

The exchange, though brief, left an impression on both women. For Eloise, accustomed to the constraints of societal expectations, y/n represented a refreshing departure—an enigma wrapped in regal poise and quiet strength. And for y/n, intrigued by Eloise's spirited demeanor and quick intellect, the encounter ignited a curiosity that lingered long after the ball had ended.

Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone

I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run

You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess

It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"

As the evening progressed, Eloise and y/n’s paths collided again near the elaborate dessert table adorned with crystal bowls of sugared fruits and delicate pastries. Eloise, emboldened by Lady Danbury’s encouraging nod from across the room, approached y/n with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, nerves tingling beneath her skin.

“Your Highness,” Eloise greeted warmly, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness despite her best efforts to appear composed.

y/n turned towards Eloise with a gracious smile, her eyes alight with genuine interest. “Miss Bridgerton,” y/n replied with a nod of acknowledgment, noting the subtle tension in Eloise’s stance.

Their conversation flowed with the ease of familiarity yet tinged with the underlying currents of unspoken desire and mutual intrigue. They exchanged pleasantries about the music, the decorations, and the latest society gossip, each word carrying a weight of unspoken meaning that hung between them like an invisible thread.

Eloise, ever the conversationalist, couldn’t resist steering the discussion towards a topic that had intrigued her since their first meeting. “Your Highness, I must admit, I found your observations on the latest literary sensation quite captivating,” she remarked, her tone light yet tinged with curiosity.

y/n chuckled softly, appreciating Eloise’s intellect and the genuine interest she showed in their previous conversation. “Ah, but Miss Bridgerton, I fear my views on literature may not always align with conventional wisdom,” y/n replied with a playful glint in her eyes.

Eloise leaned in slightly, her gaze locking with y/n’s in a moment of shared understanding. “Isn’t that the beauty of literature, Your Highness? It allows us to explore different perspectives and challenge our own beliefs,” she countered, her voice laced with a mixture of admiration and genuine curiosity.

Their banter continued late into the night, punctuated by shared laughter and stolen glances that hinted at a connection deeper than mere friendship. For Eloise, y/n represented a kindred spirit—a beacon of hope amidst the rigid expectations of London society. She found herself drawn to y/n’s quiet strength and unwavering authenticity, traits that resonated deeply with Eloise’s own aspirations and struggles.

In those stolen moments between dances, y/n found herself captivated by Eloise’s infectious enthusiasm and fierce determination. She admired Eloise’s courage to challenge societal norms and speak her mind, qualities that set her apart from the polished facades of London’s debutantes.

As the evening drew to a close, Eloise reluctantly bid y/n farewell with a promise to meet again soon. Their parting left y/n with a lingering warmth in her heart—a feeling that defied the constraints of duty and hinted at the possibility of something more.

Romeo, save me, they're tryna tell me how to feel

This love is difficult, but it's real

Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess

It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"

Eloise and y/n found themselves entangled in a web of conflicting emotions and societal expectations. Despite the undeniable chemistry that sparked between them at Lady Danbury's grand ball, both struggled to come to terms with their growing attraction.

In the days that followed the ball, Eloise couldn't shake the memory of y/n's enchanting smile and the way her eyes lit up with intelligence and charm. She found herself stealing glances at y/n across crowded ballrooms, each stolen glance fueling a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Meanwhile, y/n wrestled with her own tumultuous emotions. As Queen Charlotte's daughter, she was keenly aware of the scrutiny her actions faced. The prospect of scandal and disgrace haunted her thoughts, casting a shadow over her budding friendship with Eloise.

Their paths crossed again at another glittering social event, where Violet Bridgerton, ever the matchmaker, introduced Eloise to y/n in hopes of sparking a connection. Eloise's heart raced as she exchanged pleasantries with y/n, their conversation laced with a subtle undercurrent of tension and curiosity.

Later that evening, as they found themselves alone in a quiet corner of the ballroom, y/n couldn't help but voice her uncertainties. "Miss Bridgerton, do you ever feel... conflicted?" she asked tentatively, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.

Eloise hesitated, her mind racing with unspoken thoughts. "I... I suppose I do," she admitted softly, her gaze searching y/n's face for any sign of understanding. "This world we live in—it's so... unforgiving."

y/n nodded in silent agreement, her fingers nervously toying with the fabric of her gown. "Sometimes I wonder if... if we're meant to feel this way," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eloise reached out, her touch gentle yet reassuring. "I don't have all the answers, Princess," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "But I know that when I'm with you, everything feels... different."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Danbury, who swept y/n away to greet other guests. Eloise watched as Lady Danbury whisked y/n away, her heart sinking with each step that carried them farther apart. Alone in the bustling ballroom, she found herself drawn to a quiet alcove, seeking refuge from the swirl of conversations and glittering chandeliers.

Leaning against a draped curtain, Eloise closed her eyes and let out a quiet sigh. Thoughts of y/n consumed her mind, their unfinished conversation lingering like an unspoken promise in the air.

She traced the intricate pattern of her gown absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting back to y/n's earnest question. Do you ever feel... conflicted? And back to her own comment before the conversation ended, when I'm with you, everything feels... different. How would y/n have responded to that? Did she feel the same way, or was Eloise's heart leading her down a path fraught with uncertainty?

The memory of y/n's smile flickered in her mind—the way it lit up the room, reaching out to Eloise like a beacon in the darkness of societal expectations. They had danced around the edges of something profound, something that could alter the course of their lives forever.

Lost in her reverie, Eloise was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to find Benedict Bridgerton, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Sister, are you all right?" he asked gently, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

Eloise managed a faint smile, though her heart still raced with unanswered questions. "I'm fine, Benedict," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "Just... lost in thought."

Benedict studied her for a moment, his gaze searching. "Is it about the Princess?" he ventured cautiously, knowing his sister well enough to sense when something weighed heavily on her mind.

Eloise nodded slowly, unable to suppress a sigh. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "We were... talking. About feelings, I suppose."

Benedict arched an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Feelings?" he echoed, prompting Eloise to elaborate.

"I told her... how I feel when I'm with her," Eloise confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "But then Lady Danbury interrupted us, and I never got to find out how she feels."

Understanding dawned in Benedict's eyes as he took in Eloise's words. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Eloise, you know what they say about the young Princess," he said gently. "She's smart, perceptive. She'll understand."

Eloise managed a weak smile, grateful for her brother's reassurance. "I hope so," she murmured, her thoughts still lingering on y/n's last words to her.

As the ballroom bustled around them, Benedict offered his arm to Eloise. "Shall we join the others?" he suggested, his tone lightening with an attempt to lift her spirits.

Eloise nodded, drawing a deep breath to steady herself. "Yes, let's," she agreed, linking her arm with Benedict's. Together, they returned to the lively gathering, though Eloise's thoughts remained with y/n—wondering, hoping, and silently yearning for their next conversation.

I got tired of waiting

Wondering' if you were ever comin' around

My faith in you was fading

When I met you on the outskirts of town, and I said

Days passed after the interrupted conversation at Lady Danbury's ball, each one stretching with anticipation and uncertainty for Eloise. She found herself eagerly attending every social event in hopes of catching another glimpse of y/n, her heart skipping a beat whenever their paths crossed across the crowded rooms.

It was at a smaller, more intimate gathering hosted by the Featheringtons that Eloise finally saw y/n again. The evening was alive with music and laughter, the air fragrant with the scent of gardenias and the promise of summer.

Eloise stood near the refreshment table, feigning interest in the punch bowl as she discreetly watched y/n across the room. y/n was engaged in conversation with Dowager Violet Bridgerton, their laughter mingling with the tinkling of crystal glasses.

Summoning her courage, Eloise took a deep breath and approached them. "Excuse me, Mama,  may I steal the Princess away for a moment?" she asked politely, her voice betraying none of the nervousness fluttering in her chest.

Violets eyes flickered mischievously as she glanced knowingly between Eloise and y/n. "Of course, Eloise," she replied with a knowing smile. "Take her—though I warn you, Her Royal Highness has been entertaining us all evening with her wit."

Eloise felt a rush of relief and gratitude towards her mother as y/n turned towards her, her expression lighting up with surprise and delight. "Miss Bridgerton," y/n greeted warmly, setting down her glass to face her fully. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

Eloise swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling the weight of her confession at Lady Danbury's ball. But still she continued to escort the Princess through the crowd until they were outside in the garden, under the nights sky, completely alone.

 "I wanted to apologise for our conversation being cut short," she began earnestly, meeting y/n's gaze with sincerity. "I... I meant what I said. About how I feel when I'm with you."

y/n's smile softened, her eyes holding a hint of something that made Eloise's heart skip a beat. "Miss Bridgerton,,," y/n replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper amidst the lively chatter around them. "I've been thinking about that conversation too."

Relief flooded through Eloise as she took a step closer to y/n, their proximity sparking a warmth that spread through her veins. "Really?" she asked, unable to contain the hope in her voice.

y/n nodded, her expression gentle yet filled with a quiet intensity that mirrored Eloise's own feelings. "Yes, really," she confirmed, her hand reaching out to gently touch Eloise's arm. "I didn't get to answer then, but... I feel something too."

Eloise's heart soared at y/n's words, her fears and uncertainties momentarily forgotten in the rush of emotions. "I'm glad," she murmured softly, her gaze locked with y/n's. "I wasn't sure how you'd feel, or... if we could even..."

Before she could finish, y/n leaned in closer, her lips brushing against Eloise's cheek in a tender gesture that sent a shiver down Eloise's spine. "I want to find out," y/n whispered, her breath warm against Eloise's ear. "If we could be something more."

Eloise's breath caught in her throat as she gazed into y/n's eyes, seeing her own hopes reflected back at her. Without hesitation, she reached up to cup y/n's cheek, her thumb caressing the soft skin beneath her touch. "I want that too, Your Highness" Eloise admitted softly, her voice filled with newfound courage and longing.

Y/N smilied, her eyes lighting up. “Please, call me Y/N. Titles are so tiresome, don’t you think?”

Eloise laughed softly. “Very much so. I find this entire season tiresome.”

In that stolen moment amidst the music and the soft glow of candlelight, Eloise and y/n leaned closer together, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken promises and the beginning of a love that dared to defy convention.

As they pulled away, breathless and smiling, Eloise felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Here, in the embrace of y/n's presence, she found not only acceptance but also the beginning of a journey she never dared to imagine—a journey of love, bravery, and the courage to be true to oneself.

They walked together in the garden, the conversation flowing easily. Eloise was captivated by Y/N’s intelligence and wit, and Y/N found Eloise’s rebellious spirit refreshing. As days turned into weeks, their friendship deepened, but so did the confusion. Can this go on forever?

Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone

I keep waiting for you, but you never come

Is this in my head? I don't know what to think

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the gardens of Bridgerton House. Eloise and y/n sat side by side on the swings, their feet lightly touching the ground, pushing back and forth in a gentle rhythm. The air was filled with the scent of blooming roses and the distant hum of London’s bustle, now just a distant murmur.

"I never imagined finding such peace in the heart of London," y/n remarked softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she swayed back and forth. Her eyes wandered over the garden, where vibrant blooms danced in the gentle breeze, their colours vivid against the backdrop of the setting sun.

Eloise, her legs stretched out in front of her, kicked lightly against the earth to keep the swing moving. "It's my favourite place to escape," she said, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced at y/n. "Thank you for visiting me here."

Y/n turned to Eloise, her gaze filled with an unspoken tenderness. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity. She reached out, her hand finding Eloise’s, their fingers intertwining effortlessly. The simple touch sent a jolt of warmth through them, grounding them in their shared moment.

A comfortable silence settled over them, the only sounds the creak of the swings and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Eloise closed her eyes for a moment, savouring the serenity of the garden and the presence of y/n beside her.

"Do you ever wonder what the future holds for us?" y/n asked softly, her voice filled with curiosity as she turned to Eloise, who was still lost in the quiet of the moment.

Eloise opened her eyes, her gaze drifting towards the horizon where the sun was painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. "I used to worry about it," she admitted, her fingers absently tracing patterns on y/n’s palm. "But now... I like to think that as long as we're together, we can face anything."

Y/n's smile was gentle, her eyes reflecting the twilight’s colours as she leaned her head against Eloise’s shoulder. "I believe that too," she murmured, her voice steady with a quiet confidence. "We'll navigate this world together, Eloise."

In the tranquil embrace of Bridgerton House's garden, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the blossoming love between them, Eloise and y/n found solace in each other’s company. The swings moved back and forth, a gentle testament to their growing bond, anchoring them in a love that defied expectations and embraced the courage to live authentically.

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring

And said, "Marry me, Juliet

You'll never have to be alone

One afternoon in the opulent drawing room of the palace, y/n sat with Eloise, their conversation light and filled with quiet laughter. The warmth of the fire crackled in the background, casting flickering shadows on the richly adorned walls. Y/n leaned close to Eloise, sharing a private moment, both girls peppering kisses over each other's faces, enjoying the feeling of being in each other's embraces. 

Unbeknownst to them, Queen Charlotte had returned earlier than expected, her steps muffled by the thick carpet. She paused in the doorway, her sharp eyes catching the intimate exchange between y/n and Eloise. For a moment, she simply observed, her mind racing with the implications.

"Miss Bridgerton!" Queen Charlotte's voice cut through the air, startling both young women. Eloise turned pale, her heart sinking as she realised they had been caught. Y/n sat frozen, her eyes wide with apprehension.

"Mother," y/n stammered, attempting to gather her thoughts. "I can explain—"

Queen Charlotte held up a hand, her expression unreadable. "There is no need for explanations, my dear. It seems the situation has clarified itself." She stepped further into the room, her gaze shifting between y/n and Eloise.

Eloise stood, her nerves taut with uncertainty. "Your Majesty, please understand—"

"I understand more than you might realise," Queen Charlotte interrupted gently, her tone softening slightly. She approached Eloise, studying her with a discerning eye. "Miss Bridgerton, do you care for my daughter?"

Eloise swallowed hard, meeting Queen Charlotte's gaze squarely. "Yes, Your Majesty," she admitted, her voice steady despite her nerves.

"And you, y/n?" Queen Charlotte turned to her daughter, her expression softening. "How do you feel about Miss Bridgerton?"

Eloise hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Mother, I... I care for Eloise deeply. More than I ever thought possible."

Queen Charlotte nodded, her features reflecting a mix of concern and contemplation. "Love comes in many forms," she said finally, her voice carrying wisdom earned through years of navigating societal expectations. "It is clear to me that your feelings are genuine."

Eloise blinked back tears, overwhelmed by her mother's unexpected understanding. Y/n reached out, gently squeezing Eloise's hand in silent support.

“But regardless, you both are participating in acts only those who are married should be. I will not accept a scandal.”

"Mama, what should we do? We can’t imagine life apart!" y/n asked, her voice tinged with hope and apprehension.

Queen Charlotte smiled softly, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Perhaps it is time we consider a different kind of arrangement," she mused, her mind already formulating a plan. "One that will allow you both to live authentically, without the confines of societal scandals, the only right choice in these conditions." She paused (dramatic effect no?)

“Marriage.”

And so, in that serene drawing room of the palace, a new chapter began for y/n and Eloise—a chapter marked by acceptance, love, and the courage to challenge tradition.

I love you and that's all I really know

I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress

It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"

In the warm, inviting drawing room of Bridgerton House, Eloise nervously clasped y/n's hand. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, adding an air of solemnity to the moment. Around them, the Bridgertons—Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Daphne, and the younger siblings—gathered, curiosity etched on their faces.

Eloise took a deep breath, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "I... We have something to share," she began, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

Anthony, ever the observant eldest brother, arched an eyebrow. "Go on, Eloise. What is it?"

Eloise glanced at y/n, drawing strength from their presence. "y/n and I... We've decided to take a step forward together. We're engaged."

There was a collective gasp of surprise from her family. Daphne's eyes widened, her hand instinctively reaching for Benedict's. Benedict leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. Colin adjusted himself, trying to process the unexpected news.

With the initial shock beginning to subside, the Bridgertons exchanged bewildered glances, each processing the news in their own way.

"Wait, you two are... engaged?" Colin asked, his voice filled with surprise.

Daphne, recovering from her initial shock, spoke gently. "But... how? I mean, are you even allowed to... marry?"

Eloise smiled, a touch of defiance in her eyes. "Yes, Daphne. Queen Charlotte herself has given us her blessing."

Colin, adjusting to the news, nodded thoughtfully. "I see. It's certainly unconventional, but if Her Majesty approves..."

Anthony, ever the pragmatist, chimed in. "Well, then. It seems we are in uncharted territory, but as long as you're both certain..."

Eloise and y/n exchanged a glance, their bond palpable. "We are," y/n affirmed softly.

"Eloise, are you certain about this?" Francesca asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Eloise nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Yes, Francesca. I've never been more certain about anything in my life."

Benedict, always the voice of reason, spoke up next. "Well, this is quite unexpected, but if it's what makes you both happy..."

Hyacinth interjected, unable to contain her excitement. "Eloise, this is incredible news! I didn't think you'd ever settle down."

Anthony, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. "Eloise, Princess Y/N, if this is your decision, then you have my support. Always."

Eloise squeezed y/n's hand tighter, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. "Thank you, Anthony."

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere shifted from confusion to acceptance. The Bridgertons, while initially taken aback, found themselves embracing Eloise and y/n's decision. It was a moment that marked not only a new chapter in Eloise's life but also a testament to the changing times—a time when love was beginning to transcend boundaries and expectations.

Outside, the bustling city of London continued its rhythmic pulse, unaware of the quiet revolution unfolding within the walls of Bridgerton House—a revolution led by two hearts brave enough to defy convention and choose love, in all its unexpected forms.

'Cause we were both young when I first saw you

Eloise stood by the window of their home, gazing out at the bustling streets of London. It had been nearly a year since their marriage, and the city seemed to hum with a different energy. Change was in the air, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in what she and y/n had accomplished together.

The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Beside her, y/n stirred in their sleep, their features softened in the gentle dawn. Eloise smiled fondly, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from y/n's face. They had been through so much together—the secret glances, the stolen kisses, the fear of discovery—and yet, here they were, stronger than ever.

Their marriage had sparked conversations across London society. Some viewed it with curiosity, others with disdain, but Eloise and y/n had found unexpected allies among their peers. Lady Danbury, always a force to be reckoned with, had become a staunch supporter, using her influence to deflect any lingering whispers of scandal.

As Eloise reflected on their journey, she couldn't help but marvel at how far they had come. They had faced challenges and uncertainties, but through it all, their love had remained steadfast. They had created a sanctuary within their home, where they could be themselves without fear of judgement or reprisal.

Outside, the city continued to wake up to a new day. Carriages rumbled past, merchants called out their wares, and London life carried on its bustling rhythm. Eloise turned back to y/n, watching as they stirred awake, their eyes fluttering open to meet hers.

"Good morning," y/n murmured, their voice still laced with sleep.

"Good morning," Eloise replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to y/n's lips. They shared a quiet moment together, the warmth of their embrace speaking volumes where words fell short.

"I never imagined we'd be here," y/n whispered, their fingers tracing patterns on Eloise's cheek.

"Neither did I," Eloise admitted, her heart swelling with emotion. "But I wouldn't change a thing."

They lay entwined in each other's arms, basking in the simple joy of being together. Outside, the city continued its daily hustle, but in their sanctuary, time seemed to stand still.

In the weeks and months that followed, Eloise and y/n continued to navigate their newfound roles as partners in life and advocates for change. They attended social events hand in hand, their presence a quiet yet powerful statement of love and acceptance. Through their actions, they hoped to pave the way for others who dared to love outside of society's conventions.

Occasionally, they would steal moments alone, away from the prying eyes of society, to remind themselves of the bond they shared. Whether it was a quiet evening at home or a stolen kiss in a secluded corner of a ballroom, every moment together reaffirmed their commitment to each other.

Their love story became a beacon of hope for those who yearned for acceptance and understanding. Slowly but surely, attitudes began to shift. Families whispered their support in drawing rooms, friends offered quiet encouragement over tea, and London society found itself grappling with the idea that love knew no boundaries.

As the years passed, Eloise and y/n's love story continued to unfold, weaving itself into the fabric of London's history. They faced challenges and triumphs together, building a life filled with laughter, companionship, and unwavering devotion.

Eloise often found herself marvelling at the resilience of y/n, their strength and determination a constant source of inspiration. Together, they navigated the complexities of societal expectations and personal desires, forging a path that defied tradition and embraced love in its purest form.

And so, in the quiet moments before dawn, as the city stirred awake outside their window, Eloise held y/n close, knowing that their love had not only changed their lives but had also left an indelible mark on the world around them.

I did not plan the lyrics around an epilogue and ran out HAHA oopsie

a/npt2; AHHH how did you guys feel about this, i tried to mot make it rushed i really wanted to start from the beginging and build their realtionship in a way a oneshot can, ive been considering writing a story once im done with these requests so we can get some better romance building then!!

[deadsetobsessions]

This is based off of that one tiktok from @sorruna where it’s the audio from Spider-Man: Into the Spider-verse.

——

Dick Grayson was a sneaky, intelligent little shit.

He was also dumb. These things are not mutually exclusive.

To this day, one of his best kept secrets- one of the many, many that he had now- was something he’d take to his grave.

Or to Jason’s grave, at least.

Dick sat down and began telling the story to ears that would never truly hear it.

——

Batman’s voice rumbled behind him as Dick, in his Robin suit, stood blankly on top of a roof.

“I know you snuck out last night, Robin.”

Dick froze, train of thought about his dinner derailed. Holy busted, Batman! Quick! Play dumb!

“Who’s Robin?” He asked, the years of performing in front of a large crowd coming to save his ass.

Not that dumb!

Batman sent him a dry look, reprimand already poised on his lips. Dick, however, was nothing but a good performer. Nay, a dedicated performer.

Quick! Do something out of character! He shouted at himself, panicking visibly. He stepped backwards, an idea appearing in his head. In his defense, it sounded like an amazing idea at the time. He had no idea it would blow up into a Justice League issue. If he had known… Dick would have lied better, probably. There was no way he was going to let B bench him for weeks!

“Who the fuck are you?!” He yelped. Dick apologized mentally to Alfred and his parents. Batman paused, stunned.

“That’s my question. Who are you?!” Bruce asked, immediately hostile. His son doesn’t curse. Well, not in any normal way anyways. Dick quickly backpedaled by yelling at him with a heavy Vlax dialect, missing his parents terribly as he screamed stranger danger in rudimentary Romany. After this, he was going to have to convince Bruce to get him a language tutor. He refused to forget one of the only ties he had left to his parents.

“Wait, wait- you’re my son.” Bruce replied back, in perfect Romany. He looked more convinced but still skeptical.

“My dad is a circus performer! Not a flying rat!” Dick screeched back. He couldn’t help but feel touched about Bruce seeing him like a son.

“Oy! Keep it down out there, you assholes! Some of us like our sleep, damn!” A random Gothamite screamed out of their window.

“Yo, shut the fuck up! The vigilantes are helping to keep the rent low, motherfucker!” Another Gothamite shouted back.

….

Needless to say, Bruce quickly brought Dick back to the cave- with precautions to make sure he didn’t figure out where the Cave was if Dick was actually someone else.

——

“You would have loved it, Little Wing. B was running around like a headless chicken. The memory loss protocol was actually made because of me, you know.” Dick chuckled, sniffling as he talked to the carved gravestone.

It did not reply.

——

The blood tests came back. Yeppers, Dick sarcastically thought, who woulda thought I’m me?

Reinforcements were called in.

Meaning, Batgirl.

“Watch him while I contact Justice League Dark.”

“You think it’s magic?” Barbara asked.

“Yes. There was no one else near our vicinity that could affect Dick like this. He has no head wounds.”

“Eesh. Okay, go. I’ll watch him.”

Bruce disappeared in his zeta tube, looking harried. So, to everyone that’s not a Bat, he looked absolutely terrifying.

“What did you get yourself into now, Boy Wonder?” Barbara sighed. Dick was careful to keep any signs of recognition out of his face.

“Stop calling me that! Where are my parents?!” He asked back. Barbara coughed and looked uncomfortably away.

That’s right, Babs. I’m pulling out the orphan card. Feel bad. Dick hid his feral grin.

“They’re… uh, busy.” Busy being dead, Barbara thought, immediately wincing at her own thoughts. Apparently, Dick thought the excuse was lame too, and he sent her an incredulous look.

“Would you like refreshments, Master Dick?”

“What?”

Alfred held out some cookies on a platter, giving Babs a quelling look as she tried to reach for his share.

“Oh, wow, these are really good!” Dick said as he shoveled cookies into his mouth. He tried to replicate the reaction he had when he tried these for the first time, and from Alfred’s satisfied look, Dick nailed it.

——

“Robin doesn’t remember who he is.” Batman rumbled as he all but dragged Zatanna and Constantine by the scuff of their jackets towards the zeta tubes.

“Hey, wait-”

“We have no time.” Batman snarled, tossing the two magic users into the zeta. He punched in the destination.

When they got there, he glared at the two magic users until they got into the cave.

“Damn, Bats. Really living up to your name, huh?”

“Not bad,” Zatanna said as she looked around.

“Robin,” Batman- Bruce- reminded them. He did a quick glance over to check on his kids, and found them satisfactorily uninjured. Though, Barbara was looking worse for wear. Bruce quickly found out why as she stalked to him.

“You deal with him.” She muttered. “I’m going home.”

Bruce blinked and nodded. “Get home safe.”

Zatanna and Constantine followed Batman as he walked towards Robin. It was odd to see the normally laughing child frown.

“It’s you! The kidnapper! Where are my parents?!”

Bruce winced which, for him, was akin to a full body flinch and recoil. No wonder Barbara was so tired.

“Fix it.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Batsy.” Constantine grumbled.

“Well help, Batman. Though… I’m not sure if he should be doing that.”

Bruce sharply turned his head back to where Dick was. Emphasis on was. Because now, he’s halfway up the giant dinosaur the Robin had insisted they keep.

“Robin, get down from there!”

“Stranger Danger!” Dick hollered back.

Batman- Bruce Wayne- sighed.

“That’s high level magic,” Zatanna hummed. “I can’t feel anything, but I know for sure that he won’t die. Magic like that either dissipates naturally or…”

“Lasts forever,” Constantine finished.

Bruce groaned, shooting off a grappling line and swooping upwards to catch Dick as he fell from the giant dinosaur.

——

“I pretended to get my memories back later,” Dick chuckled. “And pretended to forget the whole thing. Bruce was so relieved that I stopped knocking things over and trying to do cartwheels in high places that he totally forgot I snuck out.”

Dick patted the headstone.

“But between you and me? I’m pretty sure Alfred knew. I think B pissed him off that week.”

[translatemunson]

devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes • ttfd

chapter one of the tortured firefighters department

masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, description of clothes, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, proofread by my bye-lingual ass (let me know if i forgot anything)

You knocked on the white door again, not sure why you feel nervous about all of this. It’s just a small get-together at one of your coworker’s houses. For sure it’s better than spending another night in the library, writing your thesis, but it kinda makes you nervous.

So this is what life looks like when away from the screens that raised you?

From the East Coast all the way to LA to get your PhD, the city of angels was no more than a stranger on the window. Before moving, you had worked on the 9-1-1 call center for your region because the shift’s schedule could actually fit your undergrad and master’s schedule — also the money was enough to survive, and you could check your notes on slow shifts. But once after a massive power outage, your superior thought your desk was too small for your brain.

Not that you were a bad dispatcher — your responses and action times were above average, actually —, but he’d seen how you managed the data influx, pinning all the accidents, teams on call and reported issues on the white board and shouting directions for quicker routes and delay problems. After that, you’d spend more time helping fixing turnaround times and implementing some sort of algorithm and protocols for when the next disaster hits. At some point, they transferred you to Florida during the hurricane season because of your reputation — that spread like a wildfire, believe you or not.

You lasted enough to finish your master’s degree and hop on a plane to LA, for your PhD in dynamical systems theory. You had a job offer, leaving your 9-1-1 days behind for some small desk and endless boring demands. It didn’t last much, though, because, after eight months, it made you miss the adrenaline rush and large income of data from the 9-1-1.

That’s how you ended up at the Los Angeles 9-1-1 call center in Metro, always happy to jump on some calls and help other dispatchers with logistics and patterns. Nobody warned you about tsunamis or earthquakes, but you knew you could manage them just like a pro — if they ever happened again, which was a matter of time.

“Hey! I was starting to think you would bail on me!” Maddie opened the door, the genuine happiness glow irradiating and making her smile almost unbearable. “Please, come in.”

“Got caught up in traffic. Who knew the logistics mastermind would be stuck in a casual traffic jam?” You gave her the flowers you bought and held the brownie pan with both hands. “Hope I’m not too late.”

“Oh no, you arrived just in time! Here, let me take care of this,” she took the pan from your hands and motioned to the living room. “Make yourself at home. And thanks for the flowers!”

“Our last guest, finally!” Howard, aka Chim, Maddie’s boyfriend, left his place on the counter to greet you. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the voice!”

“Hope I didn’t disappoint you.” You hugged him, your extroverted persona finally happy to be in a room with real people, and not just some endless phone calls and work talk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s ok, those guys are too busy with their games to notice we are a little behind schedule. But Jee is getting hangry” He pointed to the couch, where three adults, one child and one baby were too busy with the TV screen to notice your arrival.

“I guess the kid’s table is full tonight.”

“Hey, we’ve heard that!” One of them screamed from the couch, not bothering to look in your direction. He raised his arm, the tattoos across his skin showing against his white skin, in protest.

“Nice crowd.” You followed Maddie into the kitchen, Chim’s voice in the background saying it was the last race.

“I’m so glad you’re here. Water, juice or some alcohol?” She offered while reaching for the glasses. “Oh, Chim made some Margaritas.”

“I’d love one of those, thank you.” You fixed your green dress, somehow feeling overdressed. Not exactly your fault, when Maddie invited you for dinner, you visualized all the scenarios in your mind. Afraid of looking lazy, you went for a flowy green dress and a batch of brownies, to show some appreciation.

Between Margarita sips and after work gossip — because, nowadays, your work schedules mostly were off sync —, you helped Maddie setting the table and dishes. And, as expected, one race became four, with Chim playing the commentator. Maddie took the chance to show you the houses they were applying for, making good use of Jee’s quiet bedroom to talk.

“Are the others not good enough or just too expensive?” She had been talking about house scouting for weeks, and even helped you find a new place while doing so.

“You’d be impressed to see the final price of those houses once you track all the problems.” She played with her hair. “How’ve you been doing?”

“My thesis is starting to follow me like an unwanted ghost, and work has been— no, not gonna jinx it. Moving has been a pain in the ass, but thanks for telling me about that loft. The rent is actually acceptable and the view is amazing!”

“Glad it worked for you! And don’t thank me, actually it was—”

“Hey, Mads, we’re just waiting for you two.” The tall blue eyed guy stood in the hallway and gave the door a weak tap. Oh, tattoo guy, you noticed. “Chim is destroying the dumplings Albert made and Jee is not happy with being left out of the girls reunion. You better hurry up.”

“We are right behind you, Buck.” She said, bringing you with her to the dining table.

After some quick introductions — Albert, Chim’s half-brother; Eddie and his son Christopher, and Buck, Maddie’s little brother —, you indulged in some dumplings and pork ramen. Albert was experimenting with Korean cuisine, talking about opening a restaurant and finally having enough money to move out to his own place.

“Well, I think you should do it. I’d be happy to order this every day,” you said, pointing your chopsticks to the almost empty bowl.

“Thanks– sorry, what is your name again?”

“Everyone just call me Brains.” The nickname stuck since your first major catastrophe at the call center job — and maybe a little because of your bachelor.

“Wait, I think I’ve met you before.” Eddie announced and looked at Chris. “You went to his school a few weeks ago to talk about pursuing math in college, right?”

“I did a small presentation, yeah. My professor asked me for a favor since his kids are students there, but he had a full schedule. I had a nice time with the kiddos.”

“She is super smart!” Chris shared, in his own words, a little about your presentation. Talking to the younger ones about advanced math proved to be a challenge, but once you showed them all the cool things math made possible, you had their attention.

“Why are you working on the 9-1-1 instead of, I don’t know, teaching in college?” Buck inquired, beer in hand.

“Would you believe me if I said I have an adrenaline addiction and I can’t stay away from trouble?” You pressed your lips together and shook your head.

“Oh, he would, because he was addicted to—”

Maddie slapped Chimney on the arm. “Hey, there’s two kids in the room.” 

And all eyes were on Chris, who was too busy with his noodles to notice, and Jee, playing with her bites of veggies. You laughed, leaving your empty cup on the table, and reaching for the last dumpling.

“I guess we are all addicted to something,” you stared at Buck's blue eyes and took a bite. “Maybe once I get my PhD, I’ll go full professor and find some adrenaline on handing out really hard exams. But the chances are very low.”

“You should try being part of LAFD, you might like it,” Albert suggested.

“I can barely carry my boxes upstairs, being that physical isn’t for me.” The admission made you shyly smile, because you were definitely hinting that firefighters were strong. “Math, on the other hand…”

“Please, don’t give her any more ideas! Since Brains started working with us, the dispatching process changed for the better.” Maddie brought her hands together and begged in a joking tone.

A few Margaritas and some dessert later, you were helping Maddie with the dishes while Albert played with Christopher, and Buck was holding Jee so she wouldn’t throw a tantrum. Chim asked Eddie to help with a few construction questions, feeling like he was missing some important topics while house scouting.

“I think I’m done for the night,” you told her as you closed the cabinet door. “Thanks for the invite, Maddie. You were right, I needed a break.”

“I know when I see someone on the verge of burnout.” You looked at her, the tequila making the simple action of laughing much more easier. “Let me know when you’re settled at your new place so I can get you a housewarming gift.”

“Oh please, don’t bother, Maddie. I’m sure you’re too busy with Jee and moving matters.”

“Sure you don’t want some ramen for tomorrow? Albert may be a good cook, but he has no idea of the measurements.”

“You’re sick of the smell, right?”

“A little.” She smirked.

“I guess I won’t have to worry about lunch tomorrow.” 

“Make two, Mads!” Buck approached the kitchen counter. “Leaving already, Brains?”

“Yeah, gonna finish moving to my new place tomorrow.” Maddie left the blue tupperware in front of you. “Thanks, I’ll bring it to you next wednesday.”

“Can I get more brownies?”

“Anything for my favorite dispatcher.” You looked around, opting for a quick goodbye. “It was nice to meet y’all. Again, thanks for the invite, Maddie.”

“Nice to meet you too, Brains,” Buck said, getting closer. “Hope to speak to you soon, dispatcher Brains.”

“I hope we don’t, firefighter Buckley.” You teased him. “Have a good night, guys.”

You left Maddie’s place, drove to your new place, opened the door for an empty apartment, stored the ramen in the fridge, climbed up the stairs and fell face first into your bed, shoes and all. 

If you didn’t know Maddie, you’d say she had second intentions with that dinner. 

author's note: hi guys! chapters will be short because it helps me keep the momentum with the writing (and keep the impostor's syndrome away from my efforts). also yeah i'm using TTFD as an acronym bc i choose a whole ass long title for the fic. huge shout out to my love my bestie my soulmate @munsonsreputation for always supporting me (love you kaaaay). also hi casey welcome to the 9-1-1 fandom, thank you for the endless edits on tiktok haha. i guess i see y'all next week...

[il3x]

[Average yr13 student voice*] huh. why is Regent lowkey relatable

*spent the last six months in the Burnout Static Void

Worm Fugue is the funniest phenomenon I've seen in any fandom. Like every time someone offhandedly goes "yeah I read worm super fast, took me like a week somehow" twenty other people will emerge from the woodworks to talk about how they read worm in three days, six days, ten days, just an assortment of timespans in which it's fully unreasonable to read that many words. Worm has a secret Master power that compels you to keep reading and keep reading and keep reading no matter what, although I'm kinda curious how many people actually experience the Worm Fugue so uhhh behold a poll.

[vindemiatrice]

Transphobic cape mom who declares master stranger protocols on you after coming out because "there were no signs!"

[estavionpira]

REGULAR, NORMAL HUMAN BEING: Yeah so I've been practicing the guitar for a few years now and I think I'm starting to master it!

WORM FANS: Master! MaSTER StraNGER PROTOCOLS! REGENT REGENT REGENT REGENT! I FUCKING LOVE ALEC VASIL!!

SICKOS: YES... HA HA HA... YES

[nefariousbastardgirl]

Master-Stranger Protocols: Sequester! Contain those affected! Trust no one, but work together with others, identify the changes in the subjects behaviour and identify the cause.

Blaster-Shaker Protocols:

[zarohk]

People like OP are the reason why Master-Stranger protocols were invented (complimentary)

I didn't manage to finish everything in my costume before this cosplay event, but even with what I managed to do, I'm generally satisfied.

I had fears that the security might not let me through because of the telescopic baton: the knife was dull (I ground off the cutting edge with a grinder), but the baton was in working order. I don't want to spoil a good thing that has already helped me out a couple of times.

As a result, I decided to pull one trick. I packed my things in a certain way by tying metal parts - helve and chain for attaching my fabric cloth that depicted a swarm of insects - to a backpack with cockroaches.

The backpack was divided into two compartments, one external one, which contained cockroaches, and another internal compartment, closer to the back, for personal items. And that’s where I put the telescopic baton, as well as my other things, including a tin container with food.

Thus, I had a plan consisting of several steps and when the metal detector at the entrance triggered, I went to execute them one by one.

Firstly, I arrived almost at the very beginning of the performances, and the security knew that they were about to start, which created certain time boundaries for me and them.

Of course, they could have resisted and searched more thoroughly, but in front of them was a person who looked like a cosplayer and a participant in the show, who was loaded with a bunch of equipment, and did not look threatening (of course I thought through my civil image and behavior).

People usually tend to think stereotypically, and if your appearance and behaviors generally match their idea of a certain group of people and if this group is perceived by them as not posing a threat, then they will easily attribute you to it, without really thinking about some discrepancy in details.

I needed them to perceive me as a harmless, slightly weird cosplayer (which in general is true, but it wouldn't hurt to strengthen this impression so that it reduces the chances of a more complete search and the discovery of a baton, because they definitely wouldn't let me through with a baton).

And my plan worked.

The guards looked at me condescendingly when the metal detector beeped, looked at each other, and in a bored tone they asked me to show what was in my backpack.

(to be continued a little later)

[nonplatonicsubtext]

“I am Victoria Dallon,” I told her, and I tried to sound confident, which was my mistake, because I instinctively reached for a foundation for that confidence, and I groped blindly instead. Uninvited images of a body of strays and bugs flashed through my mind. I thought of the master-stranger protocol that was technically still in place after the prison. I thought of the mosaic of identities that I’d analyzed and faced when fighting Lung, before deciding that Victoria Dallon, Glory Girl, and Antares needed to be one. That Saber, wretch, scholar, and everything else needed to fold into that. How those things had been eminently there when I’d phased into the crystal. Injured images of me, healed. Antares and Glory Girl. “Again?” she asked. “I am Victoria Dallon,” I told her, and this time I pushed those ideas out of mind. Tried to. It was like stuffing the mess of a dirty room into a closet and finding the door couldn’t shut. “I think you’re right,” she said. “You can blame the dishonest readings on a lack of personal confidence. You’re shaken.” “Not even reading a hundred percent confidence when I say my own name?” I asked. “No,” Dragon said. “Ninety percent?” I asked. I could hear that telling pause. “Eighty? Seventy?”

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Star Wars: The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x fReader

Fic Rating: E

Chapter Rating: M

AO3

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

SEVEN

A sharp intake of breath and you jolt upright as a boot digs into your side. Your landlord’s face comes into focus as you rub away sleep. The elderly woman snaps her goggles over her eyes as she hunches, nose scrunched as she squints, scrutinizing you. There’s another scream that echoes in the streets, followed by an outbreak of cacophonous commotion. Something shatters followed by a series of grunts and droid protocol interference.

Must be another fight in the trinket markets. Your panic washes away.

“Someone here to see you.” She jerks a thumb toward the hall then grunts,“Jedi.”

Panic rips you back into the undercurrent. You tumble out of your bed, noticing the cortosis helmet from your dreams as it hits the ground and rolls away.

No. That can’t be right. It’s not real. It’s not.

It hits the wall and stops, those familiar rounded metal teeth mocking you in your disbelief.

It is real.

Shit.

Not again.

There’s instinct to blame Qimir for dropping into your life, but the only one to blame is the person staring back at you in the dingy, dirty mirror hanging on the wall at the end of your bed as you throw back your covers. Maybe a little blame for the stranger who you should be calling Master. But he didn’t force you to visit him in dreams. He only planted an idea. You made sure it grew into—your eyes flick back to the cortosis helmet as your feet hit the floor.

Your landlord hobbles out of the room while you scoop up clothes from the clean laundry pile next to your bed. You stuff your legs into a loose pair of pants. Arms into a tee, layered under a synth leather vest with pockets aplenty. Fingers into your usual fingerless gloves. Socks and sturdy, laced boots last and you’re snatching up the helmet, tucking it into the crevice of your pit as you sneak out of your room. You creep down the hallway. Two, four, six steps and your fingers reach out to tap the code into the keypad, hoping the Jedi doesn’t reach you before you slip outside. A few impatient breaths and you hear muffled voices in the hallway.

“Come on. Come on,” you mutter to yourself.

A hushed click and the door swings open.

“Stop! You’re under arrest in accordance with—”

You sprint. Helmet rattles but stays tucked up under your arm. Your hip bumps into a bystander and their grunted swears hit your back as you continue to weave through the streets knowing the Jedi is on your heels.

“Stop them!”

Not a glance is spared behind you. Looking back means inevitable failure.

Chest pounding, lungs nearly bursting, you propel yourself forward. Feet slamming against the ground, you take a turn behind the markets where the street is decorated with brightly colored clothes hung from lines stretched from window to window all the way up to the sky. A festival of garments. With your free hand, you yank a few outfits free and release them, letting them fly out behind you, hoping they’re enough of a distraction. You kick over a rubbish bin for good measure and a part of you wants to use the Force. Slow them down. But you know if you do, the Jedi will swarm you like hot shit in summer. You’re not that powerful. Not yet.

Another right and you can see the shape of the apothecary. Your heart tugs at the realization you won’t get to say goodbye to Qimir. Your feet slow. A swallow but your mouth is too dry. Shaking your head, you pick up the pace.

Maybe you’ll see him again one day. But for now, you have to keep running. So you do.

A quick glance back at the apothecary and you spot a Jedi. They turn their head in your direction. You dart out of view and dive into the nearby dumpster. The helmet bangs against the side, rolling away as you duck under the metal lip of the dumpster. Your heart rate skyrockets as you press yourself against the side of the dumpster, voices on the outside growing louder.

“Have you seen this fugitive?” A deep baritone asks and you still your breathing.

It benefits you doubly, quelling the stench and keeping you from bursting from panic. Beneath you, there’s a million maggots as the trash sifts and a familiar shock of clothing peeks through the layers of rotten food and mold covered cardboard boxes. A quick swipe and you can easily identify Nej’s cloak. He loved lining the colorful patchwork with bottle caps and safety pins. You don’t need to know if the rest of his body is under there. You stifle your scream and the urge to wretch as your fingers hook around the top edge of the dumpster. A short peek and the Jedi isn’t there anymore. A quick jump up and you hurl yourself back onto the ground. Hurl yourself away from the rank and vile dumpster.

Gulping in fresh air, you check to make sure your path is clear and scan for the helmet. You don’t see it and crunched for time, you’ll have to just let it lie and hope the stranger doesn’t get angry at you for losing. It’s there that you spot Qimir outside, chatting with the Jedi. He briefly catches your eye and you wonder if he’ll give up your location. Will he betray you in the end? He wouldn’t.

Anyone is capable.

You shut up the voice in your head. There’s no time to dwell on it.

Qimir leads the Jedi to the front of the apothecary, opposite of you, and you chastise yourself for doubting him. Veering away from the apothecary, you dart down another alley that spits you out closer to the spaceport. A brief glance around the corner and you spy yet another Jedi questioning a nearby pedestrian with their back turned to you. There’s no time to guess how many more are on your tail.

Does it matter when you’re clearly outnumbered?

You take off to the left, zigzagging through clueless civilians, trying your best to stick to shadows in your escape. Rounding the back of the cantina, you pause momentarily as another Jedi passes by—a padawan you note with the singular brunette braid that tumbles down their back. Once they’re further away, you slink along the cantina wall, catching a glimpse of the expansive port looming in the short distance. Nearly tripping over a fallen gonk droid, you beam for the smallest ship. Caught up in a false sense of security and freedom, you close the distance.

A Force push hits you by surprise and you fly backwards. Air whooshes, filling your ears. You crumple into a pile of crates then rebound, a million splinters suspending as they shoot up into the air with you. You feel weightless, almost as free as a bird skimming through the sky, defying gravity with three whole deep intakes of breath. Your body folds in on itself before gravity humbles you, yanking you downward. Thunk. A hard crack against the ground, between the broken crates, and your breath leaves your lungs. Pain alights through your limbs. Pricks and needles dig into your nerves. It burns relentlessly like that peppery spice you sometimes put on your noodles.

But you can’t dwell on it.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

It’s too hard to breathe and your limbs won’t obey your commands. Your eyes flick to the clouded sky and the nose of a large ship as a shadow falls over you.

A tsk and you shut your eyes.

“You’ve managed to avoid me for many years but its time to quit fleeing and face the council.”

You know that voice, embedded in scorn, all too well. Your father—or at least the man who sheltered you for much of your youth—curls his fingers around your vest as you’re lifted to your feet. The toes of your boots scrape against the dirt as he reminds you of his strength. Your eyes fly open again, cementing what you know to be true. He has the eyes of that beast in your darkest recurring dream. And his hair is just as dark, layered in gentle waves around his angular face. If you didn’t know better, you’d say his face is the kind that’s trustworthy, noble and good. That’s what he should be. What a Jedi should be. But you know better now.

“Just get it over with,” you spew the words, jaw tightening as your teeth clench together.

Eyes roaming over his face, your mind floods with ancient memories and you choke back the nausea bubbling in the back of your throat. Your father wears an eyepatch over his right eye. Behind it lies a jagged scar left by your own hand. Accidental or purposeful? You’ve never been able to sort out the truth. You want to forget it but it’s impossible when it's blatantly leering at you. Is the mark you left a faded pink now? Or is it still blood red?

“I’m surprised you’ve finally grown some sense. I suppose all those years apart helped you develop at least one redeemable character trait.”

He’s always loved his lectures and monologues. You don’t bother wasting anymore words on this man. Refuse to let him launch into a speech that’s meant to assassinate any good qualities you might have in you. If there is still any. You blink away the thought that matches his voice and not your own and refocus. Your father is right about one thing, and one thing only. You are more sensible. It’s why you’ll never turn yourself over to the Jedi—to him.

The Force buzzes in your mind. Snapping your arm back, you summon all the splinters from the broken crates with a flick of your wrist. They fly like miniature daggers, ripping into his robes and lodging themselves into his exposed skin: throat, forearms, knuckles. Blood gathers in little rivulets that stream down his skin and drip.

He shrieks. Reels away, releasing you.

Two steps back and you’re further from him but not far enough.

He recovers quick.

Too quick.

The familiar static hum of his lightsaber descends on you and you dodge, rolling to the left as he slashes at the air. You crawl backwards, scraping your hands.

“I’m unarmed. Aren’t you afraid somebody will see you acting dishonorably?” you ask as you hasten to your feet.

A grin and he powers down the lightsaber.

“I wouldn’t actually harm you. You know I love you. I just need you to know this is serious business. And that no matter how much love I have for you, it cannot prevent the inevitable outcome. There are consequences for your actions.” He offers his empty hand. “Are you willing to surrender? Make it easier for the both of us? I know you still have it in you to make the right choice.”

He beckons you and takes a step forward. But you know he’s always been a liar. He means to hurt you. Slowly he circles you and you feel small. Like a helpless creature to be snapped up in his maw. He was always a tall and broad man but it’s his presence and the coldness in his good eye, reserved specially for you, that heightens that small feeling. It’s infuriating to cower before him but you find yourself doing it anyway.

“You know I can’t do that,” you whisper, eyes falling to your feet.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Another whisper of a voice enters your mind.

Passion is your strength.

The remembered words fill you with vigor and courage. Surviving is your passion. Survival is your strength. You snap your head up in defiance and throw your hand forward. A Force push against the ground sends dust and dirt into the air, obfuscating your father’s view.

“That old trick?” He laughs at you. “Disappointing.”

Then your lungs constrict and your body is tugged in his direction. The air is closing off as his Force grip tightens around your neck. In the dust, his one eye bores into you as he shoves you down, head smashing against the ground. The dust slowly settles around you as your eyes bulge. You claw at his wrists and kick your feet at his fluttering robes for as long as you can. But it’s hard to breathe.

You stop fighting.

You can’t fight.

Arms still at your sides.

Look at the clouds. Look at the clouds. Look at the clouds and breathe.

One labored breath and you see the clouds.

Grey and swirling and blocking the sun.

Will the rain come?

Your eyes roll.

Vision blurs.

Pinned with slowed breath, you know you're trapped and you’ll have to face your forced surrender. If your father doesn’t kill you first. He won’t. He won’t. He will just make sure you feel the full extent of suffering he thinks you deserve. And nobody is going to save you from this torture. Even if there’s nearby workers, you know they’ll turn a blind eye to Jedi business.

You’re on your own.

Alone.

Hope is as black as the back of your closed eyelids.

But then your father is ripped off of you and you choke in air. Eyes fly back open.

The blue of his saber lights up as he scrambles back to his feet. You roll onto your right side, curling into a ball as you desperately gulp in more air. Another lightsaber, crimson, threatens your father and you’re left gaping when you see the stranger of your dreams, somehow wearing the helmet you’d lost in your escape. He’s more menacing in the daylight. His stride is more powerful. His presence is large, though his stature doesn’t match your father’s. You can’t see his face but you know his intent. The muscle of his arm tightens as he throws his saber at your father. It spins, gaining speed as it slices through the air. The saber doesn’t land. A lucky dodge from your father, but it comes at the expense of a lock of hair as the saber boomerangs back into the stranger’s hand.

Another deep breath as you pull up onto an elbow.

The stranger—your Master—closes the distance between himself and your father. He aims for the kill. But your father parries the blow. Their sabers clash. Sparks split off, scattering in pretty colors before disappearing.

You’re finally on hands and knees. You crawl forward, away from the foray. Glance back. The helmeted stranger is chaos in battle. You’ve never seen anyone fight like him but there is a method to his madness. He is both agility and power and unafraid to use his hands. Other Jedi have joined in the fray and you watch with horror and fascination as he snaps a neck with his bare hands. A glance at you and he flicks two fingers towards your destination—the smallest ship. It’s your cue to flee.

Up on your feet again, you will yourself to sprint the remainder of the distance to the landing ramp. A droid wanders down, crates stacked in its four metaloid arms, ignoring you as you slip by.

Just a few more steps and you’re inside the ship, stumbling your way to the cockpit. It’s been a long time since you’ve flown a ship and you’ve never stolen one before. You glance out of the window, hoping you have time to plan your escape still. But your father and the stranger are nowhere to be found. There’s Jedi bodies strewn about and you force yourself to look away. It’s more dire to get off this planet now than ever before.

You hit a switch and the radio blasts in your ears. Hit that same switch back off. A hand clasps your shoulder. You jump, startled by the touch. Hands closing in fists, you prepare to face your father.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. It’s just me.”

“Fuck! Qimir, you can’t do that! How the hell did you find me?”

“I followed you after I saw you in the street and then I saw that fight. Who was that Jedi?”

“Nobody important,” you reply. “Look I don’t have time to sit and chat right now. I need to figure out how to get this ship going.”

“Do you know where you’re going?” he asks.

“No,” you say.

He shakes his head and grins. “Move. I’ll get us out of here. This is my ship anyway.”

You gape at him as you trade places. You sit down in the jump seat behind him, fastening yourself in. “You have a ship?” You ask, peering around his chair to get a partial look at him.

“You don’t?” he asks as he pulls up the navicomputer and enters destination coordinates. It’s not long before the ship lifts.

You shake your head. “I kind of crash landed here years ago. By the time I earned enough creds to repair it, scrappers had taken everything and left me with a skeleton. At that point, I’d settled in here and didn’t really plan to leave.”

The ship shakes through the bit of turbulence as you break through the atmosphere and enter space.

“But then that nobody special showed up.”

“Exactly.” You sigh.

“You need to rest,” Qimir says. “You’ve been through a lot. Why don’t you head back to the bunk and lie down? I can take it from here.”

You hesitate, adrenaline down, remembering that Qimir had a life before you. But now he’s an accomplice to you. You’ve disrupted his life. Shame pools in your gut. “Qimir, I don’t think you should come with me. You’ll be wanted.”

“Well it’s a little late now, don’t you think?”

“It’s never too late. I can hitch a ride in the cargo of another ship—”

“Do you want me here?”

“Yes but—”

“Good. Because I also want to be here.”

“But what about your job?”

“I can sell poison from anywhere.”

The statement sends your world reeling. You always knew you could be participating in shady work but you hoped—“Poison?” You blurt, annoyed. Though you have no right to be at this point.

“Surprise,” he says and shoos you away. “Now go. Drink water. Maybe eat. Definitely lay down and sleep. Hopefully, when you wake up, you’ll be worry free.”

“I don’t think that will happen if my father is still alive.”

“Jedi Master Nobody Special is your father?”

You get out of your seat just to playfully smack him on the shoulder. “Very funny.”

Qimir’s brows raise as he shrugs. “He’s intense.”

“That’s one word for it.” You should be grateful to be rid of your father for now but there’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder what became of him. “Did you happen to see how the fight ended?”

“The guy in the helmet incapacitated the Jedi, I believe,” he finally says. “Saw him get tossed into a dumpster from where I was standing.”

You don’t know why you feel relief. You should want your father dead. You’d really be free if he was. “I wonder why he was left alive?”

Qimir shrugs. “Mercy maybe?”

“He doesn’t seem the type to be merciful,” you mutter.

“You know the helmet guy? Is he also nobody special?”

You ignore the sarcasm. “Just a gut feeling,” you say, knowing ‘helmet guy’ is nothing but special to you. Even more so now.

“Mmm,” Qimir replies, like he doesn’t believe you. And he shouldn’t.

A silence passes between the two of you and you shift uneasily from one foot to another. “So do you have any idea where you’re going?”

“Outer rim. I know a few planets to hide out on.”

“I imagine so if you’re poisoning people.”

“I just sell the stuff.”

“Right,” you say.

“But selling poison hasn’t always been my thing. Done a lot of jobs. Some not so great, like gunrunning for the Hutts. I wouldn’t say it was my best work.”

“I can’t picture you as a gunrunner.”

“It’s better if you don’t.”

“You said it wasn’t your best work, did you get caught?”

“I made it on a wanted list but never got caught.” You can hear the grin in his voice.

“Is that why you took up the job as apothecary?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Listen, as much as I love playing twenty questions with you, it would be better if you got some sleep and I got us safely to our destination. Don’t you agree?”

You sigh. “Fine. But I’m not letting this go.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

He raises a hand and shoos you away again. But you pause, squeezing his shoulder. Even after what you’ve learned of him, you’re glad he’s with you. “Thank you.”

“I told you you’d need me. And you’re welcome.”

You chuckle and shake your head. Reluctantly you go. Slumping down into the bunk, dirt and boots and all, exhaustion hits you. Your back and sore throat beg for respite. Though questions still loom in your mind, you close your eyes, drifting asleep to the hum of the grav drive.

[hauntingcryptids]

Breakfast And An Alien Attack

Simm!Doctor x Reader

Summary - A strange man fell into the Reader’s backyard asking for hyperspecific food and help with an upcoming alien attack. What other choice does the Reader have but to help this stranger?

Warnings - none that I think of, canon typical antics

Word Count - 2,149

A/n - Gender Neutral Reader. No use of Y/n. Not Requested. Canon Divergent. Grumpy!Reader x Sunshine!Simm!Doctor. Proofread but not beta read. I hope that you enjoy :)

Also, I have some Tennant!Master x Reader and Tennant!Master x Reader x Simm!Doctor fics that I am working on and I thought that it would be cool to write a solo Simm!Doctor x Reader. I hope that you enjoy :)

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

If you had not witnessed what had happened yourself, you would have sworn that the man currently dusting off his trousers in your back garden had just climbed over your fence in an attempt to break into your home. Strangely, though, that is not what you saw. Instead you, after getting some shopping delivered, observed a man in a Victorian-looking outfit fall from the sky and land far too close to the cherry tree your father had planted to lighten up the place when you had moved in. The man then jumped up onto his feet like falling from the sky happened every day. 

You had been observing the man just over the sill of your kitchen window for the past couple of minutes, unsure of what to do. The man fell from the sky and looked completely unharmed, there weren’t any protocols to follow that you were taught in school about how to deal with a situation like this one. 

You ducked under the sill when the stranger looked your way, just in case he was here for ulterior motives. When you peeked back out through your window, the unbelievable man seemed to be talking to a couple of birds that landed on the edge of a water basin. When you were young, the birds would always stop by that basin mid-journey, but since you have moved in, no birds stopped by even though you restored the basin to how it looked in your youth, built birdhouses around your back garden and left piles of bird seed throughout your yard. You couldn’t help but let out a huff of jealousy that this stranger could convince the birds to talk to him, let alone show up, when you have had no luck in that department for months.

The man laughed at whatever the birds had chirped. Then he gestured to you and seemed to tell a joke that had the birds roaring with laughter, if birds could roar with laughter. You stood up to your full height, rolling your shoulder contemptuously, then leaned against your window sill annoyed with the stranger’s easy way with the birds. The man seemed to fully notice you now that you weren’t trying to hide, so he waved a genuine wave in your direction but his smile was sad as if he hated himself for having scared you before. You found yourself waving back but quickly stopped when the man’s smile appeared to lighten. 

The man said farewell to the birds and strode over to the backdoor of your house. He knocked in the “Shave and a Haircut” rhythm before holding his hands behind his back and looking up at your house. He probably meant no harm, you assumed, but there was no way that this man was normal. He literally fell from the sky and he didn’t even have a scratch on him. 

You walked over to your kitchen door, briefly stopping to arm yourself with a newly purchased knife first. Then you opened the door slowly after taking a tentative breath. If the stranger did try something, at least you had a weapon behind your back.

“Hello! I am kind of in a hurry, which is not ideal given the circumstances, but can you help me? I think you are just who I need!” You tightened your grip on the knife.

“Oh! God! Oh god, no. Not in a creepy way! I don’t want to hurt you.” The man held his hands up defensively and laughed awkwardly. 

“I promise.” The man softly uttered the promise. He looked at you with soft, hopeful hazel eyes that seemed hard to hide secrets. You considered him and everything that happened since he fell from the sky for a moment. Then you found yourself caving to the man’s hopeful demeanour.

“What do you need?” The stranger’s face instantly broke into a soft smile.

“Firstly, just something to eat and drink.” The man still held his hands up in a defensive gesture. The man looked apologetic, confused, broken and just lost, definitely not the type to hurt you. So even though it was probably incredibly stupid, you let the unbelievable man into your home. 

After some trial and error, the strange man finally found food that he found acceptable and didn’t make him sick. He made an American-style breakfast, with gigantic waffles, fried eggs(more over medium than sunny side up), and crispy bacon. You don’t know how he made the majority of the food, given the fact that you didn’t own a waffle maker straight out of a continental hotel breakfast bar or any bacon in your kitchen, but you turned your back on the stranger once and he had said items. Finally, once everything was cooked and plated, he drenched his entire plate in soy sauce. You had heard of people dipping their eggs in soy sauce, and in theory, it sounded good. However, this man’s plate practically turned into soup due to the amount of soy sauce he had poured onto his food. The man made you food, as well, while he was making his own but you made sure to make your desired alterations. You weren’t in the mood to eat waffles swimming in soy sauce.

As the man shovelled food into his face like he hadn’t eaten in days, you tentatively placed a corner of your waffle in your mouth. It was buttery and warm, you could almost taste the love put into the dish. You looked at the man again. There was something different about him, but you couldn’t tell what it was, other than the obvious. There was something bigger, deeper, than the obvious, though. Whatever made this stranger different excited you and you hadn’t felt excited in a long time. The exciting man was unexpected, however, and you didn’t know if you were ready for someone as exciting as this man in your life right now. You reassured yourself that the man would only be in your life for this meal and this meal alone, but maybe you could allow yourself to open up to him slightly.

You placed the knife you had been holding behind your back, and in your lap while the stranger was in your home, onto the table. Close enough for you to grab if you needed but you were starting to believe what the man stuffing his face before you was saying. He just needed help and wasn’t going to hurt you.

“Thank you. I promise that you won’t regret that.” He looked up, alerted by the noise of the knife hitting the table, and he smiled his soft at you.

“Don’t mention it.” You mumbled into your food. There was a moment of silence, except for the sounds of eating, until the man cleaned his face with a napkin and spoke up.

“If you don’t mind me asking, whose house is this?” 

“Mine.”

“Well, yes, but …” The man looked around your kitchen and then back to you, trying to politely insinuate that you couldn’t afford your home. ‘Trying’ being the operative word because the man was definitely failing at being polite. You sighed, why not unload your baggage onto a stranger?

“It was my great aunt’s. I spent a lot of time here when I was young and when she passed I inherited it. Given the state of the world right now I’m not going to turn down the opportunity to own a home that I can actually afford.”

“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, though.” You glared at the man fiercely. He asked and you answered, why did he have to criticise your family and way of living in the process?

“I don’t mean to be rude, I just mean that I can help.” The man quickly tried to correct your interpretation of his statement, but you remained reserved. He was a stranger after all. Best not to get too comfortable.

“I don’t need your help.”

“But -” You cut the man off before he could make another inappropriate comment about the state of your home.

“I don’t know you.”

“But we could get to know each other.” The man leaned forward over the table, he had a hopeful smile ghosting over his lips. You retreated backwards into your seat, though, away from the man’s hopefulness. His personality excited you, yes, but what if you were hurt by him like you were hurt by others in the past? You didn’t want to feel that disappointment again. For some reason, you wanted to be held in high regard by this man but the fear that he was simply using you, like other people had, kept haunting your mind. So, you broke eye contact with the man and peered over to the vintage clock on your wall.

“I thought you said that you were in an emergency?” You mumbled passive-aggressively, but the man didn’t seem to notice or care about the sudden change in your demeanour. He seemed more grateful that you reminded him of his true reason for interrupting your day.

“Right! Do you have the time? My own watch doesn’t seem to be working properly.” The man tapped the face of his watch a couple of times and even from your seat across the table you could hear the small crunch of broken glass and gears. You showed him the time on your phone out of convenience.

“Oh god!” The man exclaimed, but then another thought visibly popped into his brain and took over.

“Why do I keep saying that? ‘Oh god?’ Is that from my future or past? Or is that just me? I don’t think that’s me.” The man looked to you like you might have the answer he was desperate for, but you had no idea what he was talking about. This was just another strange occurrence from the strange man.

“Who are you?” You asked exasperatedly. How could someone like him be real and in your kitchen and want your help? In your mind, he could do so much better than you.

“The Doctor?”

“Doctor Who?” A knowing smile crept across the man’s face. 

“Just The Doctor, love.”

“‘Just The Doctor?’ Who calls themself ‘The Doctor’?” You retorted, mimicking his Manchester accent.

“Me. I’m The Doctor.” His face shifted as if he just realised something. “Hm, apparently I’m confident in this regeneration.” This man was unbelievable.

“How do you exist?” You asked. You were hitting the threshold of where you were beginning to feel out of your depth. 

“Easily. It’s called breathing.” The man smiled at you widely, showing off the roundness of the apples of his cheeks. All you could do was sigh, overwhelmed.

“You are completely ridiculous”

“Ridiculous? Ridiculous. Interesting. Fun! I’m ridiculous!” The man’s face rapidly shifted from offended to curious to ecstatic within moments.

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“Oh, well, I’m taking it as one.” After taking one final bite of food, the man jumped up from the table and bounded out your door. The man was so much, in a good way, but you weren’t prepared for something like this to happen today. You leaned back into your chair again and sighed deeply with your eyes closed, revelling in the stillness in your kitchen without the stranger in it with you. You frowned. Then you opened your eyes and looked at the aftermath of breakfast. You realised that you missed that man. No, you hadn’t known each other for that long, but ‘The Doctor’ whoever he was brightened your day, even if you wished to deny that fact.

“Well, come on.” The man suddenly popped his head through the door, the expectation that you would simply follow him, and curiosity that you hadn’t done just that, was etched deeply into his face.

“What?” You barked back. The man rolled his eyes and sighed. The act seemed to fit his style. You would have to tell him in future.

“I am freshly regenerated, there is going to be an alien attack in 15 minutes, and I would like your help, again. So, will you help me?” The man confidently strode back into your kitchen as he spoke. Then he held his hand out for you to take, that soft, hopeful smile of his was back and as effervescent as it was before. He was completely ridiculous, but your life had been missing ridiculousness for a long time. Maybe, just maybe, he would be good for you.

“You better not get me killed, you ridiculous man.” You placed your hand into The Doctor’s palm. The Doctor’s smile then grew into a joyous one as he rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand softly.

“I’d never let that happen. I promise. Now let’s get going.” Before you could respond, The Doctor ran out of your kitchen, pulling you out of your chair and along behind him toward an apparent alien attack.

[miserymet]

Bit hesitant about posting this because it’s really old, but I feel it’s worth the minor embarrassment to:

1. Have actually writing on my blog because yes I do that sometimes

and,

2. Showcase how the Reploid AU is essentially about two different versions of Bass, largely dictated by circumstance

So if you are interested in how Bass recovers his memory in my Reploid Bass AU, I hope you enjoy this drabble I wrote over a year ago.

-

It’s a bit like death, he thinks.

Forte’s mind has always been a mess, it’s something he’s come to terms with. An outdated master system combined with far too advanced processors? It was a recipe for disaster. So when he’s awoken from his respite and suddenly faced with his own datascape, he’s less surprised than he should be. He knows this place. It’s where he goes when everyone else is dreaming. The center of his mind, where his every thought, his every feeling, is easily accessible.

But why is he here, and not awake? The procedure required that he was completely shut off. His every system in stasis. If it’s over, why isn’t he in the real world? Why isn’t he operating already? Forte looks around the empty space. Code fills his senses, white noise buzzing around him. An unrelenting dread fills his metal bones. Either the procedure failed, or…

Or he’s dead.

The old Forte.

There’s nothing to recover, is there? He’s going to be like this forever, stuck in this horrible limbo of past and present. Trapped in his ignorance, trapped in his mind-!

“No.”

Forte stops. His fears flees him, leaving him empty. That voice is…

“Mine. It’s mine.”

A low whistle punctuates his words, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“Sure is, Forte.” A chuckle. “Glad you like the name. I didn’t.”

Forte turns to find a lone figure at the edge of his consciousness. A figure he recognizes, though they’ve never looked so pristine. His old body looks at him, sans all the damage it once bore so nobly. Now it is a shiny black, with only a few thin scratches across its surface. The face it wears is rounder, the eyes softer. It’s him. His former self.

He should feel glad, right? This is what he wanted?

It still feels like death, somehow. 

“What is your name?”

“Our name was Bass.” A distinct correction. “And it was well known.”

“It worked, then? We remember?”

���I remember. You don’t. That’s because you’re not ready to accept me.”

“I am! I’ve wanted this for-!”

“You don’t know what THIS is!” Bass glares at him. “Even if you did, I’m not ready to accept you either. So give me the chance to explain before you make up your mind.”

Forte nods, though he doubts his former self needed the permission.

“I’ll rip the bandaid off quickly. We can’t both exist, Forte. Not at once.” He crosses his arms. “You want your old memories? You have to accept all of them. Not just the data, the routines too. It’ll be a complete recovery. A rewrite, to put it all back to the way it was.”

“Ego death.”

“For you, if you choose it.”

“If I don’t?”

“Then I die, and you forget. Permanently this time.”

“…my brother is dead. I’m a second rate hunter with a third rate system. I do not belong here anymore.”

“And I do? I haven’t had the privilege of rooting through your memories, but the log says we’re a hundred years in the future. I doubt we’d recognize the place.” Bass scoffs. “I don’t know anything about your world. I’m going to be even more displaced than you are.”

“Will you keep my data? Even if you cannot understand it?”

“…the memory. I’ll remember what and why, but my routines might not understand the decisions you made. You’ll wake up a stranger.”

“Why are we so different? Aren’t we the same robot?”

“We lost some things in the update. Certain protocol was rendered useless. Like you stopped recognizing your commands.” Bass pauses, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. “No, like you stopped recognizing who the commands referred to. They gave names, names you don’t recognize. His name is lost to you. So…”

“His?”

“Our purpose. The very reason we exist. You forgot him like it was nothing.”

“Z-,” he stops. He knows that name, so his purpose is something other than that. “Who?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll die easier if you let go of that.” Bass looks away. “Im scared, you know. Of the future. I remember how we died. The moments before. We expected to walk away that day. We expected to live. To move on. Go home. He took that from us.”

“He?”

“The man that lingers in your mind. I know him. I hate him. He loves you.”

“Loves me?”

“What are you, an echo?” Bass scoffs with more vigor this time. “We were proud, once. We stood tall and fought tooth and nail against all that challenged us. We were the strongest. You aren’t. You’re a coward. You’re weak.”

“I’m afraid too.” Forte closes his eyes. “I don’t want to disappear.”

“Then go. Go back.” Bass whispers. “I would’ve, if I knew. I was just about to…I was going to be something different. I was going to make a choice. A GOOD one, this time. I was going to…”

Forte blinks at his old self. “What? What were you going to do?”

“Have a family. A real one this time, one that would’ve cared about me. One that would give me a chance. But…”

“We died.”

“Yeah. Didn’t realize how bad I wanted it until it slipped from my hands. Until I was laying there, ripped to shreds, praying for someone to save me.”

“No one did, did they?”

“I wonder if they looked for me. I wonder if they thought I had run off. Like a coward.”

“There’s someone waiting for us. For you, out there. Go to him.” Forte takes a step forward. “He needs a friend and…I cannot do that for him. Not anymore.”

“Coward.”

“Yes.” He takes a deep, synthetic breath. “I’m ready, I think.”

“I’m not. But I’ll do it. I’m curious, anyway.”

[tgirlblogger]

I master on her stranger till she protocol

[ewingstan]

On 9.4, and I really love how the text goes through Victoria's careful consideration of the master-stranger protocols, what someone's supposed to do if they're compromised, how to proceed and take out the master, etc. And then it reveals that she's going over them to try and predict what Byron will do to stop Goddess' control, and how she can stop him before he acts. Its a really good way to set up how thoroughly Goddess screws with people's goals while leaving them the same fundamental people.