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reginaphalange2403 · 1 year

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Experience

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You accidentally hurt yourself and Steve awkwardly has to help you out

Warnings: minor injury, angst/arguing, protective Steve rogers, enemies to lovers vibes kinda. pls read a/n

a/n: my first Steve fic! I hope I did him justice lol. Obviously most of this is not canon, so lets just pretend everyone in the mcu is alive and happy, cause that's how they are in my head anyway :D also, this is kinda goofy but I guess I was in a goofy mood so here we are.

“Alright, I buddied you all up in pairs for the hotel rooms” Tony announced as the 7 of you all gathered in the lobby of the hotel he had booked. You had just finished up with a mission in Chicago, but ended up having to stay the night there so that you could appear at a press conference the next morning.

“Really Tony?” You glared at him, “You’re a billionaire and you couldn’t splurge this once so we could each get our own room?”

“Just cause I have money, doesn’t mean I don’t like to save,” he quipped, “besides, we’re all a team here, I figured you’d be fine sharing. Anyway, I’ll bunk with Banner, Sam you’re with Bucky, and Y/N, uh I guess you’re with Cap”

Your eyes widened at hearing you’d be rooming with Steve. “What about Nat?” You asked, wondering why you couldn’t just room with her, considering you were the only two girls.

“Nat got her own room” Tony explained, and you looked over at Natasha who just shrugged,

“I knew he’d do this, so I usually call ahead of time and just book my own room myself.”

“Genius” You whispered with a tad of jealousy.

Finally, you glanced at Steve, who looked as equally not-thrilled to be sharing a room with you. You were the newest member to the team and ever since you joined, you’d hadn’t had the greatest rapport with Mr. Captain America. You weren’t the type of person who liked to follow orders, and on missions, you typically wanted to do your own thing instead of listen to Cap’s directions over the comms. This led to a lot of bickering back and forth between the two of you, as Steve often thought you were reckless and a danger to yourself. Meanwhile, you thought he could be bossy and entitled, expecting you to just listen to him because he was older.

“Ill take the bed by the window” Steve mumbled as he opened the door after the silent walk up to your hotel room.

“Fine” You gripped, setting your things down on the other bed. As you did so, you winced a little at the pain in your wrist. You had probably twisted it at some point during the battle. It wasn’t serious, but it was an annoying ache.

Hearing your little wince, Steve looked up at you from across the room and noticed you examining your wrist.

“Wouldn’t a’ happened if you had just listened to me” he tutted under his breath.

Your head snapped over at him, “Seriously?!”

“Yeah, seriously.” Steve’s eyes turned a little colder, “This is a team Y/N, you can’t just start going rouge in the middle of a battle. I make a battle plan for a reason! And you just complete ignore my instructions over comms!”

“I knew what I was doing!” You snapped back at him, “I was completely in control until you sent Bucky over to ‘rescue’ me” you dramatically put quotes around ‘rescue’, “which was unnecessary and totally delayed the mission!”

“I had to!” Steve practically yelled, “You weren’t responding when I kept asking for a status and I had no idea where you were!”

“Why does it matter? You let Natasha do whatever she wants on missions, and she hardly ever speaks over comms and yet you’re never up her ass about it!”

“Because I trust Nat!” Steve’s confession took you aback a little, letting a few seconds of silence hang in the air.

“Oh so that’s it? You don’t trust me?” You were furious, and Steve could tell.

“Shit,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed, “Y/N that’s not what I meant, I just-“

“Whatever” you cut him off, “I’m getting in the shower” You grab your pajamas and walk into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

——

While you let the hot water wash away the dirt and sweat that had accumulated from fighting, you opened the tiny little complementary soap bar provided by the hotel, placing it on the rim so you could use it in a moment.

While washing your hair however, you failed to notice the soap slip from the rim and slide down the tub, landing near your feet. This came to bite you in the ass unfortunately, as you finished rinsing your hair you took a step back and slipped on the bar, your feet coming out from under you. Your shoulder and head took most of the fall, hitting the side of the tub hard.

“Fuck!” You cursed, gasping as you felt the pain slowly creep into your upper arm. You had probably dislocated your shoulder, and maybe cracked a rib too by the way you were feeling.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” You heard Steve yell from right outside the door, his voice laced with concern- which was something you had never heard him direct towards you.

“No” You called back, “I slipped in the shower and hit my head, and I think I dislocated my shoulder”

You looked around, seeing if there was something you could grab onto to help pull yourself up, but there was no handle or anything. And your arm with the bum wrist was closest to the rim, but unfortunately, you didn’t have enough strength there to be able to push yourself with just that wrist. Realizing the slight predicament you were in, you explained to Steve,

“I think you’re gonna have to help me up”

Always ready to be of assistance, Steve immediately started turning the door handle until you yelled again,

“Wait wait no! Steve you can’t just come in here!”

“What? You just asked me to, you need help!”

“I’m in the shower…Im naked Steve” you said as if it should’ve been obvious.

It was almost as if you could hear the blush creep onto Steve’s face as he clued in “Oh…right…well what am I supposed to do?”

“You’re gonna have to close your eyes, and I’ll just direct you”

A few seconds passed until you heard a hesitant ‘okay’ from him.

He started to open the door again, “Promise you’ll have ‘em closed!” You quickly shouted before he came all the way in.

“I swear Y/N, they’re closed!” He finally opened the door, and true to his word, his eyes were completely clamped shut.

“Okay, now just walk straight until you feel the curtain, pull it back and turn off the water” You instructed him, as Steve walked forward with his arms outstretched and yanked the shower curtain back, his hand quickly found the nozzle and he turned the water off.

You reached your arm out to Steve, “I’m reaching my hand out towards you, so you can help me up” He quickly found it, clasping his hand in yours and crouching down lower to you.

As he helped you stand, your other arm instinctively came out and grabbed his forearm so you wouldn’t fall.

“Sorry” You mumbled, realizing you were getting him wet.

“It’s alright” he said softly, sounding sincere, his eyes still very much closed. You had to hold back a laugh as you stood completely naked in front of Steve Rogers, whose face was a deep crimson and just as embarrassed as you were despite not even being able to see you.

“Can you turn around and hand me a towel? They’re right behind you”

You quickly wrapped the towel around yourself, “I guess you can open your eyes now”

Steve did as you said, and his attention quickly fixed on your lopsided shoulder that clearly wasn’t symmetrical with the other one.

“You should probably get checked out for that”

“Of course I manage to get through a fight unscathed but have to injure myself in the shower” you grumbled, trying to haphazardly dry yourself off without exposing yourself to Steve. He smiled sympathetically at you, the first smile you had possibly ever gotten from him.

“Can you turn around for a sec?” You asked him, “I need to change”

Steve did as he was told, and you grabbed your clothes from off the counter, managing to slip your sweatpants on easily and somehow clasp your bra. Your shirt however, was proving difficult. With your fucked up shoulder and sore wrist, you couldn’t quite figure out how to get your arms through the sleeves without causing yourself a lot of pain.

“Steve?” You swallowed, embarrassed to have to ask him for help again, but it wasn’t like you could walk into the hospital shirtless.

“Hm?” He hummed, still facing away from you.

“I need some help putting my shirt on, you can turn back around”

Steve turned to see you standing there with just your bra on and gray sweatpants, wet hair framing your face and falling down your shoulders, getting your chest damp as well. Seeing you in this state caused his face to flush bright red once again and he gulped, not being able to help himself from just staring.

“Steve! My shirt” You snapped him out of it, and he finally took the shirt you were holding out for him.

“Alright um,” he began, not too sure how to go about this, “Put your good arm through here”

Steve then gently guided the other sleeve over your injured arm, which you held closely to your side. As the tight fabric pulled over your shoulder, you swore under your breath.

“Sorry, sorry” Steve apologized quickly. Once he was finished, you headed past him out of the bathroom, slipping on some shoes and grabbing your phone.

“Im just gonna get an uber to the hospital” You said as Steve came out of the bathroom after you.

“Hold on, just let me get my coat” He said absentmindedly.

“What? I can go by myself Steve” You looked at him pointedly.

“Im sure you can, but you’re not going to” he glared, “you’re not getting in an uber this late at night by yourself. And didn’t you say you hit your head too? What if you have a concussion? It’s not safe to go by yourself.”

“I doubt I have a concussion” you rolled your eyes, but truth be told, he might be right. Your head was killing you, and you had started to feel nauseous. “You don’t have to baby me all the time, I can manage on my own”

“Well considering you couldn’t even get dressed by yourself, I find that hard to believe” Steve muttered, “and this isn’t about me baby-ing you, I’m looking out for you. When are you gonna get that through your head? Im coming” With that, you knew his decision was made and nothing you said could change it.

The beginning of the Uber ride was mostly quiet, you started out the window for the most part and missed how Steve kept glancing over at you to see if you were alright. Only a few minutes in, you started to shiver. You couldn’t help it; your hair was still soaking wet and the Uber driver had the AC blasting for some reason. The adrenaline of getting hurt was also starting to wear off, meaning the pain was starting to set in more. Your shoulder was killing you and your head was pounding.

Steve immediately noticed when you start to shake involuntarily, and without saying anything, he slipped off his own coat and slid it around your back, as you only had on a thin long sleeve shirt. You mumbled a thanks.

Finally, you were seated in the surprisingly empty waiting room and told you would be seen shortly.

“I do trust you” You looked over at Steve,

“Huh?”

“I do trust you” he spoke a little louder, lifting his head to look at you. You suddenly remembered the argument from earlier and what he was referring to.

“Then why do you treat me like I can’t be left alone?” You asked him quietly

Steve shrugged, “Maybe its cause your new, maybe its cause I feel like it’s my job to look out for everyone…” He swallowed, looking down before continuing, “Maybe its cause I don’t feel the same way with you as I do the others”

It look you a moment to realize what he was implying. “Well you have an interesting way of going about showing it” You smiled.

Steve finally looked up at you, smiling slightly as well, “Sorry. Im usually not the best with this sort of thing. Any experience I have dates back to 1940” He chuckled lightly

“That’s okay” You stated softly, “Theres always room for more experiences”

Right after you said that you got called back. Steve went through with you and waited patiently as you were seen. They were able to pop your shoulder back in without needing surgical intervention, which Steve held your hand through though you didn’t ask him to. They also gave you a significant amount of pain medication, leaving Steve to have to haul your loopy, giggly self back to the hotel.

After carefully helping you into bed, he placed a bottle of water and more pain medication on your bedside table in case you needed it in a few hours.

“Hmm thanks Steve” you mumbled dreamily.

Steve just chuckled softly before turning around to get in his own bed,

“Wait” you lazily reached out for him, “you can get in my bed. It’s cold in here”

While Steve would have loved to crawl in next to you, it didn’t feel right to him. This wasn’t you, you were hopped up on pain meds. In the morning you probably wouldn’t remember this and be confused as to why he was in your bed.

“I don’t think so” he whispered, squeezing your hand back “but I’ll be right over here, right across from you if you need anything”

Steve then pulled your hand up to his lips and kissed it, and before he could tell you goodnight again, you were already passed out.

------

Taglist: @worksby-d @gh0stgurl @dpaccione @patzammit

#steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers fluff #Steve Rogers angst #avengers x reader #mcu imagine

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letteredlettered · 23 days

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arranged20??

This answer is also for @nanavn, who asked about the same thing!

This is a fic I really, really hope to finish writing. I wrote 44,293 already. I love it and I'm proud of it. But it's an MDZS/CQL fic, and my head is living in TGCF right now, and I also want to make time for original fic, so who knows when I will get to it?

This fic is wangxian. That's the only pairing, though I guess background LXC/NMJ.

In ancient China, marriage between men was a thing, the way it was in many ancient cultures, but I didn't really do a lot of research on that for the fic. One central premise of the fic, though, is that marriage between men is not unheard of and can be used for political alliances. Homophobia still exists in this world, because I actually think it's rather important to some of the premises of this book.

The fic is an AU after WWX dies at the burial mounds. Another basic premise is that JGS begins to realize JGY is a threat, so he watches closely and doesn't die in an orgy. In order to keep JGY in check, JGS recognizes Mo Xuanyu as Jin Xuanyu. Meanwhile, JGS is more careful about consolidation of power--for instance, JGY has not dared sabotage NMJ. Instead, the Jin Sect has slowly expanded such that the other sects can feel the heat, and everyone is waiting for things to boil over.

This is an arranged marriage fic. At the start of the fic, Jin Sect finally makes a move that will undermine and discredit the Lan Sect. Lan Xichen knows what JGS is looking for--to either chip away at Lan influence or gain Lan fealty. LXC feels that the only way to secure their position is to marry into the Jin Sect. LWJ refuses to let his brother throw himself away on a loveless marriage, because the man LXC loves is alive and also threatened (even without his qi being sabotaged, NMJ's qi is still unstable). Believing that WWX won't return, LWJ demands that he go through with the marriage himself, and because LWJ is super stubborn and LXC isn't great at standing up to him, LXC acquiesces.

The marriage is of course to Jin Xuanyu. LWJ doesn't really know Jin Xuanyu except for having met a few times in passing. On the day of their wedding, Jin Xuanyu excuses himself from the wedding feast, claiming to be ill.

Here is an excerpt, taking place when LWJ checks on Jin Xuanyu after the wedding banquet!

Lan Wangji nodded and entered the residence, where a strange odor assaulted his senses and Jin Xuanyu stood in the middle of the room, holding a thick sheaf of papers and a shocked expression. “Lan Zhan!” he exclaimed.

Lan Wangji looked at Jin Xuanyu’s arm, which was now behind Jin Xuanyu’s back, hiding the sheaf of papers. Deciding to prioritize, Lan Wangji didn’t ask about it. Jin Xuanyu was extremely pale. “Are you all right?”

“Me?” Jin Xuanyu said blankly. “Oh, I’m quite . . . oh, terrible.” He began to cough. “I’m terrible, Hanguang-jun.”

“I brought you food,” Lan Wangji said, moving farther into the room. The scent in the air was familiar, but Lan Wangji could not place it.

Jin Xuanyu had not moved. “Hanguang-jun,” he said. Then he said it again. “Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Wangji put the tray on the table and stood.

“I . . .” Jin Xuanyu seemed quite at a loss. Then he said, in a quiet voice, “Are we really married?”

Lan Wangji stared, at a loss as well.

“It’s just . . .” Jin Xuanyu made a helpless gesture with his hand.

Lan Wangji, speaking very carefully, said, “You were at the ceremony.”

Jin Xuanyu grimaced. “Right . . .” He made another face. “It’s just so . . .”

Jin Xuanyu stood there for so long, unspeaking, that Lan Wangji finally stepped toward him.

“Never mind, Hanguang-jun!” Speeding over to the table, keeping the papers behind his back, Jin Xuanyu looked down at the tray. “Is it from the wedding banquet?” he said quickly. “Is it something good?”

Lan Wangji eyed him warily, remembering the Jin plots he had considered earlier. “Plain soup.”

Jin Xuanyu’s face fell. “Really?”

“You were unwell,” Lan Wangji reminded him.

“Oh. Right.” Jin Xuanyu coughed a few times.

In spite of his pallor, the way Jin Xuanyu was coughing did not appear genuine, and he seemed otherwise well. Even if he was sick, his current condition did not seem poor enough to warrant desertion of his own wedding banquet, and no illness Lan Wangji could imagine would cause a person to post a guard outside the door.

Keeping the papers out of sight behind him, Jin Xuanyu leaned down, uncovering the bowl on the tray and taking a whiff. “Unf. It really is plain. There at least should be good food, considering what I’ve been through.”

Jin Xuanyu did not seem inclined to share what he had ‘been through,’ but the papers were obviously connected. “Shall I fetch something else?” Lan Wangji asked, keeping his tone polite.

Wincing, Jin Xuanyu straightened, then forced an uncomfortable little laugh. “No, Hanguang-jun, that’s . . . it’s fine.”

Unable to wait any longer for a reasonable explanation, Lan Wangji finally asked, “What are the papers?”

“Hm?”

Lan Wangji did not repeat himself. He thought that Jin Xuanyu had heard him very well.

“Oh.” Jin Xuanyu chuckled. “I suppose you mean these,” he said, whipping out the sheaf of paper from behind his back. “Well, let me tell you,” Jin Xuanyu went on, glancing at the papers himself. “These papers are . . . they’re . . . a diary,” he said suddenly. “Very private, Hanguang-jun. I’m going to burn them.”

The paper visible to Lan Wangji was covered in writing too small to read. Lan Wangji looked back to Jin Xuanyu. “I would not read your private writings.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, Hanguang-jun,” Jin Xuanyu said, setting the sheaf of papers on the floor, then sitting down on it, before the soup. “You’ve always been so honorable. One can never be too careful, though. Prying eyes, you know.” Picking up the bowl, Jin Xuanyu began to eat, as though nothing in his behavior could be deemed at all suspicious or unusual.

Lan Wangji looked down at him, trying to decide what to do. That Jin Xuanyu was hiding things from him was obvious, and yet, Lan Wangji had rarely witnessed a guilty person seem so unconcerned with being caught. If Jin Xuanyu had in fact planned with other Jin Sect members to annihilate the Lan Clan from within, or if some other nefarious scheme were in play, surely a more subtle subterfuge would have been employed.

No, this behavior seemed a result of Jin Xuanyu’s own eccentricities, of which Lan Wangji was rapidly becoming aware that there were many. When Jin Xuanyu had first joined the Jin Clan at Golden Carp Tower, Lan Wangji had heard that the man was odd, but almost all the rumors had seemed to center around Jin Xuanyu’s sexual preferences, as far as Lan Wangji had been able to tell.

Perhaps he should have conducted more research into the nature of Jin Xuanyu’s character, not in the least because Jin Xuanyu was now slurping his soup in a most aggravating manner. He had handled himself with adequate decorum at the tea ceremony that afternoon. Perhaps within the privacy of the Jingshi, with his new husband, Jin Xuanyu felt it permissible to forgo etiquette.

“If you would like a private place for the papers,” Lan Wangji said, “I can provide a case and show you how to construct a locking talisman.”

“Ah, are we still talking about that?” Jin Xuanyu said, not looking up at him. “I told you, I’m burning them.”

Lan Wangji watched his husband eat for another moment or two. He really should sit with him, but to do so felt like a concession that Jin Xuanyu’s meal was normal and nothing at all strange was happening, when the fact was that Jin Xuanyu had been doing something in this room, something with the papers that he did not want Lan Wangji to know about. Perhaps it really was as innocent as updating his supposed ‘diary,’ but Lan Wangji doubted this.

The smell alone was cause for concern. When Lan Wangji focused on it, memories of the Sunshot Campaign surfaced—battlefields. Death. Corpses. But the room didn’t smell like death or rotting flesh. The odor was faintly metallic.

Lan Wangji spotted the smudge on the floor at the same time as he identified the scent.

Blood.

Walking a few steps, Lan Wangji bent down to inspect the floorboards he had only recently repaired. The stain was fresh, smudged as though hastily wiped away. The rest of the floor was clean, but such a small amount of blood would never cause the scent to be so noticeable. Straightening, Lan Wangji looked back at Jin Xuanyu, who was looking back at him, eyes wide as he lowered the bowl from his mouth.

“Were you cut?” Lan Wangji asked.

“No?” Jin Xuanyu did not sound certain about this.

“There is blood.”

“Ah, how strange.” Jin Xuanyu remained where he was.

“I smell it.”

“Ah, Hanguang-jun, so impressive, able to scent blood. You know, I would not share this fact,” Jin Xuanyu said brightly, wagging a finger at him. “They say that certain monsters are able to scent blood; it’s a nefarious talent.”

“Jin Xuanyu.”

“What? Oh. Yes?”

Lan Wangji looked at the floor, then back up at Jin Xuanyu. He was still pale, Lan Wangji saw. Blood loss.

“Well, what makes you think it’s mine, Hanguang-jun?” Jin Xuanyu asked, sounding petulant. “It could be anyone’s blood! You should keep your place cleaner. And more secure! Anyone could just come in here and bleed.”

Lan Wangji walked back to the table, took Jin Xuanyu by the arm, then pulled up. Jin Xuanyu squawked a loud protest, but Lan Wangji was stronger, forcing Jin Xuanyu from where he sat to reveal the papers that had been under him. Lan Wangji reached for them, and they abruptly caught fire.

Whirling, Lan Wangji turned back to look at Jin Xuanyu, who was lowering his hand, having just made a hand seal for fire—not a very effective one, Lan Wangji saw, turning back to the flames. The fire was feeble, already petering out. Lan Wangji waved his hand, expending very little spiritual power to extinguish it, but Jin Xuanyu was already rushing back, gathering the burnt papers to his chest. “I told you!” he exclaimed. “They’re my diary! You wouldn’t read another man’s diary, would you, Hanguang-jun? I thought you were honorable!”

“Tell me,” said Lan Wangji, through gritted teeth, “what is going on.”

“I’m . . .” Jin Xuanyu’s shoulders slumped. “Well, if you must know . . .”

Lan Wangji, waiting, abruptly realized he was furious. He had not had the time to process everything that had happened so far, all the ways that Jin Xuanyu was lying to him, setting actual fires in the Jingshi, cutting himself, hiding it—and they were married. Lan Wangji had married this man this morning, and Lan Wangji could not fully comprehend it. He could not recall feeling so blindly angry since he’d been a teenager; the mixture of hurt and absolute confusion felt exactly the same.

It felt exactly the same, and Lan Wangji suddenly, powerfully wished that Wei Ying was here, if only for Wei Ying to hurt him and confuse him that way again. At least that was a pain that Lan Wangji understood, and it had come from someone he loved. That this stranger could hold such power over Lan Wangji was only a result of the fact that they were married, and Lan Wangji had had his hopes, and now they were meant to live together, side by side, when Jin Xuanyu obviously had so little respect for him. It felt intolerable. It felt unfair.

Lan Wangji took a deep breath, then let it go.

“I was trying to cast a spell,” said Jin Xuanyu.

“With blood,” said Lan Wangji.

“Well, you see . . . it wasn’t exactly a polite spell.”

Lan Wangji put out his hand.

Jin Xuanyu looked down at it.

“The papers,” said Lan Wangji.

“No!” Jin Xuanyu clutched them closer. “These are my . . . notes. On how to do the spell, but it didn’t work. I’m . . . such a poor cultivator, you see.” Jin Xuanyu lit up suddenly. “That’s why I was casting the spell! It’s this body. It’s weak! And . . . small. The—my golden core is just . . . nothing to speak of. I could also be far better looking, don’t you agree?”

Lan Wangji did not know what he was talking about.

#wangxian #my fics #wips

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helpallthenamesaretakenblog · 4 months

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EPISODE 6 (just realised no one is asking me to do this too bad) spoilers for series up ahead

ITS NOT A MUSICAL EPISODE 😭

Disney was too broke to show us the animals in the zoo truck WHYY

why am i so happy for the second seaweed brain, man the things being a pjo fan does to you

The way you could see luke’s smile drop when they say that they found the lightning thief (:) —> :/)

The way luke didn’t even let them finish he was like “CLARISSE YES CLARISSE SHE MUST BE THE ROBBER”

No one’s talking about “Chiron should arrest her” Not the mental image of chiron holding a gun saying “ANY WORD CAN AND WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU IN COURT” while clarisse is pushed into a police car lollll

Old married couple im falling out of my chair plsssss if luke did something right in his life it was this

i love annabeth’s face like she knew this was coming the older brother-sister dynamic is POPPING

Disney really needed a way to show that grover liked animals and had convos with them without actually showing them lol

cue the “omg animals are so elegant” speech which served nothing at all

WHATS THE POINT OF ZEBRA TO VEGAS IF THERE AIN’T NO ZEBRA MR HOUSE OF MOUSE????

Idk but i kind of miss the trio action so far this show has only been percabeth + grover instead of percy + annabeth + grover you can tell they’re focusing more on fan service and developing percabeth than developing the more important dynamics which are the three of them having fun

oh HELLO RANDOM CAMEL WHO ISNT EVEN A ZEBRA BUT WHATEVER

“You are two seconds ahead of meeee” the simp eyes the simp eyes

The lotus casino from the outside is so COOL

LEVITATING BY DUA LIPA (some of yall still stuck in poker face era so im leaving it at that)

WISE GIRL I REPEAT WE GOT WISE GIRL (i was honestly expecting it to sound super corny on screen but walker pulled it off like he always does)

look im so mad about the fact that there’s no montage of them being silly little kids and having fun at arcade games. It hits so hard since percy has never afforded to visit fun places, annabeth has never left camp so is absolutely thriving with her architect games, grover is hunting down humans which was so funny and cool and they decided to make it more serious and plot centred

”ill take percy this way” WHY CAN’T GROVER TAKE PERCY THAT WAY HUH ANNABETH? 🤨 (girl just say you want to spend time with him)(and disney say you just wanna write more percabeth scenes)

I love the ‘if you dont know, i dont know either 😄’ mentality that percy has, he knows annabeth wants to be in charge now so he’s just feeding into the hubris

The augustus plot was so weird ngl but it was a great way to introduce the pan stuff

“Biaannncaaaaa biancaaaaaa” NICCOOOOOOO

He sounds so little and innocent and cute 🥺 im so sad now

GROVERRRRRR REMEMBERRRRRR

i gotta say, i guess that i was taken away by the people making fun of lin manuel miranda, but his acting was really really good

We got some may castellan exposition early

Percy thinking that the only thing he could do to sally was hurting her 🥹

i really hope they talk about that later on, you know we love some angst around here (especially with the dreams of the headmaster which was from the books!!! I was thinking that they’d cut it! But they didnt!! But it speaks volumes about percy that he has nightmares of headmasters)

I WANT ANNABETH FLASHBACK ANGST

annabeth pickpocketing the god of thieves will forever be her girlbossiest moment

”Im multitalented” percy: 😍💙🥰🥹 🤩(walker’s acting be that amazing is it not obvious by now that percy likes annabeth)

“Who’s grover ☺️?” “Wait, i know grover 😅!” Walker is cementing himself in the percy throne every single episode

”wow grover got really old😃”

“you lose sight of what’s important when you’re alone” “we weren’t alone 🥰” poor grover

The eons long wait to see how percy was hugging while falling the way down is finally over

The way that you can see percy’s empathy shining through his eyes as grover talked about pan>>>> (honestly tho, hug!)

the way they focused on percy’s reaction, i know this is going to be something he brings up as a reason for him to sacrifice himself for hades

Percy and annabeth looking at grover like “ ok mr. 24 DRIVE US”

Percy trying to drive a car will forever be cinema and comedy peak

The road rage this child has its so funny BEEP BEEP

annabeth: 😁 percy: 🥹 *cutely crashes car and almost kills her* PERCY IS TRULY GIVING A LOSER BOY WHO HAS NEVER HAD A GIRL LOOK AT HIM AND THATS SO PERCY OF HIM

the heartbreak in percy’s eyes alexa play the moment i knew by taylor swift

Four pearls?? *cue that one meme where that girl is calculating*

the way my smile faded when i saw annabeth hanging over the cliff TOO SOON RICK TOO SOON

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stupidthoughtsinwriting · 2 years

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Spiraling (Sherlock Holmes)

Hi, this is just a thought I've concocted. I honestly dont know what it is. I dont know if anybody will enjoy it, i hope they do but i already expect disappointment. Pardon my writing as i am still new to this. there was still a bit left after this but i didnt know how to run through it so just posted this but maybe ill finish that one once ive thought it through

Summary: After an accident during a case, a hostage situation leaves you in a coma for a week. During that week in the hospital, things are going horribly in Baker Street

‘Ohh Sherlock darling that’s beautiful, though I haven’t heard it before. Dare I ask who wrote that’ I asked Sherlock as he played the unfamiliar song. It was odd that I was unfamiliar with the beautiful tune as Sherlock has played plenty and more melodies than I can count, all of which I was familiar with, however that was new. I knew that he likes to compose as it helps him think but this was different, so I assumed was he’s playing another great’s piece. His melodies were always a bit solemn, deep and intense but this was lively, light and dare I say romantic.

‘Me’ he said flatly as he continued to play. Shocked as I was, I remained quiet as he carried on fiddling with his violin. Apparently, the shock was evident in my face as a smirked crossed his. I shrugged it off and listened until he finished the number. He was focused on the violin when he started to play but now his gaze was held on me. I gave him a soft smile which caused his features to soften into a smile of its own.

After a little while he finished and set the instrument on his chair, eyes still fixed on me. The grin I’ve plastered on grew wider as he walks over to me, hand in offering. I accepted and rose from my seat as he led the way to an open area. He moved to face me, a hand that belonged to him crept up to my waist and the hand he held in his was raised. Confused of his actions, I went along with it and raised my free arm to his shoulder, having an inkling where this was going. Guessing correctly, we moved around the living area, dancing as much we could in the small, confined space. Having known the dance as the same one done at John’s wedding; I was pleased to not have forgotten the steps.

As we continued waltzing, I asked ‘what has you all cheery?’

‘What has you so inquisitive’ he countered

‘Fair enough, though what had transpired to get you to write such a beautiful melody’

‘Nothing just got bored, so I composed. I was just very fortunate enough to have a great model and inspiration.’ He smiled as I beamed at the realization of what he meant. I was sat all day reading -a rather fascinating book might I add- on John’s chair as the boys finished up on a case. He’d come in around just after noon, bored of having been done with the previous case and not being on one currently. I greeted him when he walked in and went to the kitchen to fix up some tea. When I returned, giving one of the two mugs to him -a kiss on the head as a thank you-, I returned to finishing my book.

We continued dancing around the flat for a little while, nothing but the silent music and the rustling of our feet was heard. I laid my head on his shoulder at some point, happy and content of where I was and what I was doing. His voice broke the silence as we went for one last round.

‘Darling, can you do me a favour?’ he asked, voice a bit changed from the one he used earlier but I thought nothing of it.

‘Sure love, what is it?’

‘Wake up. Don’t leave me. Please come back to me’ His voice was now pleading and serious.

I raised my head as I said ‘What are you talking about, I’m right…’ I paused as his body and hold were loosening and disappearing ‘…here’ I continued with my sentence as I raised my hands to hold Sherlocks face. Everything had started to disappear in black. The flat and slowly his body.

‘Please come back, I can’t lose you, I need you please’ were his final words as he disappeared, slipping through my fingers, into the darkness. Nothing but a spotlight overhead of me. I put down my hands from where they were clutching on to his face, looking around into nothing but darkness.

…

‘Ey, how’s she doing?’ Greg asked John as he walked into the hospital room. It was quiet, nothing but the steady beeping of the heart monitor, breathing of the people in the room and the rain pattering on the window. John was sat at the chair at the end of the bed where you laid, nearly dozing off but was aroused by Lestrade breaking the silence of the room. Mycroft, unnoticed yet by the DI was stood at the dark corner beside the door. He was staring at your unmoving body, wondering how such a fierce, smart, brave and strong woman could ever lay looking so fragile.

‘Same as yesterday’ John replied with a yawn. The lot of them have been juggling staying here with you, looking after Sherlock and taking care of Rosie. John and Molly’s focus were taking care of Rosie, while Mrs. Hudson looked after Sherlock somewhat. She’d inform their little group of what’s been happening with him, keeping tabs of his activities and mayhem in the flat but the woman could only do so much. Greg checked up on him from time to time, more often than John and Molly but it was no use. What greeted them was a mess that was once the great Detective Sherlock Holmes. No one could get through to him but you. Even Mycroft tried, but he knew that what his brother needed, and the lack of it resulted into relapsing back to old habits.

John went straight here after Molly came to take care of Rosie. He was absolutely knackered. Rosie couldn’t sleep through the night which kept him up as well. He’s been living off of pots of coffee the past week with barely enough sleep. He’d nod off at times when it was his watch and the others would let him.

Mycroft came to check on you from time to time and occasionally kept watch of you as well. He knew that when you woke up and found him fully rested, not having bothered with helping the others, you’d have his head.

Now it seems the boys are all here at once. Greg came to relieve John of his duties to get some rest and inform him of the situation with the younger of the Holmes brothers, still unaware that the older was in the room.

‘Just got a message from Mrs. Hudson about our boy, it isn’t good.’ Greg announces, drawing Mycroft to rub his temples and John to release a sigh. Ever since the accident, Sherlock has only visited you once. The lot of em guessed he couldn’t bear to see you that way so for the past week, he’s been holed up in Baker Street.

‘Christ, what the bloody hell has he done now’ John said exasperated. He was exhausted. Before Greg could respond, another did.

‘You wouldn’t want to know’ Mycroft breathed out. Lestrade’s head snaped to the corner of the room, where the voice originated. Mycroft walked to the centre of the room, down the foot of your bed. Greg’s eyes followed, still startled by the unseen fellow.

‘What are you doing here’ he asked Holmes.

‘I could ask you the same thing’ the eldest Holmes retorted.

‘It’s my shift with y/n’

‘Well there’s no need, you lot look like rubbish’

‘Gee Myc, thanks’ John interrupted.

‘As I was saying,’ he continued, glaring at Watson ‘You lot should get some rest. If y/n finds you’ve been staying here with her, tired and looking like rubbish, she’d have my head.’

‘She’d already be livid by us just not leaving her alone’ John chuckled

‘Ohh wait till she sees Sherlock, she’d be in flames carving us up’ Lestrade groaned with a snicker, rubbing his head at the thought.

‘She already is’ said an unknown voice. A voice they were familiar with but haven’t heard in a while.

All three heads snapped towards the bed. There they found a woman shifting in the bed, trying to sit up, groaning as a pang of pain shot up her shoulder and stomach. Her eye’s fluttering, adjusting to the light and scene in front of her. John quickly stood up from where he was sat as all three men went to check on y/n.

‘Call the nurses and her doctor’ John ordered to anyone in the room, mainly the two lads he was in conversation with and Lestrade followed, rushing from the room to get your attendants.

‘Hey there, sleeping beauty, stop moving around, your going to pop your stitches. Do you remem…’ John fretted as he started examining you, but got cut off.

‘Oh shut it John, I’m fine. Yes I remember what happened. I got shot. Last thing I remember was staring at a barrel of a gun. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I’m presuming I’m in the hospital. I’m also presuming Elizabeth is still the queen of England now leave me alone.’ She growled and the former army doctor backed away as her doctor came in with a few others, some nurses followed by Lestrade.

‘Ahh, it seems our VIP has awoken’ the doctor said.

‘VIP!’ She took another once over the room, seeing it is rather posh than a normal one, but her focus was on the three blokes taking a laugh at what her reaction was to be when she woke, before she shot her gaze to Mycroft who is to the right of her bed ‘Mycroft Holmes you moved me to a VIP room!’ she fumed as the government official backed away.

‘Okay Ms. Y/L/N please calm down. If you don’t mind, I will perform an examination to check your abilities.’ The doctor mused as he slowly and carefully approached the bed. He asked for permission to lift up your gown to examine the wound on your stomach. You waved him off and he began asking questions.

‘Ughh, John repeat’ you grumbled, already having answered the question before John could even ask.

‘She’s fine, she answered the questions before I could even ask.’ John explained to the doctor who nodded. He asked to uncover your shoulder, as he covered your stomach, to examine the wound on your there. Complying, he examined your arm. After the examination of the wounds, he checked your mobility and reflexes, lifting up your arms and etcetera. Finished with the inspection, he explained what happened to you medically. Apparently, the shot had you fall backward, in which you hit you head very hard -that explained the headaches-. You got shot at four times, three bullet hit you. One just a graze, one a flesh wound on the shoulder and the last on the edge of your stomach. It hit no vital organs but did graze the stomach. They took you to surgery and came out with minimal complications. They left you in a medically induced coma for a day to get the swelling on your head down. You haven’t woken up till now. You nodded every so often until he left, leaving you in the room with the boys and a nurse checking up on your vitals.

Running your uninjured hand to your hair, which was full of knots and a tangled mess, you sighed. You had pads stuck on your shoulder, stomach and arm, covering the holes and grazes on each area. The doctor said it was a miracle that you haven’t sustained much damage. He said miracle, you thought those were the odds of your predicament. ‘It could have been worse’ he said, that you believed. ‘You were lucky’ he added, you didn’t believe in luck.

‘Did anybody else get hurt?’ You asked, eyes closed, leaning back on the bed.

‘No, everyone’s fine, the hostages weren’t harmed, just… you’ John hesitated as he knew the lot of them were threading on thin waters.

‘How bad is it’ You asked, looking at Greg. He knew what you were talking about, he’d be stupider than you thought if he didn’t. He realized you must have heard his news about your lover. He doesn’t respond immediately, hesitating. Just from that you knew it was bad.

‘Bad’ he replied anxiously

‘Be more specific’ you sneered, ticked off from the lack of detail

‘He’s using’ John said plainly. ‘He is, isn’t he?’

‘Yes’ both Mycroft and Greg replied.

‘Fuck’ you breathed out, unintentionally ran you hand through your hair again, pissed to be greeted with a tangled mess. You look at John. He looked tired, bags and dark circles under his eyes, he looks like rubbish.

‘How long was I out again’ you asked, having ignored the doctor most of the time during his explanation, you let that little information slip.

‘A week’ John answered. You nodded as a thought crossed you.

‘Where’s, who’s with Rosie?’ you asked, concern over who’s with your god daughter. John smiled at your concern over his offspring.

‘She’s fine, she’s with Molly.’ he explained. You let out a breath, wincing a bit at the movement. You were given a PCA pump to help you control your pain, you pressed the button to add a dosage, not to much to get you fucked high but enough so the pain was manageable.

‘Speaking of, I should inform her and Mrs. Hudson that you’re awake.’ he said pulling out his phone.

‘Wait. Where are my things’ you asked so to get your own phone. The nurse’s head picked up and she gave you a plastic bag full of your belongings. You greeted her thanks as she continued on scribbling on her clip board.

‘John, could you get me anything to eat, I’m starving’ you asked your friend. He gave you a soft smile and nodded, glad that you had an appetite, he headed out to the canteen. Your gaze moved on to Mycroft who was sat on a chair near the window.

‘You, get me a less fancy room please. I do not want to be treated as if I’m royalty.’ he opened his mouth to object, but you cut him off. ‘Please’ you begged, which caused his resolve to break and agree. Not many could order around the Holmes boys, you were just one of the few that could. He left the room with his cane in tow, shutting the door. The nurse was about to leave as well but you called her over before she could.

‘Hi, could you please get me an AMA to sign and please be discreet.’ you told her gently but the intent an order. She looked at you for a second before nodding quickly and rushing out to get the document. You knew very well you could just leave without signing a damn thing but you didn’t want to cause a problem with the hospital, so this is just a courtesy.

‘What the are you doing’ Lestrade asked you as you ripped open the bag full of your stuff.

‘Did you guys get me anything to change?’ you said as you riffled through the bag looking for your phone.

‘Yah um sure.’ He went over to the closet and took a bag from a shelve. ‘Molly went to your flat while you were in surgery.’ He explained putting the bag on the bed. Having found your phone, you opened the bag he had given you and took out a change of clothes. You grabbed a clean pair of knickers, your denim jeans, a white shirt and a blue cardigan from the bag as you told Greg to close the curtains and look away. He followed as you gently put on your underwear and jeans. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the button of the PCA pump to administer a bit more, scratch that, a lot more of morphine a few more times before pulling the needle out. You grimaced and threw the needle away. The nurse happens to have chosen that moment to come in and see what you were doing. She came to help you and pulled a plaster from one of the many drawers of medical equipment next to the machines. Greg who was still looking at the window asked what was happening.

‘Nothing just… did Molly happen to bring me any shoes’

‘Uhh yeah, bottom of the bag’ he replied.

‘Okay’ you say as the nurse helps you with your bra and shirt. You carefully put your arm through the hole of the shirt and rummaged through the bag of your items for a hair tie, your hair was killing you. Having found one, you attempted to tie your hair but a pang of pain shot your shoulder and stomach, mild but it was still there. The nurse having noticed this took the hair tie from you and tied your hair up in a bun. You were so very grateful for her at that moment.

‘Greg you can turn around now.’ Following your orders, he turned to see you fully clothed, a nurse tying up your hair.

‘What the bloody hell are you doing’ he exclaimed as he walked over to face you.

‘You are taking me to Baker Street.’ You say flatly as you reached for the clip board of forms.

‘I am not’ He handed it to you, and you asked for a pen.

‘You are’ you said sternly, leaving no room for argument.

With a sigh, he found one in his coat and handed it to you. You quickly scribbled and signed the discharge papers before handing them to the nurse, who was removing the rest of the wires attached to you.

‘Can you find me a wheelchair’ you asked Lestrade who fully knew it was an order and not a request. Grumbling he followed and left the room leaving you with the nurse. You pulled the shoes from the bag, threw the plastic bag of bloody garments in and zipped it shut. Slipping on the trainers carefully, you stood up fully from the bed and walked around with the help of the nurse, to wake up your legs from its week rest. Your clothes hung loose and big as you’ve lost a bit of weight during your hibernation. As you walk around the room, your leg starts to get a bit more feeling. The morphine was relieving most of your pain but that didn’t mean there still wasn’t some left.

Lestrade came in with a wheelchair as you’ve just slipped on the cardigan. You took a seat from the chair and asked for you bag to be placed on your lap. You thank the nurse, asking for her name as you were going to send her a gift basket or something as a thank you for getting you out of the hospital. She bided you with instructions and precautions with wounds, which you told her to tell John when he got back from the cafeteria. A thought occurred and you also asked her for a favour of giving John a few of the pain meds -morphine really- when he returned and maybe a suture kit, she nodded questionably. You thanked her one more time before asking Lestrade to wheel you to his car and head to Baker Street. You made a mental note of giving that nurse a very good thank you basket for all the things she’s done for you.

…

As Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand, she heard the ramblings of her tenant. From what she can tell, he was reciting Shakespeare. As she slowly opened the kitchen door -finding it much safer than the main one directly opening to the flat-, she’d find her kitchen a mess. Her table filled with beakers, a microscope, tubes and whatnot with a bunch of other experiments in different bins. Her counters and cabinets filled with the same thing, with an added touch of pinned and hanging files and photographs. The floors ridded with stacked piles of papers and boxes. She just managed to squeeze in her tray of tea and biscuits on the table, before being startled by a gunshot. She jumped and headed to the living room where the shots originated, checking on the lad she treated like a son. As she finally managed to weave her way to the living space, she was greeted by another shot, one her wall had to suffer.

She found Sherlock shouting and waving a revolver, as he rounded the flat like a mad man.

‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger; ' he recited loudly, pacing around the flat, pointing the gun at pictures that hang on strings and objects he found no longer useful, before shooting a picture pinned on the wall.

Startled from the shots fired and getting quite scared of Sherlocks erratic behaviour -though she’s somewhat used to this-, she rushes out the flat and down the stairs. She was going to ring up John or Lestrade to inform them of the increase in violence in the detective’s behaviour. More shots followed at her decent down the stairs when the front door slammed open revealing a y/h/c head of hair she knew belonged to the only person who could help the bloke who live in the flat she just rushed out on.

…

As the car got closer to 221 Baker Street, a clear sound of a bullet wrang through the block. A sound I know a bit too well from a recent experience. I flew out of the vehicle before Greg could even stop the car, pain searing through my body at the force of my movements. A faint ‘Eyy’ was heard coming from Greg but again faint as I was rushing to the front door.

‘STAY THERE’ I shouted back. The slanted knocker flew at the force of the door being slammed open. That was going to leave a dent on the partition, but I didn’t care.

‘Y/N!’ Mrs. Hudson was descending the stairs but was frozen in place at my arrival. I quickly sped up the stairs, past the landlady as pain wrecked through my body. ‘NOBODY COME UP HERE’ I shouted again, my throat getting sore even from the minimal exchange of words. I slow my steps as I get to the closed door of the flat, a booming voice heard from this side of the door. I slowly and very carefully open the door, not wanting to startle and get sent to the hospital with another bullet wound.

‘On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, have in these parts from morn till even fought and sheathed their swords for lack of argument’

‘Sherlock’ I said softly, announcing my arrival in between his rant. As I entered, I find chaos with the man I found to love in the centre of it all. What once was a somewhat organized flat, morphed as if a tornado passed through. Papers and pictures cloud and scattered on any available space. Strings hang at odd places. Bullet holes and pictures fill the walls, shattered pieces of glass crowd the floor along with knocked over furniture. It’s a mess.

You look up at Sherlock after scanning the room. Focusing on the detective, you take in his ragged and worn appearance. His curly head of hair, a greasy mess, sticking out at odd places. A heavy stubble has grown from the lack of shaving the past week. His features, primarily his jaw and cheekbones sharp from the scarce to none amount of food consumed. His skin, sickly pale as mine from when I woke up just less than an hour ago. His clothes hung loose on his body, the navy robe wrapped around him, fluttering as it followed his movement. He looks worse than me at the moment.

‘Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, and teach them how to war.’

He’s ranting, no reciting Henry the Fifth at the top of his lungs, waving the revolver around as he paced the flat, pulling at the papers stuck on the mirror, kicking anything his foot touched. Still in the midst of this chaos, what stood out to me were his eyes. Rounded by dark circles, sunken deep. However, behind those blue changing orbs, were emotions. I was always rather good at reading him, but his eyes always gave me the confirmation of my suspicions. Now what hid behind those beautiful cerulean blue orbs was guilt, worry and anger. I know that Sherlock cares for me and he has told me himself that he loves me, but I never knew that my absence would ever have this affect on him. Come to think of it, we’ve gone through far worse incidents but on the other hand he was always the one on that deep end. I never thought and always assumed that nobody cared enough for me to care if I was ever injured or dead. How wrong am I.

With a sigh, I whispered ‘Oh Sherlock what have you done’. I gulped before finding my voice to speak out again. I don’t think he knows of my presence yet as he’s still quite dramatically delivering the scene.

‘And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture.’

‘Sherlock’ I spoke up, receiving no response nor acknowledgement in return.

‘Let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, that hath not noble lustre in your eyes’

‘Sherlock’ I say louder, hoping to break through his train of thought.

‘I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’ He finished loudly before sending steady shots at a picture pinned to the wall behind the couch, causing me to duck with a whimper, my hand flying to my stomach. I definitely popped a few stiches.

‘SHERLOCK’ I screamed, only to have the colt pointed at me again. Having a bit of a deja vu as the last thing I remember before waking up this noon was staring a barrel of a gun. Quite used to this from my previous job and years running around with the boys, I’m fairly tired of it. I raise my hands as a faint of innocence, hoping once again to save another trip to the hospital.

‘Sherlock’ I repeated softly, wincing as I slowly stand. A wave of recognization flashes through him and he wavers slightly. Taking the opportunity, quickly taking a step closer -ignoring the throbbing pain coursing through me-, I smack the hand that wields the gun upwards, causing his grip to falter and ultimately letting go of the gun. I quickly snatch the revolver mid-air with my other hand, a tight grip on the handle, holding it far away from him, taking a few steps back.

A bit fazed from recent actions, Sherlock remains frozen, possibly shocked from my presence. I on the other hand go to remove the bullets from the cylinder but find it empty, before place the firearm on the coffee table that was pushed to the side. I wince again when I stand up straight after bending to place the gun carefully on the table. I turn back to him, his stare boring a hole through me. I say his name in a soft tone once more as I slowly walk back over to him. A foot remains, the distance being the only barrier keeping us apart.

I see him looking over every inch of me, deliberating if I was a hallucination from his drugged high or really standing in front of him. He’s deducing every little detail on me after being deprived of my appearance the week. Greg told me while we were in the car that he’s only come to see me once during my stay at the hospital.

I say his name again and close the distance, sparing him the torture I’m sure he’s come up with trying to push through the intoxication. I place my palm on his cheek, caressing the sharp jawline as is eyes flutter to a close. He melts under my fingertips and leans into the hand. A bit of my heart chips and withers away, the sight of him, he looks tired, exhausted.

‘Ohh darling what happened to you’ I whisper.

My other arm goes to rub his back but instead decides to scream in pain. Sherlock feeling the wince, opens his eyes and draws back, terrified at the thought of him hurting me. With a deep breath, I try close the distance again, yet he moves away.

‘I’m fine.’ I gave him my best smile and fill the space keeping us apart. My good arm wraps around him. He hesitates but wraps his arms around me before breaking down. No one has anyone seen Sherlock Holmes break down. No one even knows if he’s ever had a break down, possibly besides his family. Mycroft told me of his emotional youth. Yes, he was traumatized after Redbeard but as far as I was told he never broke down. Not like this.

His head drops and hides at the crook of my neck, hugging me in a tight embrace, not enough to hurt much but there were still bits of it, the morphine dosage I took evidently wasn’t enough or the hospital have bloody horrible pain meds, I choose to believe in the latter. I resulted to bending my other arm caress his back, moving the good one to his hair as I kissed his head. He then sobbed, soaking up the fabric of my garments before collapsing. I eased him down the messy floor carefully -a bit more for my sake than his-, letting out a shush as he sobbed. I grimaced a bit a few times, letting out a small hiss that was thankfully barely audible due to his snivelling. Sitting at the back of my legs, I held the man I would, without second thought give my life for if it came to it. The man that has managed to capture my heart without realizing it. The man many have called heartless but had the biggest of them all.

‘it’s okay darling, let it out’ I whispered to his ear.

I held him for a long while. Rubbing his back, caressing his hair, ignoring the pain of my wounds, consoling and murmuring words of comfort into his ear. At some point the tears stopped, left with sniffles before ending up with his slow and steady breathing down my neck. He fell asleep. I smile, he was finally getting some rest and I was happy with that. Considering the state he was in I doubt at the possibility of him getting any sleep. I kissed the side of his face that was still tucked on my shoulder. He nuzzled himself closer and his never faltering grip on my ribs tightened a bit.

With my good hand, I reached to my back pocket, grabbing my phone to send a text to the boys. At some point during the wall getting packed with bullets and me consoling Sherlock, I heard the taxi pull up at front, the sound of the front door opening and the unmistakable voice that belonged to John. He had attempted to go up, but Mrs. Hudson stopped him, the same thing she did to Lestrade and the same thing she did to Mike after John had asked.

I sent a text to John You can come up now. A minute later, the stairs rumbled at the footfalls of the men rushing to flat. I looked at the open door and saw all three – or two as Mike is taking his time waiting for the two to pass- dashing to check up on us. I sent a glare at them for their loud behaviour as they stepped to 221b. I shushed them and they apologized quietly.

‘Help me get him to bed please.’ I said in a nicer tone as I’ve realized I haven’t exactly been the kindest, ordering them around. Of course that’s what I was still doing but it was better to ask or demand in a kinder tone. Greg came up to us and I kissed Sherlocks temples one more time before slowly releasing his grip on me. He stirred but I managed to lull him back to his slumber. With the help of John, they carried the detective to his room and carefully -instructed by me after sending a glare- laid him on the bed. I haven’t bothered to stand up yet so when Mycroft came up to me and offered his hand, I accepted, wincing and grimacing when ache and agony shot at different part of my body. He helped me stand up steady after wobbling my steps, the numbing of sitting on the back my legs and not being fully recovered from its week rest nearly sends me tumbling on shards of glass.

‘I should be very mad at you’ he said.

‘And I cared if you were mad because…’ you retorted with a smirk. You looked past the kitchen to the bedroom just as the Lestrade popped his head out and walked back to the living room.

‘Fuck, my bag’s still in your car now isn’t it’. I sighed, exhausted from the days crusade. Before I could even attempt to move toward the door or ask someone to get it, Lestrade is already out the door. A smile creeps up my lips and I move to the kitchen, followed closely behind by Mycroft. I find a tray of tea and biscuits -no doubt left by Mrs. Hudson-. The teas gone a bit cold, but I didn’t care and take a sip of it. I’m parched and starving so I take one of the biscuits and stuff my mouth. I turn around to see Mycroft give me a disapproving look before the kitchen door opens and the landlady comes in.

‘Hello dear, its good to see you’ she greets to me with a half hug.

‘Nice to see you too Mrs. Hudson.’ I smiled pulling apart.

‘John had this with him when he came in but left it down at my flat when he got your text.’ She waved around Johns medical bag. Speaking of, he walks into the kitchen where the party seems to be as I stuff my face in biscuits and cold tea. Mrs. Hudson noticing this, scolds me and says she’ll make a new batch for the whole lot of us. Me and John say ‘thank you’ in unison and she leaves the flat.

‘What are we doing here?’ John looks at Mike who ignores him then turn to me.

‘I was going to the bedroom, but I saw these’ waving to the tray ‘and I’m starving’ reply taking a sip of the tea.

‘Yeah, speaking of, the food is still in the bag’ he nods to his bag which I’m guessing has hospital food in it.

‘Hospital food? Bleck no thanks, I’m fine with these’ gesturing to the tray again as I go take another sip of the tea to clear my throat.

‘For goodness sake enough of that’ John frustratingly releases the cup of my grip and I glare at him. He weirdly doesn’t like me drinking cold tea.

‘Eyy I wasn’t done with that’ I pout but he ignores me. He give me a once over and gesture to my stomach.

‘Your bleeding’ he say and I look down to see a red spot on my shirt.

‘Oh really, I didn’t notice’ I counter sarcastically as he picks up his bag and looks for his equipment.

‘Do it in the bedroom just’ I sigh, I’m really exhausted. I turn to Mycroft who is looking around at files attached to the strings. ‘Mike thank you for your help, please stay until Mrs. Hudson comes back with the tea then you want you can go’ I announce but get interrupted by Greg, who’s in the living room ‘In here’ I say and open my mouth to continue but get interrupted again. ‘Ey, isn’t that the shooter at the school’ He asks, pointing his thumb at the living room. Confused and intrigued, I limp on back to the living room followed by my posse, to see his pointing at the bullet ridded wall, a picture of the shooter indeed there but with a bullet hole or holes on the face. That’s what Sherlocks been shooting at. Christ.

‘Yeah, that’s him’ I sigh and continue on what I was previously saying. ‘Greg you can leave the bag anywhere, I’ll fix it later. Stay until after Mrs. Hudson’s tea then leave. Thank you for your help really.’ I smile and finally head to the bedroom, John at the heels.

As I enter the room, I find Sherlock sound asleep in the bed, on his back. The boys haven’t bothered with the sheets, so I cover him up with a blanket. I sit down carefully on the bed with the help of John, wincing every once and a while because of the pain. I lift my feet up to the bed gently, trying not to disturb my stomach anymore as he pulls out a suture kit and painkillers. I then turn to Sherlock, fix his head on pillow and stroke his head of curls, a bit greasy. I take a deep, knowing what I have to do, that I must check but its daunting. I exhale and get on with it, grabbing his arm and pulling up his sleeves. Fuck. His arm is riddled with needle scars. Too much to even count. Fuck. I look over at John who’s also staring. He’s getting angry just looking at it, so with a sigh, I cover up his arm again and gently place it back on his side. Looking back at John, he’s still staring at the arm.

‘Hey’ snapping him out of his thoughts. He looks me in the eyes, livid at how his friend is treating himself. I lift up my shirt and he diverts his gaze to my side, peeling off the pads and checking on the wound. He’s awfully silent as he puts on a pair of gloves and opens the suture kit. He remembers the painkillers though, so he covers the wound back up temporarily and gets a syringe he’s laid out and sticks it to the bottle.

‘They had horrible pain killers’ I try fill the quiet room with humour, but the hospital did have horrible meds. His features soften when he looks at me, tapping the syringe as I remove the sleeve of the cardigan. He finds a vain before sticking the needle in to give me some relief.

‘Those are good. They the one the nurse gave you?’ I ask. He nods as he goes back to the hole on my stomach. He stitches me up after sticking another needle around the area to numb it -a whole lot better than before because I can’t even feel the wound-. He’s pulling rather aggressively on the needle and while I can’t feel it, I don’t appreciate his way of releasing his anger on my skin.

‘John, If you are to keep doing that, I’m kicking you out.’ He glances back up at me and he mutters an apology before continuing his work, gently this time.

‘I’ll make him pee in a jar, just let him sleep.’ I say glancing back at Sherlock. He just looks exhausted, I’m exhausted but I want nothing more than to hold him in my arms and run my fingers through his curls but if I do that now he’ll wrap himself around me and I don’t think John would appreciate getting interrupted from his work.

‘This is worse than Mary’ I merely murmured, barely audible but it seems John heard. I run a hand up my face, leaning back, letting out a breath as John looks from me to Sherlock.

‘It could have been much more worse if you didn’t wake up’ he looks back down to finish the sutures as I look at him. He’s right of course, he always is with these things.

‘That’s it? I expected a lecture, or you be mad about me leaving the hospital.’

‘Oh, I am mad, just there’s no point of it is there when you don’t give a damn and will do what ever the hell you want anyway’ he ties of the last stitch and grabs some gauze to cover. My lips curl up into a grin knowing he is once again right about that. I hold the gauze as he tapes it up before putting another bandage just in case. He finishes and starts to clean up his things.

‘Thank you, John. I’m really really grateful for all that you’ve done. All the things everybody’s done.’ I beam.

‘That’s it? I expected a lecture or you livid’ he humours, repeating what I said just moments before with his own twist.

‘Oh, I am. But I get it, I would have done the same with you lot, but It’s done and just thank you.’ I admit, though I still want to be cross, I get it. They care.

‘He needs you; you know. More than you know. He lost it after you didn’t wake up when they took you off the meds for the coma. You’ve somewhat replaced his high from the drugs with your own and the probable thought and loss of it just scared him, so he resorted back to the old habit.’ He explained. I take in his deduction of his best mate with the only thought bearing through the surface is that he right. The Sherlock I know now is very different from the one I met all those years ago. That hard robotic exterior now has a beating heart. He cares more than he will want to admit but he really does.

I look at mop head beside me and beam. Since John is done with tending to my wounds, I roll my shirt back down and finally let the sleeping detective wrap himself around me. He does as soon as I placed a hand on his cheek, he rolls over to my side, draping an arm over my ribs and pulling me close like he’s always done, enveloping my side with his warmth, his head snuggling and hiding itself on the crook of my neck.

I’ve spent years thinking nobody gave a damn about me. Thinking no one cares if I was dead or not. Never have I ever been more pleased to be proven wrong. All those years alone, holed up, thinking I served no purpose to this world, ready to lose what I thought was a useless life only to be brought up the wide and bright opening and end of the cornucopia. I have friends, who will stay at my bedside just to make sure I wasn’t alone when I wake up from a gunshot. A god daughter, who’s laugh brightens up the darkest shadows cast upon us, who’s lost enough people in her few years in this rock. And a partner, fiancée, who’s meant more to me and evidently, I to him than more than we both ever thought possible. We’d be lost without each other, there’s enough evidence to prove it.

I gaze back at John, eyes getting a bit droopy, I’m surprised my mind has been making long hard thoughts. He’s just standing there, staring. Creepy admittedly, but also lovingly. Sentimental, possibly thinking of Mary.

‘Hey’ I say softly, breaking him out of his thoughts. ‘Go home. Sleep. Stay if you want tea from Mrs. Hudson but go home afterwards. Take the two if they’re still here. I’m going to sleep, just give Rosie a kiss for me and make everyone get some rest. Thank you again for staying with me at the hospital. Leave the mess, I’ll get it sorted.’ I instruct before a yawn escapes me. He looks back at the detective snuggled up at my side.

‘I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.’

‘And who taking care of you, he’s not the only one I’m worried about at the moment.’

‘I’ve got you lot now don’t I. I’ll phone you if I need anything. Right now, I just want to shut my eyes for a bit.’ I give him droopy smile, sleep really wanting to overcome my body. He bids his last warnings to take caution with my wounds and I wave him goodbye and goodnight. He nods and leaves the room, while I nestle myself better in the detective. His grip tightens and he nuzzles himself closer to my neck as I slowly drift off.

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock angst #bbc sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock fanfic

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punisheddonjuan · 2 months

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Over the last week I've been back in my hometown of Hamilton staying at my parents' house and sleeping in my old bedroom. I had that optometrist appointment earlier in the week, it's Easter on Sunday, and I need to order my prescription at the pharmacy here on Monday anyway. So, an extended visit was an obvious choice. It's been nice. This afternoon I did a little dig through my closet after my mom mentioned that she would like to clear out anything in there which I wasn't keen on keeping. So I took a look, and while there was definitely stuff in there I am fine getting rid of, and in many cases can't remember why I hung onto it for as long as I did, there was also a bunch of neat old stuff in there.

Everything in that closet is thrown into a few banker's boxes, I wasn't quite sure what was in each of them. The first box I dove into turned out to contain all of my university coursework, all five years of it, and much of it disorganized and in disarray. I must have just thrown things in there, because there were loose sheets of translation work interleaved out of order, folders stuffed to breaking with photocopied journal articles and book chapters from different courses, syllabi and unrelated essays in messy piles, and various notebooks, loose notes and revisions. Organizing it all is not a task I'm up doing any time soon, and part of me doubts that I'll ever get it done, it's hardly important anymore. Surveying it all made me think on what a shame it is that I never have any occasion or reason to write things out by hand. I miss using my fountain pens, and my cursive was really quite nice.

I also found my official transcript, of which I have seven copies for reasons that have been lost to time. Presumably I ordered more copies because of grad school applications, but I can't remember.

I guess I did pretty well. And even though grades don't matter at all after you graduate, I did have to do a double take and think back for a minute trying to remember how the hell I managed to bomb Beginner's Ancient Greek II winding up with a C after getting an A in Beginner's Ancient Greek I (and then back to getting As after that). The memory did eventually resurface; I had deferred the exam on account of illness, but when it came time to write the exam in the summer, I wound up running a fever anyway, and on top of that, I was writing it a little over a week after my girlfriend had broken up with me. To be entirely honest, that summer and back half of the year is something of a blur. Welp, oh well.

Oh and hey, in one of those messy piles I found the paper for which I won a departmental essay contest and then third place in the national CAC undergraduate essay writing contest.

The professor's comments were far too kind. It's an okay paper for an undergraduate, I'd change a lot of things looking back at it now. I wonder what Dr. Corner is up to these days and if he finally finished his book. We had lunch together when I first moved to Toronto but that was years ago now. He was the professor I was closest to, a real mentor.

Buried behind the coursework box was another banker's box containing something entirely unrelated but very cool, these:

It's my old iPods! The 30GB iPod Video is completely dead, but the 160GB iPod Classic booted after I found a cable and gave it a quick charge. The headphone jack is busted, if I recall correctly, I had already paid to get it fixed once, and then it died a few months later. By that point I was fed up with having it fixed, and replaced it with an iBasso DX80. The electronics in it are still functioning fine; I might give a go at modding it into something I could put to use. Modding iPod classics is a whole scene these days and you can buy custom DIY replacement parts like microSD card readers to replace the harddrive, and there's custom firmware that allows the iPod to support higher capacity storage. Modding it shouldn't be too difficult and wouldn't even require much soldering. I'd replace the headphone jack, pull the 160GB HDD and replace it with a dual or quad microSD card reader and cram as many 512GB/1TB microSD cards it can take, and replace the battery with a higher capacity one. I stream my music collection from my media server to my phone via PlexAmp these days, but it would be cool to have an offline option, or something I can just leave permanently plugged into the Aux port of my stereo. My dad says he's got a 120GB model that half works floating around too, maybe I'll mod both of them.

There were a few other neat things in that second box like playbills from when I used to attend the opera. Which is yet another thing I used to be able to do and now miss terribly. That double feature of Bluebeard and Erwartung was phenomenal.

There was also a copy from one of the godawful and glossy annual "All About Sex" supplements the University newspaper published. I won't share pictures of that because there are a lot of half-naked semi acquaintances in there, but be assured, it's godawful.

In a third box I found approximately half of my physical PC game collection:

Check out that copy of X-Wing on 3.5" floppies and the sticker advising Windows and Pentium users that this is a DOS game. That's the very first PC game I ever got as a kid, received it as a present for Christmas '95. What you see there is less than half of what I know for a fact that I own on CD-ROM. Just off the top of my head I know I have physical copies of Half-Life, Red Alert 2, Tiberian Sun, Dune 2000, Emperor: Battle for Dune, Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri, Sid Meier's Civilization, Total Annihilation, Unreal Tournament, Star Wars Dark Forces II: Jedi Knight, Mechwarrior 4, Star Trek: Bridge Commander, Doom 3, Medal of Honor: Allied Assault, Thief 2: the Metal Age, Deus Ex and most of those games' attendant expansion packs. I didn't find any of them while clearing out the closet, which means that they're almost definitely up in the attic above the garage, along with the sci-fi and fantasy novels I had from adolescence which I didn't take with me when I moved. Getting up into that attic is a pain in the ass though, and it's cramped and stuffy once you're up there. Maybe next time I visit my parents I can put aside a day to go up there and locate everything. I'd really have to be feeling up to it though. I'm pretty sure my hardback copy of Good Omens is up there, as is my copy of Neuromancer, and the Black Company omnibuses. None of which I've read in years.

The only other things of note were a bunch of pewter figurines of wizards I had for unknown reasons and a few nice and largely unused (with the exception of a few pages that I must have torn out years ago) notebooks that I can put to good use.

Actually, I just figured out the reason I owned these and hung onto them. It's because they're rad as hell. Wizards rule.

#blog #personal history

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come-chaos · 11 months

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Post-LOTR Marathon Thoughts

I saw LOTR EE in the cinema today. It was my first LOTR marathon ever, as well as my first time seeing FOTR in the cinema. Despite having spent a decade of my life as a devout Tolkienist and LOTR/Hobbit fan before I shifted focus to other fandoms, it was also the first time in several years that I watched a LOTR movie at all. Naturally, I was very curious about what my own reaction would be.

What follows is my attempt at summarising some of my impressions before I forget them.

Best movie: My favourite always used to be ROTK, and it’s still by far the movie that makes me the most emotional, but I can finally say that FOTR is a better movie. Everything about it is simply magical. From start to finish, it introduces the most incredible range of settings and concepts and people. Visually, I believe it has a far richer colour palette than the others. I also get the impression that it has many more subtle references to the book than the other movies do.

Best overall: The soundtrack. I have a pet peeve when it comes to singing in movies – I hate it when a movie makes no effort to convince me that the character is actually singing. It’s surprisingly common for movies to combine the most half-arsed lip sync possible with a blatantly obvious studio production that often features a ginormous and rather glittery reverb regardless of what room the scene is set in. I’ve always upheld LOTR as an example of characters singing being done well, and Eowyn’s dirge being my favourite example in particular, but this time I noticed something new about it. Something really cool. When the camera changes angle, or when an object passes in front of the camera, the acoustics of Eowyn’s voice also change. Absolutely marvellous sound mixing.

If I could change one scene: I don’t know whether I’ve matured as a movie watcher or if I’ve just gained a healthier perspective on the whole book vs movie debate, but I found myself having nearly zero issues with the ways in which the movies differ from the book, which came as a surprise to me. I even found myself thinking that several changes were, in fact, for the better – I could see now that the story really did benefit from being adapted to the medium, instead of following the book to the letter. Don’t get me wrong – I would have preferred a Gimli who isn’t the butt of every other joke, a Legolas who’s less into surfing, and a Haldir who heads to the Havens without passing Helm’s Deep. But all of that is forgivable. If I could change one scene, I’d remove the Paths of the Dead skull avalanche. As far as I’m concerned, it’s pointless, it’s not a reference to anything, the sheer number of skulls makes absolutely no sense, and if anything, it gives the entire dead army plotline even more of a Pirates of the Caribbean feel. Speaking of, I’ve always assumed POTC is the reason why the army had to be a sickly neon green instead of the more conservative ghostly grey – the latter was already taken. The green honestly never stopped annoying me, so if I could change one thing in addition to removing the skull avalanche, I’d drastically lower the saturation of the entire Army of the Dead.

Miscellaneous thoughts: Something that struck me several times during this marathon was how much I’m still in love with the overall plot and with so many of the themes. I love the characters – including Boromir, whom I discovered is far more compelling to me now than he was in the past. I love that even those with the best of intentions may struggle to do good. I love that Bilbo’s choice to show Gollum mercy made him less susceptible to the Ring throughout his whole life, whereas Sméagol’s corruption was facilitated by his murder of Déagol. I love that Sam’s love for Frodo is everything. I wasn’t prepared for the burden of the Ring to remind me so much of the struggle of living with a mental illness, which I’m going to guess is a result of my metacognition having improved considerably since I last saw the movies.

Moment that made my heart pound so hard it hurt: The Ride of the Rohirrim.

Moments that made me the most emotional: Absolutely no surprises here. In second place, as usual, came “You bow to no one”, while Frodo’s farewell at the Havens came in first place, as always.

#lord of the rings #lotr #personal

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pokemonruby · 4 months

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hi! realize it's been a while since i've been like, active on social media so i thought i'd provide a little update of my life situation.

first things first, i finished my book! it's undergoing its final edits (i'd theoretically like to look for an editor but i definitely cannot afford that shit, so i've more or less undertaken that task myself and i don't know if my opinion alone is reliable enough but you know, i'm doing my best with what i've got) i'm even working on the second one in the series now since i don't have much to do until i figure out how to go about like, actually advertising and publishing it. i've been recommended booktok so i guess i need to do my research and just pray people will be interested even if i can't afford to get pretty visuals for it or anything commissioned because, ah. severely poor. i haven't had anything to eat in my house for like 2 weeks and i am subsisting on the barest of scraps but we're surviving regardless.

on a more serious note i'm really working on moving out of here this year because if i mentally cannot take it anymore, i don't feel safe at all in my house (if you know the lore already, highly abusive, neglected family. and i'm severely disabled and mentally ill because of the abuse, unsurprisingly) and i'm trying to look at any and all resources that can maybe expedite the process given that a "normal" job is out of the question at this moment in time so if anyone has any suggestions or just plain old advice this is me imploring you because my therapist and i keep hitting walls and i am on the cusp of going completely insane.

i'm going to see about setting up a ko-fi to take writing-related commissions maybe since it's the only thing i'm realistically good at and perhaps a patreon to promote my own works so if anyone is interested i will provide links once i get all the technicalities sorted out.

i will continue to grit my teeth and weather the agony that is my every waking moment on this hell earth because there is a strong possibility volo will be leaked for pokemon masters next week and if i must only live for my disgusting failwife it is sorely better than nothing. please pray for me everyone.

#tldr not much has changed but i am more determined than ever. mainly because i'm under severe pressure since my circumstances are worsening.#doing my absolute fucking best to hang in there because i really don't want my nihilistic ass to get the better of me.#good things HAVE to come. they have no choice but to.#riley rambles

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coldvampire · 6 months

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oh im gonna hsdgfjk

okay so three+ months ago i discovered I had a Fun Condition called perioral dermatitis. basically, just this Extraordinarily persistent face rash that looks like a bunch of small pustules in a circle around my mouth, but it also went around my nose and eyes. reacts to literally fucking Everything, deeply annoying to treat, even with antibiotics it takes weeks but usually months to clear. causes are ?? can be anything from inhaled steroids, face cream, toothpaste, hormones, etc. basically impossible to pinpoint. i have some guesses about what triggered it but ofc no real way to know for sure.

i go on 90 days of antibiotics. cool, whatever, condition dissipates but doesn't go away entirely. i think nothing of this bc I know even With oral antibiotics, it can still take months.

halfway through this treatment i develop arthritic symptoms. i also think nothing of this bc I have Some sort of illness undiagnosed anyway + family members have it so while I am definitely not happy w this development, I'm resigned.

i finish the pills.

less than 24 hours later, dermatitis has Returned. i know that allowing this to happen makes it worse and last longer. i cannot stress enough how bad it will be for my mental health if this happens. yes this probably sounds overly dramatic but I'm pretty sure watching my face flare up in any way is a legitimate trigger atp after dealing with cystic acne.

anyway. i book an appointment with my gp bc the pharmacist cannot refill the antibiotics. great except the appointment is at the End Of The Month, and I know this is going to be bad in a few days time. like, in the last few hours the inflammation has already accelerated, who knows how bad it'll be then, I'm assuming it'll be like I never even took the pills to start with. i am going to have a nervous breakdown.

mysteriously, the arthritis symptoms have Also started to decrease after stopping the antibiotics. that's weird, I think, that wasn't brought up in the list of side effects when I asked, but the timing is literally exactly when my face started flaring up so I know I definitely don't have those in my system anymore. i look this up, to see if there's a link.

'''acute polyarthritis''' also described as 'drug-induced lupus' are you Fucking Kidding Me

so i am now back as Square Fucking one for this shit, my skin is about to be so goddamn inflamed & I apparently can't even take the drug that was working to clear it up. because it causes inflammation in my joints.

and like i cant really express properly how mad this makes me lmfao because of Course. i spend a solid year on Accutane finally after being deterred for nearly a decade, i get maybe 4 months of enjoying my skin after I'm off of it and then This Shit. can i win?? can i Fucking win??????? no one else in my genepool seems to deal with this shit its just me and ohhh my god i am This close to walking straight into the ocean.

#the frustration is actually getting to me.#like. holy fucking christ.#and for what??? for WHAT.#i havent even been really going out or wearing makeup At All bc its the internship semester so !!! there was No Fucking Reason for my skin #to react to ANYTHING in the first place #its so shallow i feel so stupid but like I've actually cried multiple times over this #n o t h i n g i do works. every treatment every attempt it doesnt matter #it TANKS how i feel about myself. i cant help it.#and like idk what to do!!!!#looks like im gonna try to see a derm again but that's always a multi-month waiting process.#the thought of still looking like this when I graduate is so so upsetting. i want Pictures I want to look good. please?? fucking please???#thats several months away now but the timeline for curing this is so slow and that's assuming your treatment works anyway.#90 days of an antibiotic Should have done it idk whats wrong with me #anyway fgfhjh i Am going to cry now lmao I hate this.

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utilitycaster · 4 months

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I'm Reading the Drizzt Novels and You Can't Stop Me: Homeland (and some anticipated questions)

Welcome to yet another ongoing series from me, a person who should be doing other things and may abandon it but also frankly will do this for her own entertainment regardless of whether anyone else cares. Let's back up first; if you're not in this car with me, get out of the rearview mirror.

Until now I have pretty much only read the Drizzt novels in situations where I was unwell, tired, or without another easy means of entertainment. Specifically, I read the first few while quarantining with a mild but still unpleasant case of COVID in late 2022, and then some others while dealing with catching up at work/post-illness fatigue/the general vibes of December in the northeast and Midatlantic states of the US. This caught me up to book 6, which represent the scene-setting; more on this later.

I then read Book 7 on a long train ride with nothing else to do, while very tired and probably a little hungover, in January 2023. I enjoyed it, in part because Wulfgar, who I do not care for, dies. (spoilers I guess? I'm not explicitly avoiding spoilers because these books are 30+ years old, but I'm not seeking them out, and I believe he comes back to life eventually).

I then proceeded to read Real Books (TM) for the remainder of 2023, some of which I can recommend highly and some of which were dumber than Wulfgar. Flash forward to getting my car serviced in the tail end of December 2023. I intended to bring my laptop. I did not. I also intended to bring headphones. I did not. And so, with a phone with so-so battery and little interest in watching HGTV, I read book 8. And I thought "what if I started doing this, because I can knock out one of these motherfuckers in a day if I try hard enough." I then thought "what if I slam books 1-7 again and do a book a week in 2024?"

Clearly I did not do this, because again, I have other books to read and things to do. However, I have finally, after another long-ass train ride, finished a reread of book 1. And so, with an unclear but hopefully from now on twice a month at least (?) update schedule, I bring you: Homeland. The rest of these posts will probably be way shorter.

For anyone who is not familiar with Drizzt or Forgotten Realms or whatever: this is a weird choice you've made. Anyway. Forgotten Realms is THE iconic D&D setting; it's where both the Baldur's Gate series is set as well as the D&D movie plus all kinds of adventures. What's it like? Well, it's basically The Tough Guide to Fantasyland, for all my Diana Wynne Jones fans out there. Do none of these references work for you? You'll just have to pick it up as we go along.

The Legend of the Legend of Drizzt is basically, as far as I know (and I don't know much) R.A. Salvatore was hired to write some cool adventures in a D&D setting in the early 90s. The plan, per the suits, was to follow Wulfgar, who was big and blond and very Conan The Barbarian which is, I should note, way more the vibe of D&D than LOTR much as we (D&D players) are loathe to admit it. However, Wulfgar had brains made out of one of the boring adult cereals: dull, and only slightly more fibrous than the fun cereals like Honey Bunches of Oats. Meanwhile, Drizzt, his drow buddy, fucking ruled. And so, after writing three very sword-and-sorcery (or more accurately, scimitar-and-wizardry) books, Salvatore returned to fill in Drizzt's backstory. And thus we begin in Homeland.

Drizzt Do'Urden is a drow, or dark elf, which in this setting are almost universally evil because they worship Lolth the spider queen. Is this Not Great? Yes. I also am reading The Wheel of Time, which is Even Worse About Biology As Destiny. The main purpose of this book is to cover Drizzt's childhood from when he leaves the underground drow city of Menzoberranzan.

Drizzt's mother is called Malice, unironically. The naming of drow makes no fucking sense, while we're at it; Malice, Zaknafein, SiNaFay, and Alton DeVir are all supposed to be from the same language? I'm not buying it. ANYWAY. Drow society is matriarchal bc spiders and because, as this post says, Salvatore REALLY wanted to be stepped on. Drizzt was born the third son, and was going to be sacrificed to Lolth because third sons are useless. His birth was ALSO being used by Malice to fuel an attack on House DeVir, because if you slaughter a whole-ass house in Menzoberranzan it's admirable of you, bc ontologically evil; and Lolth powers are increased by childbirth or some jazz.

Several important things happen here, pretty much all simultaneously, heralding Our Chosen One (Drizzt):

The attack on House DeVir goes super well for House Do'Urden

The second oldest brother, Dinin, kills his wizard elder brother (known as the elderboy by the creative geniuses of Menzoberranzan) which means Drizzt can survive because they need a replacement wizard boy.

We learn that Drizzt's father (one of Malice's several consorts) is Zaknafein, who fucking hates his life and how shitty drow society is but also is really good at murder and so he kind of hangs out doing that for House Do'Urden

A wizard who melted his face off fails to kill Alton DeVir, the last of the house of DeVir, which means technically House Do'Urden's attack was illegitimate. However, Masoj Hun'ett, of another powerful house, kills the faceless wizard and Alton takes the wizard's place, but desires VENGEANCE.

Drizzt has lavender eyes but is not blind. His eye color will come up approximately a zillion times. I considered counting, but trust me it's SO many.

The rest of the book covers the following, roughly in order:

Drizzt is super good at everything from a young age; he is placed in the care of his only full sibling, Vierna. Zak manages to successfully argue that Drizzt's dexterity is SO good that he HAS to be a fighter and not a wizard, which permits him to train Drizzt, who is, as discussed, good at everything. He almost mercy-kills him before school because he'd rather his son die innocent than become a drow, but also he hates the idea of killing a child, and also Drizzt is a really good fighter, and so it doesn't happen. They depart on bad terms though.

Drizzt then goes to fighter school (instead of wizard school) and is an excellent fighter but not naturally deceptive and backstabbing because he is Pure of Heart; he is constantly skirting trouble by asking such questions as "why do we all want to murder each other all the time though" and "why is our graduation ceremony a drug fueled spider goddess orgy"

Masoj and Alton scheme; Alton eventually learns in a hoisted by his own petard way that the faceless wizard was also of house Hun,ett, and that house is willing to help him strike back at house Do'Urden

Masoj has a magic panther named Guenhwyvar who likes Drizzt more than him.

Drizzt goes on a surface raid and fucking loves the surface, and feels bad about murdering the surface elves, so he fakes the brutal slaughter of an elven girl. Lolth sees this and doesn't like it one bit and blames the whole house.

Drizzt proves himself on other patrols, and realizes Masoj Hun'ett keeps trying to fucking kill him, notably on a patrol where they run into deep gnomes (svirfneblin). Drizzt spares one of them as well. Dinin is growing suspicious.

Malice realizes that Lolth is mad and assumes it's Zaknafein, known problem, but Lolth tells her someone already knows

Drizzt tells her about Masoj, under questioning

Drizzt and Zak reunite and realize they are kindred spirits who are like "wait our society is MAD fucked up and miserable" and excitedly decide to run away and stop being miserable, BUT Malice is Scrying on them the whole time.

Drizzt goes out to clear his mind and gets cornered by Masoj and Alton. They try to kill him. Joke's on them! Drizzt kills Masoj, Alton's own wand blows up and kills him, and Drizzt gets the panther.

HOWEVER joke is also on Drizzt because Malice approaches Zak and tells him she's going to murder Drizzt, to which Zak tells her to kill him instead. She does so.

Drizzt learns of this and runs away.

The entire book is threaded through with Drizzt's first person reflections, which are actually quite touching at times but also definitely kind of overwrought so I do keep reading them as if they are Sex and the City/Scrubs/Winona Ryder in the 80s (Beetlejuice, Heathers) diary entries

And so our stage is set. If I recall correctly book two is "you have your father's morals; and his tendency towards clinical depression" so we're going to have a rollicking good time (genuine).

#m reads lod #this time with plot summaries #i'm reading the drizzt novels and you can't stop me

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