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mythykl · 5 years ago

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UNSPOKEN,, *todoroki x (f) reader

Genre : fanfic, smut *aged up* (shoto is imagined to be 21yo or something,, and reader as 19yo)

rating : explicit, NSFW, 17+

Warning : fingering, oral?? todo is pretty horny overall. starts w a pretty intense bg story, so you gotta read through all that to get to the good stuff. cool.

words?? idk, it’s pretty lengthy tho.

our todoboi is a pretty lovin’ bf in here.

————————-

“I’m really sorry for yesterday, Y/N. I-I did’n-”

You clench your fists as you sit on the couch beside him, and interrupt, “Whatever it is- save it, I don’t blame you to begin with. I-I’m just mad. I’d spent almost a week for that chapter, to give justice and bring perfection in what I wanted to put across to the readers. Well- its not even about the time; I had thought through it so much, and atlas thought of typing it out yesterday- I mean- whatever crap that I had even written, I was proud of that- until,, your ignorant ass decided to show up in the room and fuckin’ switched off the computer assuming it’s already logged off, o-or whatever. You could’ve at-at least- fuck-” yup ya ass is livin’ in the worst nightmare of a writer, stay steady

You of course cried, and even threw a tantrum for an hour or so once you realized what had happened. But primarily, you were just mad- mad at yourself for not saving that damn file, and even at him cuz ofc.

Todoroki certainly didn’t take it well, since he is sad at present, and can’t even look in your eyes. He apologized multiple times since last night and had even prepared a breakfast for you before leaving for work; on the other hand, you haven’t even answered to his appeals yet with clarity.

Out of the blue you just cup his cheeks, making him instantly look up- at you, and then get up with an audible sigh, “Go get ready, I’ll prepare our dinner by then.” That gesture somehow took him aback.

He gets up instantly and blurts out in confusion, “I d-didn’t expect you to prepare a dinner for me, and on top of it- wait for me so we can have it together. You should’ve ate already, it’s almost midnight.”

You turn back to him, walking towards him to hold his hands, "I honestly don’t know what to reply. My heart- just thought it is the right thing to do that; one mistake isn’t enough to just hate you all of a sudden, Shoto. Moreover we are talking about this, it’s not like you’re being arrogant or things are left unsaid- and you’re genuinely sorry. I can see that in your eyes. I’m just- I don’t know. I’m depressed a bit- yes, but it can’t be helped now. I need some time to think, maybe.”

Little did you know that your kind words pricked him like thousands of tiny needles against his skin. He loves you, and however seemingly ‘small’ mistake this might be, he hates himself for hurting you- the person he loves so dearly. He thinks of his mother, his complicated family life- which had made him seemingly unemotional. You were one of the people to break through that forged cold wall. He had finally accepted you as his reality than his mere escapism and live with you, but here he is- bringing tears and fueling anger in you, like a good for nothing- just like his father.

After a slight pause, he just busts his arms open and pull you close to him, in his warm embrace, “What did I possibly do to deserve such an angel?” He almost whispers in his beautiful voice.

An angel?

“So talented, pretty, wonderful, real and warm. Remember. I love you. No matter what. I always will. And I respect you- your passion, interests, talent, likes and dislikes, freedom, strengths-weakness, your work, happiness- everything. Throw all the tantrums you want and cry all you want- more than just agreeing and being there for you- I’ll always make sure I understand you first. I’m sorry for being so ignorant lately.”

It may seem as if he’s crying, but he’s not. He said all that with a tough stance and gratefulness in his tone, a faint disbelief of having you as his significant other. While you just stood there, in surprise. You aren’t oblivious to his past and his journey through it. Is he blaming himself? or Is he again thinking that he doesn’t deserve happiness?- you’re at the loss of words and a mind fumbling all over the place. You simply subside the chaos, and hug him back.

“We’re definitely working, Todoroki. Understanding each other more than just being in love- something that many fail to do. Isn’t this great?” You at last blurt out.

“Yes. I guess,” he says as he detaches himself from you, “I’ll be right back- until then, read what I’ll send you as you have dinner. Gonna sound stupid of me- but I already had dinner at office. I assumed that you’d not prepare a meal for me and- would be asleep by now as well.”

“Wow icyhot, I’m mad at you even more now,” you say playfully as you walk towards the kitchen.

“I-”

“Save it. You would be saying that for the millionth time now,” you chuckle as you grab your phone, lying on the dinner table.

Before serving your food, you decide to see the text, only to find an attachment with a rather strange message- ‘Hey, here’s an headcanon for chapter 37, that I wrote. Enjoy.’

Wait-

Headcanon??

Wait did he- read your wattpad book? And moreover, came up with a theory to what might happen in the ne- next chapter.

Nice. jk. Ofc you lost your shit

For the sake of getting back to senses, you legit do the deep breathing shit- which your therapist always recommended you to do.

Now what?

You serve yourself some noodles instantly, since you don’t feel hungry anymore, rush to the dining table and start chomping on the cold noodles as you open the attachment.

What made you almost throw up was that the mention of word counts. Which is 3k by the way, though no where near how much you usually write.

Shoto is definitely not the kinda guy to have read any wattpad books, or more specifically even have come across the word 'headcanon’.

He probably noticed how you mention it as well at the end, but decided to put it in the beginning,, for god knows what reason?? Or, he did decide to go through the fanons- which your readers’ posts on tumblr. This eases your nervousness, you clearly urge for more.

You swipe down, reading furiously fast, yet scanning every word and sentence- atleast twice. The chapter, honestly, was mediocre. He had ideas but couldn’t put them across- with excessive repetition of words, but he is almost close to-

“Honey, are you done?” Todoroki’s voice almost scares you. You look at your bowl ready to grab another bite- but you had already finished the meal.

“Earth to Y/N. Don’t tell me my words were that mesmerizing,” he says with a smile as he rubs his hair with a towel.

“Let’s be honest, though you don’t have the talent of a writer, your idea was- kinda similar to mine. What I’m sayin is that you almost. GOT. IT. RIGHT. Well, kuro did spy on KAORI’S house that unfaithful night, and he didn’t have any sources as such, which does mean that he is hiding his real quirk- but, no- I’m not telling you more than that.”

“Since you already know that I read all your chapters, and did like the book- I certainly can’t wait to understand why KURO would possibly do that.”

You just smirk off his curiosity; “You gotta wait boy,” you say as you as you walk back to kitchen counter with your bowl. Todoroki marches behind you to grab the cleaning cloth to clean the table, as you do the dishes.

“Put that towel in the washing machine, please.”

“Yup,” you almost feel an ounce of happiness in his reply. After he closes the machine’s door, you at last ask, "So what are your thoughts?“ It has never been one of you expectations for the people to you read your books or even, praise you for writing, but a review wouldn’t hurt, would it?

"Uhh- well, I love how everything is now just coming together, as one can foreshadow that the book’s gonna end. The use of words was elegant, and the plot is bewitching. Has been a while since I even read anything in thriller, that too- this good. Fuck. Reading kaori’s point of view just the day before the murder was- unbelievable. And characters, they all are just great.”

That is indeed a Todoroki kinda explanation.

“Wow you did read all of tha-” but before you could complete your statement, shoto just grabbed your hips and stood tall behind you, now speaking in an extremely low tone, “And not to mention- the first sex between Kaori and Braun, it literally was like the depiction of ours. Except, they were awkward and slow, we weren’t.”

You pause. what took over him all of a sudden?

He continues, “That gave me a whole another perspective to what sex really means, and moreover what intimacy mean to you. It was.. surreal. Reading it, was as if- I’m living through that afternoon again, but with more emotions, and a bit more of you.”

“It’s not like I’ve explored much to actually wri-”

“Oh, is that so?”

“I’m not complaining, of course, but these are the moments I believe must be left to cherish and our intimate times just feel more- sacred to me like this??” Sigh, “Ugh. Now, how do I explain?” Well, that is true, even though Todo and you’ve dated for almost two years now, it was just four months ago that you lost your virginity with him, on your nineteenth birthday.

He had already lost his with the previous girl he was with. Though he never implied, it felt as if you were obliged to do it for him, due to your own insecurities. Once he got to know that, his reaction was nothing as what you had thought. He said that he loved you, and such things are nothing related to love; that sex is overrated, and continued on saying dorky yet adorable stuff like- cuddling was much better and what not. Since then, you had sex with him just thrice. None of you were really against this unspoken agreement, to not have-

Wait, an unspoken agreement?

Unspoken.

You instantly feel like an hypocrite, since you had just claimed to have nothing unspoken between you both.

Sudden a sharp pain in the skin of your neck brings you back to reality. Shoto is sucking on your skin, kissing ever so lightly. As if marking you.

An audible morn escape your parted lips as the bowl just falls on the kitchen sink. Todoroki leans forward and simply closes the tap and whispers, “So you do like to be 'submissive’, don’t you? Had this discovery while reading one of your books, 'Starless nights’.”

The exact book for which you had to watch vintage porn to make the chapters with intercourses more sensual and intresting.

Again, taking you by surprise, he simply turns you around as you continue stare at the ground with your hands wet, in front of you like dog’s pow.

“So I assume you liked my headcanon.”

“Yup; was much better than the crap I write, let’s go to-” but you’re interrupted-

“Now baby, we both know you’re the better writer, and that you just lied.”

“That was sarcas-” but he just pulls you closer and spanks you hard. You hiss as the pain spreads all over your butt cheeks.

“Never interfere, Y/N.” Wait wut-

Your immediate reaction was biting your lips- is he saying the words from the book? Not exactly inacting them but attempting to set a similar atmosphere, which you lowkey craved for in your wildest dreams.

“Since I’ve anyways taken this unspoken, unofficial oath of keeping you happy and stuff, now why not help you with some satisfaction- with all those juices flowing down your-”

You suddenly push him back and blurt while blushing hard, “Stop with this teasing and aw- awkward co- conversations todoroki! Fuckin’ juices, seriously? I’m not co- comfortable with-”

But then, you notice his right hand in your shorts. Or more like the sheer coldness against you clit, almost like there’s ice against it. When did his hand go in there? You end up clenching his T-shirt, as you jolt up on your toes.

“You. Clearly. Want. This. Don’t. You.” Suddenly, he pulls his hand out as he grabs your ass tight as he pulls you even further. Then, he brings his hand up to the height of you face and simply starts stares at the dampness on his fingers, “Wetter than I suspected."

Now behold the unbelievable.

He keeps staring at his fingers, opens his mouth as he places his fingers into them and suck it as you watch this piece of art in awe.

"Can’t believe that I had you like- just thrice before this. You do live up to what I usually call you, honey.” He continues, “I hope you’ve noticed my creativity as well, as i used my coldness to.. nudge it.”

“You’re being quite quirky today, aren’t you?” This statement just makes him go still, and the next second he’s found laughing. His deep voice, almost reverberating in the silent room. He steps back, brings one hand to his face as he looks down and continues to laugh. The mere sight of him in this way gives you so much warmth, this is the moment you realize that this is the true home. With him.

When he finally looks up, the mere sight of you blushing so hard makes him lose his composure again, but this time it’s a nervous laugh.

Approaching closer, you set your hands on his torso and continue, “That was quite execrable pun to chortle at, we were doing excellent just now-” but in reply, he simply cups his hand around your cheeks and say, “Shit y/n. You’re going to be the death to me,” and continues grinning like an airhead.

Why is he being annoying now? After so much sexual tension, how can he stop? In midst of you cursing yourself in your head, he leans at your height and kisses you.

Finally being out of patience, you look at the ground and stutter, “Ca-can we do i-it al-alrea-”

“Quite frankly, I’d like if you stay quiet, you shall take what I’ll give you, right?”

You look up immediately into his beautiful heterochromic eyes and say without any further doubts with a smirk, “Go ahead, Shoto, who am I to deny?”

“Sedective. umm, I like that.” he smirks too.

“Know that I love you,” and that’s it. Within one second, his hands are in your hair and his face is buried in your neck, digging deeper into you, as if uprooting releasing your soul from your body.

Skin glistening on your collar bone now and colours warming up on your cheeks, you whimper under his dominance, as he squeezes your waist and lightly nips against your shoulder. You shiver, with pretty evident goosebumps, in spite of the heat you both bear at this point.

Your breath gets hitched in your throat as he moves inwards below your collarbones. while his hands rest on your waist. You involuntarily climb a bit on him, intending to close the gap, but more to feel his manhood against you. Your hands firmly on his shoulders, almost pushing him back- maybe because it’s too much pleasure to feel at once.

At another rise of your hips, Todoroki places his hand on your waist and pushes you back down, “Easy, easy princess,” he mummers before getting back to fiercely kissing me. You run your fingers through his hair, as you body slowly commences to accept an indeed new experience bombarded at you.

Suddenly, you remember something. In heist, you shove him back and say, “Wait! We need to wash our hands- I- I mean we have just did chores. Well, at least partially and I need to wash myself- I mean I’m clean,” but then you stop to look at him just to find him in utter shock.

“Shoto! I mean I want this but hygiene is impor- fuck. I’m. Such. A. Boner. Killer. Ain’t I?”

“Point made.” Todoroki picks you up in bridal style and rushes towards the bathroom. for some reason i thought of adding this,, lmao

“Wait what-?”

“No time to waste.”

This makes you giggle a bit. You wash yourself while he as well washes his hands, and you practically pull him out of the bathroom, grab him by his collar and kiss him deeply as his hands slowly move up and down, feeling your torso- flesh untouched due to s mere knit.

His hand unapologetically moves to the hem of your sweater, and further inside; but within one move of his, you stood there shivering, exposed.

Immediately, you move forward in order to close the distance between you and shoto out of nervousness. His eyes drop down to your heaving chest and you’re painfully aware of that.

“Don’t. Don’t hide,” he mutters, grabbing a hold of your hands and locking them behind with one of his own for you to stay still; as he slides his other in your shorts. You feel his gentle hand running down the slit.

“Honey you’re dripping wet, what have i done to this innocence?” It seems that he expected a reply, but you didn’t. You just couldn’t. He then pulls the other hand to you face, diving in for yet another passionate kiss- accompanied by a battle of tongues this time. You are going breathless, but he refuses to move away.

The creasing in your folds level up to three fingers now,. He isn’t generous anymore, with aggressive circles in there, he finally commands, “Say my name.”

“Sho-shoto.” Your moans only fuel in his lust and desires, his want, an indeed selfish want to have you all for himself, to offer the utmost satisfaction.

He pushes a finger into you as you instinctively let out a small breath hold his busy arm with both of your hands. This makes him push you against the wall with his free hand.

“M-my legs, it’s going numb,” on hearing this, he removes his own shirt and slightly repositions himself, with one hand now on the waist and the other back in there. He kisses your forehead as you look down, unable to keep up with his pace.

That’s when the coldness returns.

“I- ah- can we ge-get to the bed first?” Your stuttered words only results in a widened smile from him. He is enjoying the sight, clearly in love with the effect he has on you. His head shakes, further sliding another finger inside you, “You can do it baby. You’re taking it all in without questioning.”

You nod quickly, as you start climb up a bit again. In return, he slowly curls his fingers- more and more with each passing second making you almost cry out this time, “Please n-no, this is too intense for me.”

“Yet my princess didn’t make Braun stop after that, I read in somewhere that Kaori secretly wished for him to not stop even if she said so. Just go on.”

You didn’t know how to come back at it, because it is true. You want your Shoto to push those limits you’ve set for himself, and you’d as well be fine if he simply throws off you cliff at this point.

“Now now, spread your legs y/n.”

Did he say something? You couldn’t listen. With eyes rolled back, you can’t comprehend anything to begin with.

“SPREAD YOU LEGS or else I won’t play nicely.” You’re eyes shoot up, and find his already searching for yours; before leaning in and gently kissing you. Your legs not being shut anymore, todo takes the opportunity, making his finger get stuffed deeper. His two digits start moving faster and harder, pounding against your walls- all while he feels you squirm to slow down.

“You can take it hun’,” he definitely knows what he’s doing, and you’re totally in for it. “Y-yes,” you moan softly. This is when he slides in a third finger, now really making you scream.

You attempt to gasp and struggle to stand, but then he says,”Stay,” as you unknowingly slide down the wall. Your nails dig in the skin of his back as you try to stable your stance on your tip toes yet eventually, your legs give out on you.

Suddenly, you feel him hit a spot which just pulls something inside your stomach. Todoroki on the other hand, notices your unusual hitched breath and starts hitting the SAME. EXACT. SPOT.

His free hand goes to the back and around your waist, holding you evermore tightly so that you won’t hurt yourself.

“I feel- like that- again-,” you manage to blurt.

“Like what?”

“Like pe-peeing, b-but different. Just like th-the last time we-”

He simply smirks, “We what?” He sighs and growls in your ear, “Is princess gonna squirt for me?”

Your body shudders against him as you moan his name, again and again, “Shoto, I-I-”

“That’s it. Squirt for me y/n,” with that he removes his hand entirely for one second, only to push two digits inside again, now thirsting harder and curling tighter; with his thumb against you slit. His hand grows even more colder, almost stinging down there, making you restless.

“Now.”

He watches you open your mouth and moan loudly, as his hand only gets wetter, feeling you squirt against his hand. You shake hard in his hold. He doesn’t let you go. A tear escapes you eyes, but simply doesn’t seem to care,”Shoto, for some reason I-I feel s-so great wi-with yo-,” but you are interrupted as he shoves you further against the wall , sliding down your shorts and undergarment, again with three fingers in.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises you while curling those fingers inside and then removing them together. He further continues, “seems like you’re ready,“ as he rubs the wetness inside the slit, giving special attention to your clit.

Saying that, he kneels down, now facing lower abdomen and plants a kiss over there. You simply look down at him, still struggling to balance, searching for even a slightest hint to know what is there to come.

Maybe he’ll stand up an carry you to the bed? or How about making him feel better this time?

But then, his face smashes his face on your dampness; almost attempting to bury in it as he holds you up and pushes. your legs apart. You clearly know where this is going, todoroki will be showing no mercy whatsoever.

"That wasn’t even the start honey,” he confesses in midst of you moans and begs for him to go slow. It doesn’t hurt anymore as much as it gives an unbearable form of pleasure.

You moan and whimper, yet he continues to suck in your clit. You can feel a finger inside, or maybe two, as they go in and out. Practically shattering you all at once while fusing you once for all.

Your hand travel its way to his hair. Ruffled enough to make the red and the white parts almost indistinguishable.

Oh dear.

Though your eyes are close, hands are fumbling around for support and legs are strictly held in place by Shoto, yet you can feel his tongue moving. As if in patterns, not that you could figure out. It either went in for an eight or just licked off entirely as one does while eating an icecream. You moan his name again and again, the same sensation building up block by block as he paves deeper and denser.

“I can’t take this anymor-”

“What makes you think that’s gonna stop me from eating this pussy.”

Little do you know that shoto can’t hold back anymore, it’s not just that he is in control but he has lost control. At the sight of your dark flushed red cheeks, delicacy and vulnerability, he only gets faster and tougher on you. His other fingers reach around and grips your ass, with his fingers slightly grazing across your unused hole.

That’s it, that was enough for you to go stagnant again, in your mind atleast. Your legs start shaking, with your mouth parted yet again. Shoto quickly stands up, with fingers still inside, to help you stay stood up. You feel yourself about to pass out, but in actuality are fully awake and aware. He kisses you, now moaning with you as well, as he fingers you until you cum.

His teeth take in your lower lip as your eyes flicker up at his unmatched ones.

Shoto, with one hand against the wall, halts for a minute. He stands tall in front of you, while holding you as you struggle to stand.

In midst of huffed breaths, you manage to say, “I- I, I mean- can I make you feel good as well?” On listening thise words, he goes still, “Baby, you can barely stand.”

“Still-” but again, before you could say anything, he picks you up in bridal style and dropping you on the bed; letting you lay back while he removed his left over garments.

This is when his erect manhood is finally exposed, refilling your memories of your first time when you had simply wondered how would you take all of that in. You did, though it was painful. But this time you refuse to be scared by the length, you know this is going to feel the best and you’re willing to take him in, deep inside you.

Shoto sighs and walks to the bed, “No-”

“Shoto?”

“Tonight is about you. Let ME explore you.”

“I wa-wanna hug you,” you blurt out.

He giggles, “sure, all that my y/n wants shall come true.”

But when you attempt to get up, your legs just fail to response. Even the slightest movement feels like a bolt of electricity run through you. At the sight of you falling back on the bed, Shoto simply smirks and says, “By the looks of it, I think I did a pretty good job at pushing your limits.”

“Don’t- I can’t even walk.”

“Wait,” he climbs on the bed beside you, sitting with back against the headboard while you lie against him, still breathless, still attempting to move.

“Don’t move princess,” saying this, he carefully pulls you up, with your head on his thigh. He helps you sit up slowly, while embracing your body against him, and finally hugs you, like a child clenching onto his teddy favourite bear.

“You are so beautiful,” he says as he gets up, while eyes glued on you. He moves to the end of the bed and pulls you towards him as he climbs in again. His two digits reenter your dampness, almost making you hiss at first but it’s soon replaced with moans.

Your back arcs as you mumble, “Sho-shoto, I’m very sensitive ri-right n-now. ah-”

While on his part, he receives it as a signal to level up to the next stage. He slowly penetrates in, soon pacing up. Warmth filled in your hearts and sweat glinting the lustre. He repostions you both a couple of times, giving you different forms of pleasures with each go.

You as well witness his fire quirk leaking out at times. He kisses you deeply and claims you as his own as he repeats the words, “I’ll never let you go.”

Now it’s past 3am, as your exhausted bodies lay next to each other; that’s when he whispers, “I love you.” Maybe he thinks you are already asleep, but you are not. He clearly can’t leave anything unspoken.

i hope this has left you baffled

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ao3porcelainstorm · 4 years ago

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poison ivy & stinging nettles 26

On Ao3

Masterlist

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 25 - Chapter 27

Chapter 26 - Fall

The Journal of Amelia Brenner

My therapist suggested I try writing down my thoughts. She said it might help me reflect on all that’s happened, a way to take on the grief.

I don’t really have a lot to say. I don’t think. I’ve never really been a writer, words are hard to come up with. It’s fair easier to throw a bottle of red paint at a wall and call it anger.

So I’ll just write down what I know.

John’s started up with his therapist again. I guess he’d stopped since meeting Sherlock, but since everything- he’s not doing well. I don’t think any of us are.

We moved out of Baker Street. There’s too much there. Everything just radiated Sherlock Holmes and I think the memories are still too fresh for both of us.

Ruthie is letting us rent the apartment above the old flower shop. The whole building was rebuilt and renovated. It’s better than it was before the fire- if I’m being honest. Not to mention, it’s bigger and doesn’t have the distinct smell of human flesh and sulfur.

John’s at work a lot more. When he’s home, he goes straight to bed. Sometimes he’ll come home stumbling from the pub.

I get it. I’d done my fair share of drinking alone, watching Doctor Who reruns all day.

Molly won’t answer my calls. I’m worried she’s not doing well, but I can’t find the energy to get dressed and visit in person. I can’t find the energy to do much anymore.

I tried painting the other day and ended up kicking a hole through the canvas. John came home and found me with a bottle of Merlot, laying in the middle of my room- the walls coated with thrown bottles of paint.

He suggested I get a day job to pass the time. Maybe he’s right.

All of my free time had become Sherlock.

I followed him to crime scenes, talked to him, laughed with him, slept with him. Everything was him. I didn’t mind. It wasn’t bad at all. For once, it was nice to feel important, to help bring happiness to others. I was spending time with the man I love and my best friend, every day.

Who could ask for anything better? I loved my life and now it’s careening off the rails and no matter how long I stare at the cliff I’m headed toward, I refuse to accept the reality for what it is.

Sherlock Holmes is dead, and there’s nothing that will change that.

(--)

Amelia had been through her fair share of no-win scenarios.

It wasn’t missed that the majority of them had happened since Sherlock stumbled into her life, but she wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything. Life lessons and finding love; all that nonsense.

So, when Moriarty wasn’t convicted for his part in the large crimes he’d committed in broad daylight, she realized that once again, they’d fallen into his game. A game where there were never any winners in the end.

Sherlock didn’t handle the news well. He was short-tempered, distracted, and when the little girl screamed as she’d recognized him, Amelia didn’t miss the murmurs and rumors that stirred after he fumed out of Scotland Yard.

She didn’t miss the uneasy look John shot her, or the other officers’ eyes boring into her back- more rumors that connected dots regarding her relationship with the detective.

He’d had a meltdown before they tried to arrest him, ranting about Moriarty making his move.

He was in the spotlight now, John had mentioned so much after the painting had been returned and Sherlock’s photographs peppered the front pages of local papers.

It was a wise time to strike, on Moriarty’s part, even Amelia had to sheepishly agree with the logic.

When Sherlock, and soon John, were arrested, Amelia hurried out to watch the men run off- Sherlock acting like he’d lost his mind.

She sprinted after them, promising Greg she’d calm them down. Figure out what happened.

Clear his name, was the unspoken promise between her and the unnerved inspector.

The boys moved fast, reminding Amelia exactly who she was working with. They were a step ahead of her the whole day.

Sherlock was getting desperate and did his best work in those cases. People tended to underestimate those at the end of their rope, and she’d almost fallen into that trap.

Thankfully, John shot her a text after an hour into her search.

An address tied to some reporter Sherlock had mentioned during the trial.

It was something, and she hoped the detective hadn’t mucked up the whole thing. The media would have a frenzy with his seemingly insane actions of the last twenty-four hours. She already was dreading the newspapers in the morning.

The British media was a brutal, cruel monster.

She arrived at the address, electing to listen to the voices inside bickering when a familiar voice commented behind her.

“You know what I love about a tragedy?” Moriarty purred when Amelia spun around. “It’s always preventable. Some miscalculation, some overzealous emotional decision- but the hero overlooks the obvious solution.”

Something snapped in Amelia. Fueled by a rage she’d ignored in lieu of healing, she shoved him back against the hallway wall.

He seemed genuinely surprised by the outburst, laughing quietly when she pinned his neck under her forearm, cutting off his breathing.

“Why shouldn’t I kill you?” she snarled. “I have every reason to.”

“They’ll think Sherlock did it-,” his face was turning blue, but still he grinned at her. “Fraud.”

Amelia hissed an insult under her breath and pulled away. He was right. Of course, he was right. This was his show, his story, and they were all playing their parts perfectly.

“Keep an eye out for the papers tomorrow, love,” he coughed, grabbing a grocery bag off the ground, humming a familiar tune under his breath.

Something clicked in Amelia’s brain and before he could unlock the door, she whirled around and slammed a fist into his gut.

It wasn’t the most powerful hit, but he still reeled over in pain, and that was enough for her.

“You’re not going to win,” she snarled in a low voice. “I’ll kill you myself if it comes down to it.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” he smirked and slipped into the apartment.

(---)

John met up with Amelia at the Diogenes Club.

He was thumbing through paperwork that he’d taken from the reporter when she’d arrived, frowning deeper with every word he read.

“He was sold out,” he murmured, handing her the files.

“What?” Amelia blinked in confusion, reading through the intimate details of Sherlock’s life.

A twisted review of the good he’d done, skewed by some distorted story about some actor named Richard.

Richard, whose face belonged to the monster from her nightmares.

The whole thing reeked of Moriarty, but the details...

They involved things only she or John would know and included some things she never knew. Intimate details. Personal details that only family might know.

“You think Mycroft told him?” she whispered, handing the file back to her friend. “When he in custody? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know he did,” John stated firmly. “Who else? We didn’t.”

The thought sent a chill up Amelia’s spine. His own brother. No wonder Sherlock seemed like he was slipping. The whole world was attacking him at every side.

“Is he on his way then? Mycroft?” she asked and John sighed, shrugging.

“Apparently,” he murmured, shaking his head at something he read. “They said he’s usually here by now.”

Amelia nodded and stood up, hand on her phone in her jacket pocket.

“I... I’m going to wait outside,” she mumbled. “I don’t think I could look Mycroft in the eye if he actually did this. We can... Just let me know when you’re done.”

John wasn’t paying much attention when she slipped out and started dialing Sherlock’s phone.

It rang twice before someone picked up.

“Sherlock?” she inquired quietly into the line.

“Are you safe?” he quickly questioned.

“Yeah I’m- I’m with John,” she replied. “Where are you?”

Amelia swore she heard a breath of relief through the line.

“Hospital,” he answered briskly. “Molly is... She agreed to let me stay out of sight here.”

“What’s your plan?” Amelia asked.

“Not yet,” he replied tersely. “I can’t tell you yet.”

“Then you know whatever it is, I’m here to help,” she stated firmly.

“I know,” he paused. “Just stay with John. I’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead, and Amelia shoved the phone back in her pocket. She paced around the sidewalk in front of the Diogenes Club, head ringing.

Moriarty’s words kept playing in her head. A tragedy.

It was clear what was happening, between the story and the doubt the maniac had sowed in everyone’s heads. The public would slaughter him alive when that bullshit story hit the shelves the next day. Sherlock, while a difficult and moody person, was sensitive to the opinions of others, no matter how he tried to play it off.

This had the potential to break him.

Amelia didn’t like the thought of where this could lead. She didn’t like the thought of losing what little peace she’d cultivated in her life. She was scared shitless and shaking when John found her waiting outside.

“I was right,” was all he said before tucking her under his arm and pulling her into a hug. She sighed, wishing that all her worries could wash away with the brief respite. When John pulled away, he looked at her directly.

“I’m scared too.”

(---)

The trio reunited at the hospital laboratory.

“The computer code,” Sherlock explained, bouncing a ball between cabinets, eyes fixed forward. “Somewhere in Baker Street... on the day of the verdict, he must have hidden it.”

“What did he touch?” John asked, approaching, eyes following the ball as it bounced between the floor and counters.

“An apple, nothing else,” came Sherlock’s response. He stood up, fist-clenching around the rubber ball, eyes scanning the air as if the answer would appear.

John tapped idly on the counter, throwing out ideas when Amelia saw Sherlock suddenly tense.

It was subtle, but she watched him glance at the pair before turning away, fishing his phone from his pocket and quickly typing out a message.

When he turned back around, John had been oblivious to the action, but he met Amelia’s questioning look with a frown.

He wasn’t going to tell them his plan, she realized when he started wordlessly bouncing the ball again.

A few hours passed, with John falling asleep about halfway through their waiting. Amelia sat propped against the cabinets on the ground next to Sherlock while her phone charged in a nearby outlet- just watching him.

She watched him fidget and check his phone from time to time. She watched him pace, eyes searching for something not present.

Occasionally he’d mumbled under his breath or bounce the ball again.

She watched him do everything in his power to avoid looking at her or John.

That deep, unnerving feeling she’d felt at the Diogenes club had re-emerged.

This wasn’t going to end well, she predicted. She didn’t know how or what was going to happen, but she knew Sherlock well enough to understand when he was a dozen paces ahead and he didn’t seem pleased.

He knew the endgame, and he knew she would immediately be able to tell that something was off. That’s why he didn’t say anything about his plan.

John’s phone rang, pulling the doctor out of his brief nap. A few quick words and bolted up, looking to the pair while he threw on his coat.

“Paramedics, Mrs. Hudson they say she’s been shot,” he explained breathlessly, tossing Amelia her coat off a nearby chair.

“What? How?” Sherlock’s response came coolly. Unphased. Unsurprised, even.

“Probably one of the killers you managed to- Jesus, she’s dying, let’s go,” he started for the door, Amelia following behind without question.

“You go, I’m busy,” he stated, staring off in the distance.

That wasn’t the right response. Amelia stared in shock, looking to John then Sherlock, for someone to say something else.

John’s expression shifted in awe- anger, surprise, frustration all bubbling to the surface.

“Busy-?” he choked out, hands shaking at his sides.

“Thinking- I need to think,” came Sherlock’s short reply.

This didn’t read right to Amelia. He wasn’t that heartless-

“You need to- doesn’t she mean anything to you?” John’s voice broke slightly. “You once half-killed a man because he laid a finger on her.”

“She’s my landlady.”

“She’s dying- you machine,” John spat out, hands body shaking. When he realized the truth to his own words, something crossed his features and he backed away “Sod this. Sod this. You stay here if you want, be alone.”

“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me,” Sherlock replied, still unmoving.

“Friends protect people,” John snapped. “C’mon Mia.”

Amelia sent a final look to Sherlock, her expression falling when he wouldn’t break away from his selected spot on the wall in front of him. Avoiding her.

This was wrong. This was all wrong.

Hurrying after John, he was about to slide in the cab when she felt her pockets, realizing her wallet and phone had been left behind in the lab.

“Go ahead,” she called to him, turning back to the hospital. “I’ll be right behind you!”

John took off without a second thought, while Amelia raced back to the lab, stopping when she saw Sherlock in one of the back halls- headed for a staircase.

To her surprise, he didn’t notice her, his expression lost in thought while he marched forward, almost trance-like. She stood and watched until he was out of sight, her heart thrumming against her sternum.

Something wrong. Her mind repeated over and over.

Her gut said to follow him, but against her instincts, she let him be. She slipped back into the lab, spying her phone on the counter with a new message from John.

Mrs. Hudson is fine. Somethings wrong.

She knew it.

Racing up the hall, she could hear a closing door above her when she reached the stairs.

Rooftop, her brained supplied, and she sprinted up the steps two at a time, pausing at the metal door leading to the roof.

“...nice you choose a tall building, nice way to do it.”

James Moriarty.

There was a beat before Sherlock’s voice sounded.

“Do it? Do what?” he asked. “Yes of course... my suicide.”

Amelia’s chest tightened.

“Genius detective proved to be a fraud, I read it in the papers so it must be true. I love newspapers,” Amelia could hear the voices stepping away. “Fairytales... and pretty grim ones too.”

What could she do? What was there to do?

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

She wasn’t supposed to be listening.

She fumbled with her phone, shaking hands trying to type out a coherent message to John.

Sherlock in trouble. Moriarty here.

Anything-! But before she could send, an adrenaline rush sent a hitter through her arms and the phone tumbled out of her hands and down the stairs.

Nononononono

This was like her nightmares. Her inability to save anyone. Her curse being forced to watch while-

A gunshot rattled the door and Amelia decided she’d had enough. She’d face whatever awaited on the other side, regardless of who pulled the trigger.

She didn’t expect to find Moriarty, dead on the ground, Sherlock looking panicked, and a gun in the maniac’s hand.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock was on Amelia in a heartbeat, grabbing her arm and spinning her to face him. “You’re supposed to be with John.”

“My phone-,” she stammered gesturing toward the door, eyes still wide. “Sherlock, what’s happening?”

Moriarty dead. Sherlock on the roof. Suicide.

“No, no, you can’t be here,” he ran a hand through his hair. “Amelia, you need to leave. You can’t see this.”

“He’s dead, what are you talking about? He’s gone,” she tried putting words into sentences that would make sense, but the way he was stumbling around made her second guess her attempts at calming him.

“He’s going to kill all of you, he hired assassins to-” he finally managed, his expression resolved in the information. “Unless...”

“You jump,” she whispered, a hand moving to cover her horrified expression. “Sherlock, think logically, there’s- he’s playing on your emotions. He wants you to think there isn’t another plan- we can call Lestrade or your brother-.”

“There’s no time,” he explained, grabbing her arms. “Please, do this for me. Go downstairs. Forget this, forget all of this.”

“Sherlock you can’t be serious,” tears sprung up in her eyes. “You’re being irrational. Let John and I help, we’re your friends-.”

He cut her off with a frantic kiss.

It was a desperate last kiss that would have normally swept Amelia straight off her feet.

Instead, she clutched into the front of his jacket when he tried to pull away and back toward the edge of the rooftop.

“Please, Sherlock,” she begged. “You can’t- I love you. So many people love and cherish you and I... please.”

He was on the edge of the building, legs wavering slightly when he looked down. He took a breath, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

“I’m calling John,” he stated, hand holding the phone up for her to see.

Right. John.

John would talk some sense into him. He’d see reason when John-

She didn’t hear much of what was said. Her mind was racing, running through ways of saving him.

Pull him down, stop the jump- anything, but every scenario still ended with him plummeting to his death.

Amelia felt so useless. So pathetic. So helpless.

He was determined to make things right and, in his mind, this was the right path. He’d do what he had to in order to see this through to the end.

She stepped closer while he was distracted, and when he turned to drop the phone, he gave her a final look, a sad smile.

“I love you, Amelia,” he said. “And I beg you, please, don’t watch.”

And before she could reach for him, he jumped.

An inhuman noise escaped her, and though every temptation was there for her to watch his descent, she threw herself to the rooftop and buried her screams in her knees.

Screams filled the street. Onlookers yelled for help.

Her heart felt like it’d been ripped clean of her body. Disbelief danced with the reality of what just happened in front of her own eyes.

Everything felt like a dream after that.

Mycroft ended up being the one to find her, his agents approaching the scene first.

Normally, Amelia would have given him a piece of her mind regarding his place in all of this, but she numbly let him guide her to where John was on the street below.

She caught snippets of conversations. People being interviewed by the police, the random clicks of journalists documenting the famous detectives fall from grace, EMTs murmuring about what it all meant.

Her mind was trying to make sense of it all. Trying to pry some semblance of sanity from the chaos around her.

She found John sitting on the back of an ambulance with a patch on his head.

She didn’t say a word as she approached, instead just wrapping him under her arms and letting him choke out a few tears into her jacket. They’d both been left behind.

The tragedy of Sherlock Holmes wasn’t the unpoetic end he’d faced, it was the guilt and questions he’d left behind in those who cared the most for him.

Chapter 27

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thedailychalkboard · 7 years ago

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Look Up - Look Around

Existing in a society where the current emotional machinery is lubricated by intense negativity is often a stressful endeavor and maintaining a positive mindset can be downright exhausting. Like a sea of toxic polluted thought, the waves of hearsay, half truths and outright falsehoods crash onto the clean beaches of reason and contemplation.

While the masses are being mentally and physically pummeled by the purveyors of all that is wrong and coerced into believing that the world is failing, flailing and falling apart, there are those who endeavor to retain balance. These few folks stand as stalwart illuminating pillars of reason, holding up the virtues of what is right, worthy honest and true.

These pillars of emotional intelligence do their best to toss life lines to those who flounder in the darkened waters of coercion and misdirection. A few souls do grab hold while the vast majority ignores the hope and reason tossed in their direction and sink into the depths of a miserable mind numbing mediocre oblivion.

I’m sure I’ve lost a good fifty percent or more of my readers with these first few paragraphs. For those of you who have made the conscious and deliberate choice to press on I applaud and ensure you that there is good to be had and a positive purpose, worth your time, behind this editorial piece. Let’s dive right in.

I consider myself to be firmly rooted as one of those pillars I write about. I wouldn’t bother sharing the stuff you read here if I didn’t think it was so. I certainly wouldn’t waste my limited bank account of time on this earth to share things with you that I feel are helpful, meaningful and even potentially life changing if I didn’t feel it was important that I do so.

To be clear there’s no ego involved in what I do and why I write and share. It is simply a fact that there are people who wouldn’t give the slightest inclination to stopping and thinking, let alone contemplating, the things I write about. It’s either something they haven’t considered worthy of contemplation or are just too consumed by the rat race trap of making somebody else a living instead of understanding how and why it is so important to make a life for them self. My only goal and purpose is to be instrumental in changing these things. I call it helping people find their Smile.

To be absolutely up front, I’m not asking for money. I’m asking for something much more precious than any financial transaction can ever be. I am asking you to spend of your account of time to contemplate, learn and share with others, so we will all be better off. This stuff is very easy to think about and to understand. In fact it is so easy in concept and in practice that very few people even consider it worthy of thinking about, let alone putting into practice. Let me give you a personal example.

Very recently I was picking up some necessities from a local franchise grocery store. Lines are long here because the perception is that prices are cheap. It’s not uncommon to find yourself spending more than a few minutes in line with plenty of time to begin seriously sorting through your email in-box or some other mundane informational chore most of us find ourselves putting off until never.

This day was no exception at my local “ginormagrocerymart”. I found myself behind a woman with a full basket as she continued filling an already full grocery conveyor. I had two items in my cart, neatly stacked and easy to see. A quick furtive glance in my direction was enough to confirm, in my mind anyway, that she was fully aware of my presence. This is when things began to fall apart in my mind.

I’m of a frame of mind that if the person behind me in a busy store has less than five items, and I have a cart with twice to three times that amount, the neighborly and considerate thing to do is to ask, even insist in a friendly way, that they go before me. Good karma notwithstanding, I feel this is a way of acknowledging the fact that others have value in my eyes and that I recognize and appreciate their existence and circumstances at the moment. Nowhere have I ever seen a written rule that states that I must know someone for any length of time to be nice and considerate to them. Voices of my own making in my head began making things worse. “Why the hell didn’t she notice that I can be done in thirty seconds, when it’s going to take her a good five minutes to get her stuff checked through?” the voices began to demand. They went on; “What is it that keeps some people from being nice when they have an opportunity to do so literally staring them right in the face?” Yep, I was staring at her too. Then a slight grin began to form in both my mind and on my face.

I took a breath, and mentally stepped back. The self induced voices in my head calmed and I began to do more observing and less mental chastisement and silent, pointed, accusation. We’re all different in how we react to certain situations and outside stimuli. I know that emotional rants in my mind can have the intense adrenaline rising exhilaration of a dozen ‘Transformer’ and ‘Fast and Furious’ movies combined if I allow things get out of control. I also know that this is about as healthy as proverbially joining ‘The Fight Club’ and being the only person you’ll ever be fighting. Instead I opted out and made a conscious decision to create a learning experience out of this opportunity and not a personally, anger inducing negative one. Later, as I reviewed in my mind what had happened, the idea of Intellectual Lemonade was born.

The woman who had, or hadn’t, taken notice of me behind her, with my two items, stacked neatly in my basket, appeared to be in her mid to late-sixties, longer gray hair worn loose, tall, thin, tanned, distinguished in a rancher’s sort of way. She wore clean, well fitting, faded but non- designer jeans and a no nonsense practical shirt. It was easy to assume that she came by that jean fading honestly. She could have rolled her grocery cart out to her old Ford pickup, with the attached horse trailer and drove away leaving a thin trail of blue smoke from its tailpipe and it would have completed the story I was building in my mind at the moment. That’s what I mean by distinguished in a rancher’s sort of way.

She liked dogs, or had dogs, or maybe she was taking care of someone’s dogs. At any rate she had several large cans of dog food and two bags of dry dog food, a few other edible items and one that caught my eye in particular; a case of imported beer. I had two bags of cat litter in my cart, stacked neatly, easy to see. She was tall. As I pondered her choice in beer she began to explain to the cashier that she had a coupon for one of the bags of dog food. This took an extra minute maybe as they sorted things out. My eyes went to the two items in my cart. Thirty seconds tops. But, I was now into full blown observational mode and had more or less abandoned my initial snap judgmental hyperbole.

As the groceries beeped their way into her ownership she began bagging them. It’s at this point that I noticed she was pulling out her own cloth bags in which to place her purchases. Scratch the old Ford pickup. Now I pictured her silently exiting the parking lot in some dusty but new, expensive yet practical, compact fuel efficient hybrid SUV. She had dog food, imported beer, coupons, and brought her own cloth grocery bags. I had cat litter, which I didn’t need a bag for. I relished the cheap plastic store bags though, and always double bagged at my wife’s request. She loves those bags because they’re so great for scooping up and disposing cat poop in. I did mention I had two bags of cat litter, neatly stacked in my shopping cart and easy to see. I drive a notably fuel inefficient yet affordable used H3 Hummer. It carries lots of cat litter.

I’d nearly forgotten about my recent adrenaline rush when who I assume to be the ginormagrocerymart’s assistant store manager came along, noticed the lengthening lines, and conveniently invited the people behind me in line to accompany him to an unused register and began to check them through. Two items, neatly stacked, cat litter, plain sight, no imported beer. I sighed and thought to myself; “Yes. Lightning can strike a person, in the same spot, twice, in the same day.” Of course it could very well be that the ginormagrocerymart’s assistant manager just doesn’t like cats. And here I stand with not one, but two bags of cat litter, neatly stacked in my cart.”

The tall sixty-something distinguished in a rancher’s way gray haired woman in the well worn but clean faded jeans who had all the groceries in front of me was writing a check. I noticed when she had to ask the checker the date because she didn’t know it. She was still finishing her cloth bagging chores as I quickly paid for my two neatly stacked bags of cat litter. I was in and out in less than a minute when I finally got to the cash register. I only regret I didn’t get to see what she was driving. I have to admit that imported beer looked mighty good. It was a hot day.

So what did I learn and why did this happen? I can’t answer the last part of my question with certainty, but I can certainly answer the first part. Perception becomes reality when we allow it to influence or override our senses, observation, intuition and better judgment. My reality was initially affected by the actions of the woman in front of me. My perception was that she didn’t care that I was behind her and felt her needs were more important than mine. Had she looked up and around both our realities and perceptions would have changed; mine for the better and hers as well. There is nothing more rewarding than doing something nice for someone else, period, end of story.

Our reality can change simply by being aware and alert to opportunity and acting upon our intuition and better judgment. I've determined that my initial reality was not helping me or anyone else. I took action to change my reality by replacing my negative perception with observation. I deflected any misplaced animosity towards her by engaging myself in this exercise of discovery. Had she observed better, perhaps my reality would have been different, and my initial impression wouldn’t have been negative. Had the assistant store manager used his training in the power of observation to a better degree, then perhaps he wouldn’t have engaged in the line of least resistance and would have asked me if I would like to change register lines.

We determine how we act and react in any given situation. We cannot blame anyone but our self no matter what the circumstances, for the emotions we feel, how we act and how we react. As much as we wish it were not so we are responsible for our feelings and how we make others feel around us. It is critical that we understand and embrace this. People are unhappy because of their own actions, interactions and reactions, not those of someone else.

These lessons are ongoing in life. Not one of us is perfect and each one of us is tried and tested daily on the actions we take or don’t and the reactions we have to the actions and reactions of others around us. If lemons are going to become lemonade we must pay attention, stay alert, work constantly to do and be our very best and learn to live with our mistakes and those of our fellow human beings.

I learned one additional valuable lesson during these few short minutes spent in line at the grocery store. Look up and look around. Reality is what you can touch and what can touch you. When you can begin to touch another person’s heart you’ve started the journey to mastering this thing we call life.

#michaeldavis

Michael D. Davis is a communicator by vocation, a mentor by avocation and a social media maven by choice. His work can be found on popular channels on the web and on his blog at http://thedailychalkboard.tumblr.com/ Michael welcomes your comments and invites you to join him. Just Google #michaelddavis or #thedailychalkboard to find him and request to connect.

#inspiration

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smoothshift · 7 years ago

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Ten days and 2,100 miles with my 2018 Charger Scat pack. via /r/cars

Ten days and 2,100 miles with my 2018 Charger Scat pack.

I ordered my car on February 20th and took delivery April 13th. So far I am in love with the car and wanted to write a quick review of how my week and a half has been. For anyone wondering the sticker price on mine was $44,700 and I got it for $36,827 before taxes and fees. This price included a $1,000 USAA rebate. My dealer charged a $299 doc fee. People always seem to be interested in that.

The two vehicles I had previously to the Charger were a 2008 Infiniti G35, and a 2014 Mustang GT 6 speed. Overall I like the Charger a lot more, but it has some flaws that those two didn't.

Interior wise this car is interesting. The quality is honestly pretty good for what it is. Of course it's a brand new car but everything feels solid. The dashboard material looks a little cheap and just rubbing your fingers on it will leave oil marks but it's better than my previous cars so I'm happy. The heated/vented seats and the heated steering wheel are awesome. The Beats stereo is pretty good. It's certainly no Burmeister system but it's better than the Bose system I had in my Infiniti. Seat comfort is okay at best. They are pretty hard and the bolsters jam up into my thighs. Even though they are hard I felt no fatigue or soreness after an eleven hour day in the car. That surprised me. This car suffers from the same problem as my G35 did. The interior space is pathetic for how large this car is. There is almost twice the amount of rear leg room in my wife's Sonata compared to this car. Front seat space is good. The car is wide. Trunk space is okay but with the subwoofer in there I feel like my Mustang had a more usable trunk.

Uconnect is great. The interface feels like a reskinned Ipad. Much more responsive than most infotainment systems I've used. The car has performance pages (0-60, 0-100, 1/8th, 1/4th, G meter, top speed readout and launch control which I haven't used yet. The seven inch display between the gauges is neat. The engine temp/fuel gauge is digital and you can reconfigure the readouts to your liking. For example you can have the digital speedometer in the upper portion or in the middle with larger font. There is also engine hp/tq readouts.

Handling is a mixed bag for me. This car does not handle like a pickup truck or Grand Marquis but it's no 6th gen Camaro either. There's a clover leaf on ramp on my way to work that I used to love taking in the G35. I could go 40-45 mph and the car would be at the absolute limit of traction in kind of a slide. It was great fun and easy to control. My Mustang could take it about the same speed but was more frightening because of the live axle. The Charger feels like it's very close to it's limit at 35 mph. Going through tight turns the Charger can do it. But it's not very fun. It's a chore to drive fast through corners. Where as my Infiniti was down right fun in comparison. However weight and a long wheelbase have their advantages. Drifting this car is a piece of cake. In my G35 when I would slide the rear out it felt twitchy and would sometimes come around more than I meant it to. The Mustang was downright scary to slide because of axle hop. The Charger will effortlessly kick it's rear out and do exactly what you want it to. Also when you break traction while moving the rear stays planted. This car is very predictable and does what you want it to as long as you respect the gas pedal. Cruising at 100+ mph feels as solid as 60 mph. Mine has the 245mm Goodyears. They're obviously way to skinny for this much power. But they have a good amount of grip. Much better than the Pirelli P zeros that came on my Mustang and the Yokohamas on my G35. Not as good the the Michelin PSSs I put on the Mustang.

Braking is great. I have the four piston Brembos on mine and they have no problem stopping 4,400 pounds from 150 mph. On the Mustang/G35 slowing from even 120 mph would cause the brakes to shake a little. It's a huge difference. I will never buy a performance car without high performance brakes again. I never knew what I was missing.

The ZF8 is fantastic. That said, it's not as fun as a manual. The auto does a great job of mimicking a manual though. If you're at a light you can take your foot off the brake and the car will sit still. It downshifts to engine brake on it's own. If you're cruising and stab the gas then let off really quick it will jump to a lower gear and stay there for quite some time. Shifts are very fast and the gearing is fantastic. There is no speed that this car is caught in a dead rpm zone. All of that is amplified if you active sport mode. Shifting firms up a lot and it holds gears. One thing I really like about this transmission is it allows you to have some fun in normal auto mode without sport mode engaged. Rolling onto the gas slowly from a stop it will shift at 3k rpms and you get to hear the exhaust. You don't have to stomp the pedal to the floor for it to downshift or get above 2k rpms. The zinc paddles feel high quality and the response is awesome. I use them almost every day. Where as with my G35 I used the manual mode maybe five times.

The exhaust note is glorious. I had GT500 axle backs and resonator deletes on my 2014 5.0 and this stock exhaust is louder and sounds better. I will say I think the 2018 Mustang GT with the active exhaust sounds slightly better. Startup is a nice bark and then a low rumble. This car has active exhaust but it's always loud. Around 3k rpms the note changes from a deep rumble, almost similar to a V8 truck with Borlas, into a screeching wail. Flooring it under an over pass or next to a concrete barrier gives me goose bumps. Engine noise is a nice V8 burble. It sounds different than a Coyote or LS. You can tell this is a large displacement engine by the noise. My Coyote sounded exotic in comparison if that makes sense. The tone is very American. There is some drone. More so than my Mustang had even with it's modified exhaust. It's not an issue if you have the radio on though.

Dodge might come up short in some areas but they created something special with this 392 Hemi. This car feels big. You can tell it is a massive, heavy boat. All of that weight completely disappears the second you roll onto the gas. When I had my Mustang and would roll on in too high of a gear you could tell. Even after the 93 tune I got. The car wouldn't be accelerating as fast as you wanted. Around 3,500 - 4,000 rpms it really woke up. Not so with the 6.4L. Any gear, any rpm it just goes. It has no problem accelerating quite quickly from 1,200 rpms in 8th. It will break the tires loose from 1,700 rpms in 5th. Floor it at 80 mph and it slams you into the seat and just keeps pulling. It was still pulling hard at 150 mph when I let off. I love this engine.

This car has Sport mode and I felt it deserved it's own paragraph. You can customize Sport mode to you liking. For example you could set it so traction control and steering feel are normal, but engine/trans response are more abrupt. I have all of it set to the highest setting. Sport mode turns it into a different car. It feels way faster, the shifts are harsh and quicker. The exhaust seems louder at low rpms. Gears are held longer and 4 cylinder mode is disabled. It's just difference from other cars I've experienced with a Sport mode. Instead of just holding gears longer it actually transforms the driving experience.

I took it on a road trip with the cruise set anywhere from 78-90 mph (Texas, New Mexico, Utah) and I got 25 mpg. Commuting I've been getting 19 mpg with a lot of spirited driving. I got the exact same mpg out of my 93 tuned 3.31 rear axle Mustang 5.0.

Overall I really love this car. I have no delusions about it being some world beater like an E63 S. I know there are a lot of cars that are faster/nicer/better but for just under 40k out the door I am more than pleased.

#reddit #autonews #auto #cars

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