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holllandtrash · 1 year

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better late than never | lando norris, pierre gasly

pairing: lando norris x reader, pierre gasly x reader part 3 to better left unsaid (the better series)

the first race weekend after the break is filled with drama, tension and words that you all wished could be taken back, and you're not even referring to what happened on the track

word count: 5.1k tags: angst lmao also more social media stuff

“What if you just quit your job?” Pierre asked. You told yourself he was only joking, but when you glanced away from the computer screen to look at your propped up phone and his charming eyes on facetime, you knew he wasn’t joking.

“I’m not throwing away six years of post secondary education and thousands of dollars of tuition because you’re batting your pretty little eyes at me,” you looked back at the computer screen that held the blueprints for an upcoming gallery exhibit. As an assistant curator at an art gallery, you had a lot on your plate and you had a dozen things to catch up on before your next trip out of the city.

“You think my eyes are pretty?”

Of course that was the only part he heard.

“Pierre I can't-” you cut yourself off when someone in the background called Pierre’s name. It took a second but you recognized the female voice as one of the student engineers at Alpine. You waited until Pierre and her finished their quick conversation and he turned back to you.

Pierre smirked at how your expression dropped. Even when you forced yourself to focus on your computer screen, those forehead lines could be spotted through the bad quality facetime call.

“Ma chérie, don’t tell me you’re jealous because I’m talking to another girl,” Pierre laughed. You had half a mind to hang up on him.

If you were being honest, the female voice did speed up your heart rate a bit until you figured out who it was. Pierre was somewhere in a hotel, you weren’t sure where because his face took up most of the screen, but you knew he wasn’t alone.

And you didn’t have a right to be jealous either. You and Pierre still weren’t an item, despite what the rumour mill was saying.

You just talked everyday and he sent you flowers to your place of work and he bought your next plane ticket for you to watch the race and you were constantly thinking about how nice it would be to wake up beside him.

For fuck sakes, you liked him.

A lot.

In a matter of weeks you had fallen for him. And he hadn’t even kissed you yet. There were a few times when it came close, but the moment was never right. You weren’t going to rush into anything either, especially not with Lando being an ever lingering thought in the back of your mind that you couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“I’m not the jealous type,” you told him. Lies. You liked when his eyes were on you and only you. You liked how he had treated you during the break. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Pierre didn’t seem to believe you, but he changed the topic regardless, “Did you watch qualifying today?”

“P7 baby,” you grinned, hitting send on the last email before calling it a night. “Alpine’s kicking ass in the midfield.”

“So you’ll be watching the race tomorrow?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” Pierre liked knowing you’d be rooting for him. “I wish you were here now, though.”

With yours and Pierre’s relationship, or whatever you wanted to call it, starting at the beginning of the summer break, you had yet to accompany him during a race weekend.

That would change next weekend. You were set to attend the Monza Grand Prix.

And for the first time, you wouldn’t be hanging out in the McLaren garage. Pierre had to pull some strings to ensure you’d be allowed access, but once he made it clear that you didn’t have any affiliation to the papaya team, he sent you the paddock pass and flight information.

Pierre really wanted you with him that weekend. He had won in Monza before, he considered it one of his lucky tracks. Plus Italy was like a second home to him, he wanted everything to be perfect and your presence was a crucial part of that.

You weren’t sure if you were ready for the fans to share their opinions online. Lando had a huge following, and because of that, most of his fans knew who you were. You could only imagine what people would be saying when you were spotted in the Alpine garage for a change.

It shouldn’t have bothered you, but you weren’t as strong as you wanted to be.

“Chérie,” Pierre’s voice had the ability to calm your nerves, even if it was just temporary. “If you’re having second thoughts about Monza, please let me know.”

It was insane how well he knew you. In a few short weeks, Pierre was able to recognize even the slightest change in your mannerisms when something was bothering you. He was observant and it showed.

“No,” you assured him, or maybe you were assuring yourself. “No, I want to be there with you.”

He believed you, why wouldn’t he? These last few weeks with him were otherworldly to say the least. You wanted to keep this going for as long as possible. Pierre left you feeling hopeful and optimistic and after the fallout with Lando, you needed that.

Pierre couldn’t replace Lando, not like you wanted him to, but you knew you had room in your heart for that French driver.

And you were going to see things through.

———————

pre-race press conference

The pizza had just been delivered. You poured yourself a rum and coke. You had on booty shorts and one of Pierre’s Alpine jumpers and you were ready to watch the race.

What you weren’t ready for, was a knock at your door.

“Who the fuck…” It was a Sunday, you weren’t expecting anyone. You put your drink down and headed over to the front door. You rented the bottom half of a house, it wasn’t ideal but the private entryway was nice.

You pulled the door open and was quite literally taken aback to see Max standing there. A case of beer in his hands as he sported a Quadrant sweater.

“Hi,” you said, hearing Will Buxton's voice coming from your speakers. It was only a few minutes until lights out.

“Want some company?” Max asked.

You missed him, there was no doubt about that. He had been so intertwined with Lando’s life these last few weeks that you genuinely thought he forgot about you after your phone call. You didn’t even see him in Monaco until you stopped by Lando’s place.

You weren’t going to question why he was in London. He, like you, was always flying back and forth. At least he had the decency to reach out this time.

“Always,” you stepped aside, making room for him to come in.

Max didn’t comment on your apparel. He also didn’t comment on the state of your place which was always in slight ruins. You had been travelling so much and when you were in the city, most of your time was spent at work and you just could not be arsed to hang your jackets up when you got home, or put your shoes away properly.

It was a little awkward when Max sat down. Not because he wasn’t comfortable in your home, he had been there dozens upon dozens of times before. But because you hadn’t spoken in weeks.

And now here he was with a case of beer acting as an olive branch. You were both hoping it would work, honestly. You didn’t want to have to rely on Lando to be the glue in your friendship. He didn’t own Max.

“How’s Pierre?” Max asked, eyes glued to the screen.

You laughed, reaching for a slice of pizza and sliding the box across the coffee table for him to grab one. “We’re not dating, Max.”

“Kind of seems like it,” Max chuckled as well. You shot him a look, one that basically said shut up and he held his hand up in defence. “I’m just saying, Y/N, he seems to make you happy. It’s not a bad thing. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as he opened up one of the cans he brought but the second it started foaming over the sides, he jumped up in a panic. You covered your mouth with your hand to keep from laughing at his mess and he just stared at you with wide eyes.

“For Christ sakes women, get a towel!” He tried to drink what he could but excess liquid was streaming down his chin.

You held your hand out towards the screen, “The race is about to start! I’m not cleaning up your mess!”

“I’m using the pillow as a towel then,” Max scoffed, wiping his hand on his jeans and grabbing one of the round pillows from the other couch. He did what he could to clean up the spill with the pillow, but your attention was on the screen. You could help him later.

The second the five lights went out, the drivers were off. You held your breath as the twenty cars fought to be the first to make it to that first corner, but all in all it was a pretty clean start. Pierre gained a place. Lando lost one. They were currently P6 and P5.

Why were you even watching the McLaren?

Don’t kid yourself, you still cared.

You cleared your throat, “How’s Lando?”

Max seemed surprised that you asked. So much so that he paused to make sure he actually heard you correctly, “Yeah he’s good.”

“Is he?” The question slipped out. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe Max was telling the truth but you just knew there was more to it. Lando was never just good. And especially after your last conversation…part of you knew he was struggling as much as you were, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

‘See you around then, maybe.’ He said. He could have just said goodbye. He could have just stayed quiet.

Max sighed. It wasn’t a good sigh, but he kept his eyes on the race. Probably for the better. If you saw the hurt he was feeling for his friend, it would have broken you.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” Max asked. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy. You weren’t hot a minute ago but your mouth was dry now and your hands were clamming up. “He’s been better, that’s for damn sure. I know he regrets what he said to you and I also know he hates seeing you with Gasly. He nearly breaks his phone every time a photo of you two pops up.”

“So why hasn’t he reached out?” You weren’t under the impression Lando regretted anything. He might have missed you, but he seemed to stick by his words, as did you.

Max turned it around on you, “Why haven’t you reached out?”

“It’s not on me to fix anything.” your voice trembled. Focus on the race. Pierre was doing good. He defended one of the Aston Martin’s seamlessly. He was catching up to Lando. “Plus I-”

Nope, you didn’t need to say it. You shook your head, shoving the last bit of crust into your mouth.

“You still love him?”

And then you were choking on said crust. Max swore under his breath and grabbed your drink for you, encouraging you to take a sip and clear your airways. Water would have been better but maybe chugging the rum and coke would make this conversation a little easier.

You dabbed the corner of your eye, “No Max I don’t,” you inhaled a heavy breath, “I mean, it’s hard to say, okay? Part of me will always love Lando, but I need it to be a different type of love. I need to be content with knowing that him and I will never happen, that we were never supposed to happen. I want to be able to look at him and be his friend but not have it hurt and I just- I don’t know how I’ll ever get to that point.”

Max nodded. You could tell he was trying to understand but you were feeling way too many emotions at once and spilling that beer on his Quadrant hoodie was probably the most traumatic thing he’s had to deal with in the last month.

“So do you want him to reach out or not?” Max asked after a few minutes.

You slumped further into the corner of the couch, “I really don’t know.”

The two of you could have dived deeper into this topic. There was no one better to bounce your thoughts off of than Max. He knew you, he knew Lando. He wouldn’t purposely steer you in the wrong direction and secretly, he was rooting for the two of you to make up.

But the race suddenly got interesting.

You both saw it. Your eyes were glued to the tv throughout your conversation and while the multitasking had worked, now the only thing that mattered were the drivers.

It was only lap 10 of 72, but Lando braked early going into turn 13. Too early, like he knew Pierre’s Alpine was within DRS range behind him and wanted to purposely fuck with him before the start/finish straight.

Pierre usually had better reflexes. But Lando shouldn’t have braked when he did.

The front wing jammed into the back of the McLaren, sending both cars off the track. Lando’s tyres locked up and he spun out but Pierre went directly into the barrier. The cars behind them managed to avoid it, but there was no salvaging the damage on either car. Pierre would have to retire and the hit from the Alpine caused a sudden hydraulics issue in the McLaren.

They were lucky, honestly, it could have been a lot worse.

But you didn’t give a shit about the cars. You were watching the drama unfold on screen as a red flag was announced to pull both cars off the track.

Pierre climbed out of the car first. A marshall tried to usher him towards one of the exit holes in the gate, but he turned his attention to Lando who was also being escorted by a marshall.

Pierre pointed his finger at Lando. The cameras couldn’t pick up what they were saying but you knew it wasn’t friendly. Not by the way the marshall had now positioned himself in between the two drivers.

“He did it on purpose,” Max voiced what everyone and their dog was thinking.

“He wouldn’t,” you wanted to believe that Lando just made a mistake. “No, he wouldn’t sacrifice a race like this. Not to be petty.”

Max could argue that in a second. He had seen first hand how livid and unbearable Lando had become recently. He wouldn’t put it past his friend to pull a dirty move like this.

The camera followed the drivers getting into the separate golf carts as they were driven back to the pit lane. From body language alone you could tell how frustrated Pierre was. This wasn’t his own error that caused him to retire, it was all on Lando. There was no doubt about it.

Somewhere along the lines you had reached across the couch to grab Max’s arm. The anticipation killed both of you as you watched in silence. You didn’t know if one of the drivers would approach the other in the pit lane but you were praying they would stay in their own garages.

“I told you,” Max whispered. “Lando hates that you’re with Pierre.”

“Lando’s an idiot for screwing up his own race because of some childish jealousy,” you said through clenched teeth.

The screen was only showing Pierre now as he pulled his helmet off to speak to his engineers in the garage. His usually charismatic and inviting features were cold and hardened as he vented for anyone to hear. You wished the camera was able to pick up on what he was saying but it was for the better that it couldn’t.

He wasn’t injured, thank god. That was always a fear you had when you watched collisions. But now there was a new fear.

The media was going to have a field day over this. And because you weren’t necessarily private about hanging out with Pierre after having such a public friendship with Lando, you knew that one way or another, you’d be dragged into this.

“I have to call him,” you said, more to yourself than to Max, but he nodded in encouragement. “Before this blows up, I have to talk to him.”

"Him, who?" Max asked, wanting clarification. There were two drivers involved in that accident. Two drivers that had taken up two very different spots in your heart.

You grabbed your phone from the coffee table and your mind turned on autopilot, calling the one driver that you knew you had to speak to first.

“Don’t say anything,” Amelia, Lando’s PR assistant, instructed. “Not to the media, not online, no public statements until we sort this out, do you understand?”

Lando nodded and Amelia waited until she got verbal confirmation that he wouldn’t turn this into a bigger mess before leaving the drivers room.

“Yes, don’t worry,” he huffed out. “Lips are sealed.”

“God you make my life difficult,” Amelia pulled out her phone and walked back into the motorhome, shutting his door with more force than necessary.

Lando changed out of his fireproofs, knowing he wouldn’t need them to watch the rest of the race. He slid on a McLaren polo t and a pair of black joggers. He combed his fingers through his hair and grabbed his phone off the table. He didn’t usually look at his phone much during race days, but he was dying to know what people were saying, what sort of assumptions were being thrown around.

He had just opened twitter when your name showed up on his phone screen. The image being one of the two of you a few years back. He remembered setting it as your contact photo even though you hated how your side profile looked.

Lando wasn’t sure if this was a mistake or not. He had retired early from races before and if you weren’t watching in the paddock, you wouldn’t call him until the race completed, giving him the time he always needed to cool off or collect himself.

But you were calling him now.

Lando slid his finger across the screen and brought the phone up to his ear. He didn’t even get a word in, not like he would act as this was a normal conversation anyway. You were calling because Pierre was involved. Hell you probably already called him first and talking to Lando was just additional damage control.

“What the fuck, Lando?”

He missed your voice. He didn’t miss you scolding him.

“Y/N I-”

“Tell me it wasn’t on purpose,” you demanded. He could hear it in your voice, the shakiness of your breath, the false confidence. You were mad at him, but up until recently, you were never one to paint him as the bad guy so this was completely new territory for you.

Lando sat down on the edge of the couch, foot tapping against the floor, “I didn’t intend to ruin both our races.”

That wasn’t the answer you were looking for and all you could do was sigh in defeat.

But that single breath into the receiver made Lando regret every single wrong action he had ever done. It didn’t matter that you weren’t in the same room, that one goddamn breath ringing in his ear had a way of hitting Lando the way no words ever could.

It reminded him of when you two were twelve and you spent a week at his place with his family and he yelled at you when you tried on one of his karting helmets. You didn’t mean anything by it, you just wanted to see if it fit. Lando yanked it off your head and lost it on you, telling you to never touch it again.

Your eyes welled up immediately. You didn’t even apologise, you couldn’t. You just inhaled and exhaled the heaviest breath your twelve year old lungs could handle and Lando knew he crossed a line more than you had. You shouldn’t have touched his helmet but he shouldn’t have raised his voice. He spent the rest of the day making sure you didn’t hold it against him. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, he never wanted to hurt your feelings.

And in these last few weeks, that’s all he’s done.

Pulling that one reckless move on the track didn’t just risk hurting Pierre. Lando knew how much Pierre meant to you, for some fucking reason, and he knew that you’d be watching. He knew that move would hurt you.

“You braked early on purpose,” it wasn’t a question. Your assumptions were correct. You just needed to hear it.

“I wanted to get him off my tail,” Lando tried to defend his choices but he didn’t sound the least bit convincing. But that’s what he did when he felt as though he was backed into a corner, even if he was in the wrong, he always tried to talk himself out of whatever mess he made. “Gasly’s reaction times are off the charts, Y/N I just thought I’d mess him up a little. I didn’t think he'd crash into me.”

“God you are so full of yourself,” you spat out. “Lando, we haven't talked in weeks. I’ve been happy hanging out with Pierre, I’ve left you alone like you wanted and you go and pull this shit?”

Lando instantly became defensive, he had to. “Oh I’m full of myself? Why are you assuming this had anything to do with you?”

“I- because-” you stammered. “Lando, come on. You and Pierre have never had issues on track before.”

“He’s been getting on my nerves lately.”

“Since when do you bring your outside problems into the car with you?” You asked.

“He’s been getting on my nerves all weekend, Y/N,” Lando clarified. Why did he feel the need to explain himself?

Maybe because this was the longest you had spoken in weeks and even if you were arguing, he’d rather keep you on the phone and listen to you snap at him than hang up and not know when he’d hear from you next.

You paused, “What do you mean?”

“He’s been dragging my name through the mud since the press conference, did you not watch it?”

You had been at work during the press conferences, plus they weren’t always entertaining so no, you had missed it.

“Subtle jabs here and there,” Lando went on further. “He thinks because you’re his now-”

“I’m not his,” you were quick to interject. You weren’t some piece of property that the guys would fight over. You were a goddamn human being and you didn’t ask for this mess. “I also was never yours.”

That shut Lando up. It was a harsh slap to the face. The painful reality he had to accept but didn’t want to because you should have been his.

He should have worked harder to keep you in his life.

He should have realised how important you were to him before letting you slip through his fingers.

It shouldn’t have taken him seeing you with Pierre to know that he needed you.

“I know,” Lando couldn’t argue with you. You were never his. “I didn’t mean it like-” God this was harder than it should have been. “It’s just- you care about Pierre now, is all.”

You hesitated. Lando wouldn’t have been surprised if you hung up. This conversation didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

And then your voice dropped to a whisper, like you were even debating letting the next words out of your mouth, knowing they would only add fuel to this fire.

“That doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”

Lando froze. Quite literally. His legs went numb, thank god he was sitting down. He counted each individual breath you took and he was asking himself why you weren’t there with him, to say this in person. He could only imagine what you were like right now.

He had no idea that you were curled up on the couch, fingers trembling as you held the phone to your ear. He had no clue that Max was staring at you, mouth agape as you said the words that could have single handedly fixed what went wrong. Lando didn’t know that you called him first and that Pierre would just have to wait to hear your voice.

You continued, “Lando we both said some hurtful things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re-” you chuckled and Lando instantly felt a weight lift from his shoulders. When was the last time he heard your laugh? “It’s not easy to throw away fifteen plus years of friendship, you idiot.”

“I guess that’s true,” he agreed, a smile forming on his own lips. Things weren’t permanently broken between you. There was damage, but it wasn’t a shattered mirror. You could put the pieces back together and not have the remnants of the incident ruin your relationship moving forward.

“I think space is needed, though” you then said. Lando’s heart sank a little further into his chest. “I don’t want to be reliant on you anymore, Lando. For so long, you were all I cared about and I can’t keep living like that.”

You needed the time to get over him.

Lando understood what you were trying to say. You didn’t want to love him anymore. You wanted a clean slate of friendship, something that wouldn’t keep you up at night, haunting your thoughts with all the what-if’s.

He could wait.

He had no choice, essentially.

You weren’t ready to let him go and he was going to do whatever he could to get you back in his life. These last few weeks were hard enough with you. He didn’t want to go the next few years without you at his side.

“Y/N I-” Lando paused, taking his lower lip between his teeth. He’d been holding onto that night in the club for so long, he had to let it go. “I’m sorry.”

If he could see you right now, he’d probably laugh at the way your forehead wrinkled as your eyebrows pinched together.

“For the braking?”

“For everything I said,” he ran his fingers through his hair. It would be so much easier if you two were in the same room. “For making you feel as though I was paying for your friendship. For cancelling your flights. For being a shitty person, you didn’t deserve any of it. Especially knowing how you feel- how you felt, I mean. I made everything worse and I'm sorry.”

This time when you let out a breath into the receiver, it sounded more hopeful, if that was even possible. It sounded like the type of breath you’d take before rolling your eyes at him.

“You couldn’t have apologised the morning after?” You asked. Your tone was finally starting to lighten up. “It took you causing an accident during a race to realise you fucked things up between us?”

“I’m an idiot.”

“I know.”

You were both silent. Lando didn’t want to hang up first. He wanted to keep you on the phone for the rest of the day.

But he knew he couldn’t. His team was waiting for him in the garage. There was still a race going on. He had to sit and watch and think about his mistakes. He should probably apologise to Pierre.

“Are we okay?” Lando asked.

“We will be.”

You didn’t hesitate, but it wasn’t the answer Lando was hoping for. He had to be patient.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he said.

You knew he meant it.

When you hung up, Max was waiting on the opposite end of the couch for an explanation. He only caught bits and pieces of what Lando said and he couldn’t piece together anything.

“He apologised,” you said.

The smile that spread across Max’s face was photo-worthy. He’d been waiting to hear that. He’d been telling Lando to say sorry since you ran out of the club with Pierre.

“Thank god!” Max fist bumped the air. “Does that mean we can finally all hang out again? I love Lando, I just can’t deal with him alone. He-”

“Woah, okay, slow down,” you felt bad, but you couldn’t let Max get ahead of himself. “I still need time. I can’t just hang out with him and pretend I never loved him, I need to be in a place where I’m content with just being his friend.”

Max’s face dropped, “How long is that going to take.”

You shrugged. You didn’t have an answer. All you knew was that things were going to be okay. You didn’t lose Lando like you thought you had. He was still there and he would continue to be there, waiting for you to return to his life when you were ready. When you could look at him and not see the face of the man you loved.

You then thought about what Lando said about Pierre’s comments during the press conference.

“Hey, what did Pierre say to the media?” You asked. “Did you watch the press conference?”

Max’s face said it all. He inhaled a sharp breath through clenched teeth and you regretted asking the question.

“It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it,” Max clarified. “He talked about the competition between himself and Lando, but the underlying tone…you could tell it wasn’t just about the points or the driver standings. Pierre was referring to you. As if you were the prize.”

That wasn’t the least bit flattering, but you made a mental note to search up the clip after the race.

At that same moment, Pierre’s face showed up in a split screen on the tv. You couldn’t put into words how mad he was that his race was over as he sat in the garage, watching the other drivers continue on without him. You knew he had a few choice words for Lando and honestly, you couldn’t blame him.

You had to talk to Pierre, about the incident, about what Lando said, about where you two stood. But after your conversation with Lando, you decided that Pierre could wait.

You were leaving for Monza on Friday anyways, which was a good thing. You were going to need those extra days to prepare for what was to come.

part 4 here read all parts here

#pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly #pierre gasly fanfic #lando norris one shot #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris social media au #lando norris au #lando norris #social media au #f1 social media au #f1 requests #f1 one shot #f1 #holllandtrash

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universallychaoticpan · 1 year

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Until I'm sleeping

Atsushi x reader

He didn't want to believe, couldn't bring himself to see you this way. In the heat of battle, he had lost sight of you, but hadn't paid any mind; you were so strong, so fierce- you didn't need the likes of him worrying about you. No one could touch you when you fought; your body and mind were honed in the art of war in ways he couldn't understand. Not you, who'd been a mentor and a friend, who had comforted him on the lonely nights when the world had kept him awake. Death could never touch you. But the smoke had cleared and the dust settled, and no one had been able to find you.

He only wished it had been someone who could have helped you to find you first.

But when he'd stumbled upon you, it was already too late. There was so much blood, soaking through your shirt, on your skin, staining the ground and resting heavy on the air. He was aware of the tears steaming down his cheeks, the way he was heaving for breath through the sobs. But above all, he was watching your face.

Because you were smiling.

You were holding his hand, and smiling- a small, sad grin that had broken when he had dropped to his knees beside you, and your grip was weak but it was there. Hold on, hold on hold on- as long as you didn't let go, it could still be ok.

"We had a hell of a run, didn't we kid?" You winced in pain, your body slowly shutting down even as you spoke. "I still remember the first day you showed up at the agency. You looked so scared- like a tiger cub." You laughed a bit at your own joke, hand tightening as your body protested the movement. "Dazai and I knew we were gonna care about you too damn much for our own goods and god knows I already waste too much energy worrying about my husband."

"You can lecture me for hours when we go home- it's all going to be ok."

Still smiling, you shook your head. "No," you murmured, pressing a hand to his cheek. "no, not today. You'll have to go home without me."

"Don't say that," he pleaded. "Please, don't say that. Yosano will come, someone will come you're going to be ok. Please, y/n, we need you to be ok. I need you to be ok."

"Shh, sh," you soothed. "It's alright Atsushi. I promise. Besides, it might be selfish but I was only afraid of being alone." You chuckled softly, tears springing to your eyes even as you fought them. "You're here now, and I am not alone. So," you breathed, "will you do a mentor one last favor?

Will you stay with me until I go?"

He couldn't bring himself to speak, but he nodded, more tears falling to the ground and mingling with the blood as he pulled your body into his arms.

You were so quiet, so still; the only reason he knew you still breathed was the faint pulse under his finger, getting fainter every minute. But he stroked your hair and let your eyes flutter shut, your breaths becoming shaky, then shallow, then a whisper on the air as they left your lips. If he tried, he could almost think you were just falling asleep after a long day. When you were like this, you were almost a child; sweet as a sleeping baby.

He didn't know how long he sat there, how long he stayed there with tears washing lines of dirt of his face, simply staring down at you. He didn't know when he stopped feeling your pulse, when he stopped feeling the nearly indiscernible movement of your breathing.

But he would never forget the look in Dazai's eyes when he found you both; the worst sorrow, the most terrible understanding. He knew the second he saw, and didn't say a word He simply lifted your body from the ground, his breaking heart clear in his expression as he turned to go.

"Come on now, Atsushi. It's time to get her home."

#atsushi x reader #atsushi nakajima x reader #atsushi x reader angst #bsd x reader #bsd x reader angst #dazai x reader #dazai x reader angst

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adyophene · 1 month

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Hello ! I just have a little question, how do we start drawing ? I want go draw but idk how to start- any suggestion ? Or, if for starting it's better to do it with tutos, any tutorial to recommend ?

Have a great day !

Oooh, this is a tough question to answer! I suppose one the best pieces of advice I have is to figure out, before anything, what you are hoping to draw. What style, what tones, what media.

I have a feeling this might get long, so I will throw the rest under a readmore.

For me, when I started taking my art a little more seriously (I never went to art school or anything) I just focused on finding both tutorials on the fundamentals, and finding tutorials that focused on the aspects of art that interested me, which were animation and cartooning!

They go hand-in-hand, after all, and you'll find you end up honing in on the tutorials that coincide with your interests! IE- I ended up doing a lot of figure, and expression drawing because they would help me express emotion and movement better! I also spent so, so long just training my hand to be a bit more confident with drawing steady lines just because I loved the look of clean line-work!

So try to identify what your personal draw towards art is! By doing both something you like, as well as focusing the basics, I found that, at least in my personal experience, it put me in a positive feedback loop where I could keep seeing results in exactly the type of art I was interested in! And, once you start to feel confident, that is when you start adding in little bits of study from fields you might struggle with! A 90/10 split on what you're comfortable with and then what is new is usually a good way to go about it! Weirdly enough, though I don't watch him, I saw that the youtuber pewdiepie actually had a really good set of videos where he started from being a complete beginner and improving his art over 100 days. I believe its an absolutely great watch for a new artist, because he really does a great job in showing what a brand new journey into art can look like, and explains what he thinks each day. I think my favorite line was, 'after 24 days, I was finally having fun' because that can really sum up the new artist experience. It will absolutely be a slog at times, and can be really disheartening, but when you start to see progress, becomes so, SO fun.

Here is the link to the first vid, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMLEudGbxQk and his second https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJDtQTTAogk

ALSO- this was just the first video that came to mind because I watched it recently. I would recommend finding other videos about people learning to draw, or doing 30-100-365 day challenge videos. As for my personal favorite channels for art tutorials (though keep in mind, I haven't watched them in a few years ;-;, I need to study again);

There were a number of others that I wish I could link as well, but I am struggling to remember them. I hope any of that is helpful. My own art journey has been very long, and non linear, and I have to say, I'm not even satisfied with my own art! Its a endless mountain to climb, but it is so worth it to do! And lastly, I want to say thank you so much for sending this ask, you've made me dig back in to artists I used to study, and made me want to really focus back in on my own improvement!

#not art

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pansear-doodles · 7 months

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Twitter doc version (which is slightly longer and more detailed)

I reflected a bit. I kept insisting i would change and stop making mistakes. However, some individuals made me snap to the reality that I have not been doing it, and they were right.

I realized that I have been blurring this line of something for myself and something for my standing. I kept telling myself that there aren't any true stakes when this blog is made for me and my twitter is made for me. I'm no longer in the area where I can wholly express my emotions (well, i still could, but with a limit), and I would constantly create posts that exhibit that I'm emotionally vulnerable, which to many, including Wayne, finds wrong and upsetting.

I have not been understanding my true needs and have been essentially denying it. I have mangled my love of art and something between personal and something thousands of people can see. I have been undermining how far my signals can reach, believing that "this is my art blog, so i do whatever i want", that's true, but i never really understood its limits.

Some of you may find me gross after the revelation. I suppose it was the manner of opinions from that topic. While it's wrong to leak private information, especially when you're not up to date with said information, the very information itself is not a matter of technicalities- that would be something that is up to you on deciding who i am as a person from there forward. I'm sorry you had to discover it. Everyone has a bit of their strange side. And I'm starting to accept that not everyone is going to agree or support me on this. It was an uncomfortable change. I'm going to miss some people. But holding onto this baggage will not do anything for me. I must carry on. Yes. I did draw those things. So what? I know it was a mistake to draw that very specific part and I'm sorry for that; I learned of it long before the rumors started to appear and I have stopped doing it since. Do I have irrefutable proof? Of course not, unfortunately. But I am telling the truth here.

People can absolutely choose to decide their opinion of the idea of it, and if you decide to see me as a bad person for it, that's okay, but I never intended to harm anyone with it. Nobody was harmed. It was only exchanged between consenting adults and nothing more.

I never asked to be popular, but i subconsciously rode that wave. If Wayne is correct on one thing they said about me, it's that i let these conflicting emotions control me. For years i have been doing this because I grew up in bad environments where stuff like this was desensitized. I thought Wayne wanted me gone because they hated me. Well perhaps, some of it is true. Even back when we were friends, it was hard to read them, which made me walk eggshells. But nonetheless I do think Wayne did it out of care, but they did it in the worst way possible.

I didn't have the best reaction. I was too hasty because I panicked. I should have made a document that really details things that's been going on between us and the other things Wayne's done in SC (im doing that actually, one step at a time). For now though, I want to make this post for the purpose of saying that- yes, I haven't been innocent and I have been constantly hurting myself, in front of so many others nonetheless.

You would see me vent. You would see me make "pity parties". You would see my emotional vulnerability. Again, i thought with this blog and my twitter account, since it is my personal spaces, i thought it was fine. But of course it wasn't. I forgot that there are thousands of eyes, even minors who aspire from my work.

I haven't been good to myself. I made things worse and worse. I didn't know how to handle it despite dozens, if not, hundreds of people telling me. And now after realizing it, I wanted to take it to my own matters, for my own good and safety, and for the safety of others and people who worry for me and care about me. Despite all the damages, if I really want to make a change, I must really show it.

From this day on, I'll be making different blogs. One is a more personal, smaller blog where I can really express myself and would not use primary popular tags. One where i dump all of my negative emotions that are private and overlyvulnerable. And one blog- this one- where I can show my art to the world. It was stupid of me to not have thought of this solution before, but it's better late than never. I would only show these side blogs to my friends and the people who are genuine with me rather than those who idolize me only for my art. I should really make a clear boundary between the me on the fandom side of things, and the me on the myself side of things.

I plan to make my twitter inactive. I don't know why I've been insistent on keeping it up, but now i know and it's an ugly side of me i denied constantly: I kept it up for fame, because I equated fame to my self importance- which isn't good. You would see it evidently when I get upset about the numbers. It was easier for people to access my stuff. This amount of attention has become a detriment to my mental health but, back then, shutting it down would subconsciously mean that "the bad people won". Throughout growing up on the internet, I'd see these artists back away from their popular accounts. I didn't really understand why. I never did. But now I really know. A sacrifice has to be made, and it would be something that helps me most of all. Plus, twitter is too negative for me. I would really only use it to look at art and news, but all the other drama sticks and paparazzi and blegh- no man i think id rather sit here.

I *may* still occasionally post things there, but I'd primarily post on tumblr, where things are more relaxed.

So what did I want? Fame or comfort? My comfort was entangled in fame and it became an uncomfortable experience. What I desired to draw became also the desire from others. In truth, i definitely enjoy making rain world art. I love making my anthro au. The very reason why I made Rain world fanart in the first place was because I was sad and drawing the characters where they were happier and loved helped me cope. I anthromorphize the characters with this empathy. I believe this was the biggest reason why the anthro au was made. It was made because of the high empathy, which is why it was meaningful and closest to me- and I loved when other people understood and loved it too. My feelings were understood. I surrounded myself with friends and people and took great comfort when they shared this experience with me. And I was touched every time someone else showed their anthro au, with or without my influence. I never felt alone in these moments. I felt like I was seen. But i know not everyone is going to be my friend and not every output everyone makes is for my own likeness. There were those who wanted to be my friend for my fame and nothing more. And those who expressed that they didn't like my anthro au, i unfortunately took them as personal attacks. This is definitely not the case at all, and I'm sorry for invalidating any forms of critiques. This was an awful thing for me to do and everything got carried away in the end. I likened my au too much to the point its starting to become something that controls my judgement.

The matter of filtering what I post isn't censorship. It isn't invalidating my feelings and it isn't the matter of controlling out of fame. It is a matter of defending myself and in turn keeping others safe. The very reason why my insecurities kept getting enabled was because of me and not what other people do to me (well, it can be, but i admit I'm not completely clean from it). If people truly want to empathize with me, it should really only be my loved ones and me taking alone time like watching yt videos or taking walks.

As for the frequency of updates, people take issue with my lack of time and breaks. Admittedly, I have been having issues of time senseless for the past months and amnesia. A whole week can feel like a few days, a single day can feel like a whole week, two weeks can feel like a month. So on. These are side effects of my mental illness and I should work on it better. Like making alarms.

I thank everyone who has been very patient with me throughout my time in this fandom. I thank my followers who stuck by me despite everything. I thank my friends who cared for me and remained my friends throughout it all. I'm sorry I haven't been the best artist to those I have affected. I'm sorry I haven't been giving great examples. I'm sorry for being stuck up on believing that whatever I'm doing is correct and have been avoiding the criticism of it. And most of all, I'm sorry to everyone whose advice I ignored, even Wayne.

Overall, I'm taking one step at a time for these things. Block people liberally- that's something I've been avoiding because it felt mean, but I should utilize more. Of all of my ignorance, emotional breakdowns, the wrongs i did upon myself which then to others, I never meant any of it maliciously. There is no black and white here. Only gray morals. Wayne was a shitty person, but I was a shitty person too. I haven't been nice to myself, but starting now, I will be a little bit more selfish (in a way that helps me and doesn't hurt other people). How you evaluate me as a person is up to you. I'll welcome anyone who's nice to me in my specific spaces regardless.

But no matter what happens, I'll push forward. Because I love art and I love my friends, and I'll keep fighting for it and against the horrors that keep me from self-respect. I should focus on the things that make me happy.

Thank you, everyone. I truly mean it.

#thoughts #drama #ask to tag #long

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theangrybooknook · 8 days

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The Apothecary Diaries

What, we are talking manga now on this blog?

Of course!

Ever since I fell into a Maomao/Jinshi shaped hole on Crunchyroll, I have been taken hostage by this story. Needless to say, I immediately went on to read the manga and found myself captivated even further - so much that I am actually shipping Maomao and Jinshi, and those who know me know that me shipping a straight couple happens once every ten years. But the chemistry between them- oh, where could I possibly begin!

But, as always, first things first.

Synopsis: The young apothecary Maomao grows up in a brothel and lives with a physician whom she regards as her adoptive father. On her quest to find new herbs, the young woman is abducted by human traffickers and sold to the Imperial Court to work as a maid. Soon, however, her skills as a healer and her incredibly sharp wit attract the attention of the eunuch Jinshi, whose true identity is a well-kept secret. Soon, Maomao finds herself in the very midst of the intrigues of the court as the personal food taster of the Emperor's favourite consort, and it is there where the mysteries begin...

Truth be told: The Apothecary Diaries did not lure me in immediately. I had seen the manga in some bookshops, but the art style gave me the impression of "yet another shojo manga" and I did not bother reading the blurb. Then, I got a subscription to Crunchyroll and decided to give the anime adaption a try and-- here we are. Now that I have also read the manga and still follow it, I felt the need to give a review.

When looking for manga to read or anime to watch, I can be very picky. I am not easily impressed by what is currently popular and I need a story to grab me by the throat and shake me thoroughly, only to rip out my heart, tear it into pieces, mend it and put it back again. Most anime and manga that are currently popular in Germany are of the shonen genre, which is not really what I am into. But how would I classify The Apothecary Diaries?

What Natsu Hyūga has created with her Light Novels and now with the manga is a beautiful mix of romance, mystery, and comedy, embedded in a gorgeous historical setting inspired by Imperial China. Set at the Imperial Court, the reader is thrown into a fantastical world of pomp and splendour where everything, from things to food to women, is at only one man's disposal. What sounds like a classical harem trope is one only to a certain extent. The system of the court is merely described, not glorified, but also not judged. In that, Maomao is an excellent main character to follow as she mostly observes and makes her conclusions, only to state at the end of it: but it's not my business anyway. I am not sure if I have ever seen/read a main character like her before that draws such a strict line between her own life and the business of other people - perhaps she is a bit like Jane Eyre, but with a passion for poison. The deadpan exchanges she has with Jinshi definitely reminded me of the conversations between Jane and Rochester, minus the psychological manipulation.

Maomao could have easily become a Mary-Sue character with little personality beyond her enthusiasm for all sorts of poison. However, she is a strong-willed young woman with flaws that are entirely believable, such as her assumption that she might lack typical human emotion due to her upbringing. At the same time, she stays wary and follows the advice of her adoptive father to never make assumptions out loud, and to never ask questions, lest she might fall into something that is none of her business and might harm her in the end. She is aware that as a woman not following a traditional path, she must be even more careful, but at the same time, does not judge women that follow or even want a traditional life. Jinshi is intrigued by that, but also by her skill and her wisdom which she never flaunts, but only ever expresses as a passion of hers that she is not ashamed of. It is a pure joy to watch Jinshi grow fond of her, yes, fall in love with her for what she is, says, and does, while Maomao stays all the while entirely oblivious, not thinking of herself as particularly pretty or lovable based on her low social status. Said status does not bother her much and she does not attempt to change it even though it would be within her means to do so - her decision to stay away from what could become her birthright is entirely understandable for the reader and makes Maomao even more fascinating.

The character of the eunuch Jinshi is a masterful mirror of reader reactions to Maomao up until the point where his own story unfolds. Born at court to a mother belonging to an emperor and raised in a golden cage, his true identity is unknown to most beside a selected few that also keep his identity hidden. The purpose of this secrecy is slowly unveiled just as the reader learns of the weight resting on Jinshi's shoulders, and Maomao's appearance at court seems to shake him out of a rigour he has been subjected to for a very long time. Although everyone's favourite at court, Jinshi is alone in his beauty and Maomao, observant in terms of both plants and people, soon realises how lonely the man is and how deep the secrets run. After all, the man is far too beautiful to be a eunuch. But even here, she stays true to her credo of not getting involved in anyone's business unless she is forced to, even as the chance arises to learn the truth.

Especially noteworthy is that while the world of Maomao and Jinshi is a golden one at court, Natsu Hyūga does not shy away from depicting the horrible things that humans can do to each other. Various darker topics are covered: human trafficking, child abuse, rape, pedophilia, the exploitation of women and children in the name of royalty, envy, and the illusion of free choice. The world of The Apothecary Diaries is not a kind one to women - Maomao points that out, reflects on it several times and knows that she, by her gender alone, is viewed as inferior. It does not stop her from pursuing her goals, but it keeps her incredibly aware of her surroundings. Many times, stories like that fall into the trap of creating a female main character that is "not like other girls" and constantly belittles the women and girls that seemingly fit the picture. Maomao might not be a courtesan, concubine, noble lady, or consort, and she might not necessarily have traditionally female interests such as fashion and jewellery, but she never belittles the women around her for their interests or life choices. This is an incredibly refreshing take and speaks of the excellent skill of the author to create a female character that is special, in some ways The Chosen One, but also likeable, obscure, and true to herself.

The manga is still ongoing, and I have no doubt that the story will take the reader down many dark and twisted paths. As for myself, I am rooting for Maomao and Jinshi as well as for the vast array of lovable side characters such as Gao Shun and Ba Sen, the consorts, the courtesans, and many more. I am excited to watch this story develop further and I am glad that I clicked "play" on that first episode two weeks ago. What a jewel of a story I have found there, and what a joy it is to follow the story of the incredible, funny, and absolutely insane Maomao.

#the apothecary #kusuriya no hitorigoto #maomao #jinshi #bookblr #books #literature #manga #review

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valerieismss · 4 months

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Okay I did another manga panel recolor to illustrate my point about Danny’s freakassness and how it could’ve been written more effectively.

My main issue with Danny’s character has little to do with his design and nothing to do with his personality and motivations. It’s just his behavior that drives me up a wall. You really don’t have to change anything about Danny himself to communicate his main internal conflicts: his desperate need for unconditional love.

It’s frustrating because I know that others (including myself, when my friend introduced me to this) will misinterpret Danny to be a pedo when he’s explicitly not one, it’s just that his behavior communicates something that’s different to his actual character. You see this in the manga and the anime, especially—a lot of his expressions are weirdly horny even though he never actually communicates or suggests he really feels that way about Rachel. Notably, his need for her is familial. He sees himself in her, and his mother’s eyes in her. In another post, @wlwfav said in a reply to a post by @mothwithapencil that he wasn’t projecting his feelings about his mother on Rachel so much as he was projecting his desires for unconditional love onto Rachel to mother her, like a reverse projection (trying not to plagiarize here!). I fully agree. This is especially apparent when you see a flashback of Danny counseling Rachel in the game. He directly relates his shit onto her. The amount of countertransference (which is when therapists project their own feelings onto their clients) this man has is immeasurable. It’s part of why I’m so attached to him. (For reference, my favorite character of all time is also a therapist with an assload of countertransference.)

Anyways, I think you can make Danny just as unsettling if not more if you get him to stop acting as horny as he does. It causes some really uncomfortable mischaracterizations. There’s really no need for it. That’s why I edited the second panel a little bit. You can change a character’s behavior and keep their motives and desires the same. I wouldn’t change an extreme amount about his behaviors. I think his lack of physical boundaries actually works really well for his character. It makes sense given his isolated and rejected upbringing. I draw the line when he pins Rachel down in the anime. What was the reason. He just wants her eyes. Explicitly. Just her eyes.

Also, the tongue? Can anyone explain why it’s necessary??? It’s GROSS AND WEIRD! It also gives his character a weirdly sexual undertone that isn’t necessary to making him a terrifying guy. Like you can still get freaky with it without that damn thing. The excessive use of peepers…I mentioned this in my last post. It’s a good way to disarm clients/players from his obsession with eyes. If he treats his fascination as a joke (“I just really like your peepers haha!”) it makes him less suspicious. Contextually, it also makes sense. Danny canonically becomes a psychiatrist because he knows he’ll encounter people with lifeless eyes. Unsurprisingly, in the art of the game, they tend to be younger patients. To me, when we first meet him, he came off as a pediatrician. I mean, he calls himself Dr. Danny instead of Dr. Dickens, like a pediatrician would. His tongue shit and his peeper shit could sound like some silly thing he’d say to get clients to feel more at ease around him before he legit kills them and takes their eyes.

All of that is really unsettling to me. You could characterize his freakassness in ways that aren’t sexual but just as chilling. If Rachel’s needs for a perfect family and things that are “hers” can be conveyed in a horrific way without sexualizing her, the same could be done for Dr. Fuckface. He’s so similar to her, after all. He wants a family—Rachel, specifically—that mirrors what he wishes he would’ve had in his childhood, because he believes that comes with unconditional love. Even when Zack stabs him in the anime, his line is, “I’ve been so terribly lonely!” Because that’s his actual issue. He thinks Rachel, having had a similar childhood, is the only one who could understand, and he believes he’s fundamentally unloveable because of his trauma. He literally thinks his eyes killed his mom. He’s so fascinating!! I’m so obsessed with him. I can’t wait to start episode 0 of the manga.

So, yeah. In the second recolor I tried to convey his creepiness by giving him a more wistful expression that still strikes you as fucking weird. Instead of seeming excited sexually, he seems excited at the idea of a forced family. It’s more accurate to who he actually is. He literally does not want her like that in canon. I wish his behaviors reflected that more.

#valerieisms #daniel dickens #danny dickens #i love you dr. dick in me…

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1-800-local-slut · 9 months

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I would love a short story where Y/N meets Klaus at an art exhibition where Y/N admires Klaus paintings :3

Omg, I literally love your works! Thanks so much for the request, I really hope you enjoy this. I made the ready a little bit sassy, I hope you still like it!

Likes and repost are appreciated! Please let me know what you think <3

Klaus Mikaelson x Black! Sassy! Super Smart! Human! Reader

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Enticing

Sometimes, when you look at something exquisite the rest of the world fades behind you. It was happening right now. You see something that captivates you, and it’s nearly impossible to look away. Like the Grande Odalisque, or The Garden of Earthly Desires. The paints and the story told on the canvas kept the attention of many for centuries. Now though, she was looking at the snowy canvas.

A bleak winter, snowing outside of a family sized, broken down shack. There were a set of large footprints leading out through the snow. Then there was another set coming back towards the home, with a line of crimson pulling through the snow. It was in a straight line, like pulled through with a sword. The home was empty, like it was devoid of life. There were multiple rooms, for multiple people, windows all open. The wind blew ripped curtains through a few of the rooms. The darkness of the painting made it seem like there was light pulled from the home. The area around the house was dark, but the further away from the house it got, light seemed to come in. Like it was saying, the inhabitants of the house itself were evil and broken. Her eyes couldn’t help but be glued to the painting. What a sad story it must be telling.

“Are you enjoying my work?” A charming, deep accent pulled her eyes from the painting. Slowly she looked up, glancing over her shoulder. There was a handsome blonde man, staring down at her with enticing eyes. His red lips smirked down at her. Something about him looked vaguely familiar. Perhaps she’d seen him at one of the many other shows she’s attended. Her eyes narrowed smugly.

He wasn’t the first artist she’d encountered. He wasn’t the first who felt special because she took an extra moment to stare. She always had an extra appreciation for art. All types of art truly. Music, plays, sculpting, painting, dancing. Everything, she adored it. While this painting is magnificent, it truly wasn’t the best work the man could produce.

“I’m enjoying all the work here.” She responded, with a sip and smiled smugly.

“Yes, I believe I’ve seen you before. Tell me, as an avid lover of art, what do you think of this piece?” The man stepped around and in front of her. With a thoughtful ‘hm’, she ran her eyes up and down him. He was handsome without a doubt, but much like his art something about him was mesmerizing. Tilting her head, she looked at the painting once more.

“It’s not your best work. I’m certain you could do better than this.” Was all she shrugged. A look of shock came over him at first. Then he smiled and glanced at his shoes. His tongue ran over his teeth, and he let out a small huff. Like all artists he wasn’t thrilled to hear harsh criticism about his work. Then again, who wanted to hear something so painful about their craft? But she never cared. Art was true beauty, you can’t sugar coat anything like that. That plus, the knowledge that her opinion never truly mattered. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all. If this man thought this painting was his best, then it was.

“Pray tell?” He inquired. Now the woman turned to face him, and looked over his face.

“Well, it just isn’t. That’s my personal opinion, love. It’s like you’re telling a story, but you’re holding something back from it. You’re only comfortable to tell part of it. If you put all the pain of whatever this is into this, it would’ve been far more raw. You’re holding something else deep inside. I feel like art should be a full expression, and a full release of truthful emotions. Do try not to implode over it.” She continued, flipping her hair over her shoulders. Blueish green eyes looked at the ceiling in thought. Then he nodded with another charming smile.

“You know, I’ve seen you quite a bit. What brings you to all these shows?” He asked, plucking her empty glass from her hand. With his free hand, grabbed two more champagne glasses from a passing waiter. He put down the empty one, and handed her one. Raising an eyebrow, she accepted it. The glasses clinked and they both took a sip. Turning, she started to walk away. He followed after her flowing trail. She felt his eyes glued on her back, and adjusted the shawl on her arms.

“A woman can’t enjoy the titillations of art? I find it’s severely important to take good care of the mind. The arts help refine the mind. And yourself? Seeing as you have so many questions.” The man chuckled as they walked past spectators. Many men enjoyed her biting nature, and it seemed he was no different. Something about this man though, made her a bit nervous. The way he looked at her like he was waiting to eat her.

“Well, as you know I’m an artist. I paint as a metaphor for control, it helps calm me. I chose the colors, and I chose what goes where. I enjoy art, even if I'm not the one who creates it.” She nodded, in thought. He seemed poetic, his accent incredibly enticing. It was to the point where he was distracting her from the art. His eyes never left her, like he was studying her relentlessly. They approached a large door, leading to a hallway she wasn’t even aware she was going towards.

“That’s wonderful. It’s nice to meet such a devoted artist in this day and age.” He pushed the door open for her and she nodded her head as if to say thank you. They stepped into the empty holiday, and she felt aware of everything. Even more aware of her body and everything else. Maybe it was being alone with the mysterious man that suddenly made her heart rate race in a good way.

“Thank you. It’s been wonderful to meet such a connoisseur. Will you be at the Visionary Vanguard show tomorrow?” He asked, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to it. With a smile and a head tilt, she already knew she was more curious than she needed too. He kept his eyes locked on hers, with a strange passion.

“Well if you continue to charm me, I’ll have no choice. And who should I be looking for tomorrow night?” She asked as the man's phone rang. Slowly, he slipped his phone from his pocket and hit decline. He opened his mouth to resume speaking, but then three loud pinging noises broke the silence.

“I think that’s your phone.” With a closed mouth smile, he sent a furious text. With an annoyed sigh, he rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I have some pressing matters I need to see too.” He apologized, and looked at her apologetically. He looked like a sad puppy, how adorable. She heard the light giggle escape her throat, and it made her a bit self conscious. Then she cleared her throat, and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Well see to them. And be sure you see to me tomorrow night as well.” With a turn, her high ponytail swished as she turned and placed a hand on the bathroom door. She pushed, feeling the champagne from earlier moving through her at light speed.

“Klaus.” She turned her head back, to see the man smiling at her.

“Klaus Mikaelson. It’s who you’ll be looking for tomorrow night.” With that he was gone. A smirk crossed her face, and deep down inside she knew this was the start of something enticing.

#black reader #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikealson x reader #the originals #tvd #tvdu #the vampire diaries #the mikaelsons #x black reader

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mlchaelwheeler · 1 year

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Mike, presents, and the painting: analyzing the van scene

There has been so many analysis posts written about the van scene and Mike's feelings, but I just wanted to write my own interpretation of how we see Mike's feelings develop through the end of S3 and into S4, using the painting as the main proof. In this analysis, I'll be mainly talking about the van scene, but also a few other scenes in which Mike's feelings for Will are clearly illustrated.

In my opinion, the goodbye scene between Mike and El in 3x08 is the first scene where the audience can clearly see that something is off between the two of them (if they hadn't caught on to that fact already). Mike's been struggling all season with letting El be her own person, realizing she's more than just her superpowers, and finally being able to express his feelings for her. During their goodbye however, none of these plot lines get wrapped up. Instead, Mike tells El he "knows her powers will come back," doesn't kiss her back, and stands there with a confused look on his face afterwards. Those are all overt signs that mlvn is not where the narrative is headed in S4. That's all old news. Instead, let's look at the more subtle clues that hint towards Mike's real feelings.

Before Mike and El kiss, Mike tells her that her and the Byers should come back to Hawkins for Christmas. It's clear Mike is excited to open presents, and even mentions talking about presents makes him "sound like a 7 year old." (It's fair to mention here that 7 is a number associated with Will and byler, but I'm just going to leave that here and not analyze that). Mike clearly loves receiving presents! There's even a track from the OST that plays during this scene that mentions presents.

Why is the line about presents so important? At the time, it felt like a throwaway line-- a random bit of dialogue added to give Mike and El something to talk about before their awkward goodbye kiss. However, that line was actually perfect foreshadowing to the painting plot in S4.

S4 opens with El's letter (full of lies), in which she mentions that Will is painting a gift for a girl he likes. Now, it's clear that this is a gift Will has spent a lot of time and effort on, and it's for someone special to him. I'm sure Mike heard about this and was immediately saddened, since he's usually the recipient of Will's art-- just look at his binder full of drawings or the walls of his basement and bedroom!

So when Mike arrives at the airport and sees the painting, he lets himself hope. He wants that painting to be for him. He's figured out by now that he loves Will. He desperately wants for Will to love him back, but internalized homophobia's a bitch. Mike is constantly guessing as to what Will's feelings are, so when Will says the painting's "nothing," Mike crushes his hopes that it could be a gift for him.

It's important to note that Mike is fixated on the painting. It's also right after Mike gives El a present (the flowers), so perhaps he's thinking the painting is actually a present for him. Why else would Will bring it to the airport? But when Will assures him it's "nothing," Mike goes overboard with sticking to El, trying to ignore his disappointment the painting seemingly isn't for him.

Later on in the van, Mike is shocked to see Will still has the painting with him. I'm sure he assumed Will had already given it to whichever girl it was for, so when Will hands it to him, he has to check it's actually for him.

And the thing is, yes, Will spills his own feelings using El as a cover. But I think Mike understood. He desperately wanted to believe those were Will's feelings. That's what he's wanted for so long now. Will loves him! The painting-- a present for Mike-- was Will's way of telling Mike he loves him. Even after Will finishes talking about "El's" feelings for Mike, it's obvious (at least to me) that Mike knows Will's talking about himself.

After confirming these feelings are real ("Yeah?" "Yeah."), Mike looks back down at the painting. A depiction of the party, Mike with a heart on this shield. To Will, he's the heart. It's clear that painting is all Will. Mike knows El doesn't know anything about dnd. There's no way she could've commissioned it. I think Mike knows exactly who the painting is from, and what it means. Or at least he's desperately hoping he knows. And then he looks back up! At Will! Not out the window (perhaps thinking of El), or at the painting for a longer amount of time, but back at Will seconds later. Will isn't looking back at him, but the way Mike is looking at Will... that boy is in love. And for the moment, he believes it's requited.

For the rest of 4x08, Mike believes Will loves him. And that's why, during their reunion with El, we get shots like this:

Obviously, Mike is overjoyed to reunite with El. He cares about her so deeply, and even though he doesn't love her romantically (platonic with a capital P), that doesn't make him any less happy to have her back, knowing she's safe once again. However, the clear framing choice of Will's silhouette between mlvn, as well as Mike's reaction after he hugs El (they don't kiss, which is interesting) further prove the fact that Mike's romantic feelings are towards Will. He's still thinking about the painting. Will's feelings for him. The fact that his own feelings might actually be returned.

Mike goes into the monologue scene still believing that Will loves him. So as El's visibly dying on the table, and Will tells Mike again ("You're the heart") feelings he thought were Will's, Mike is confused. Maybe they really were El's feelings? Maybe Mike was too in his own head and misinterpreted everything? Maybe Will doesn't actually love him and never has?

You can see the confusion written clearly on his face. His eyebrows draw down, his mouth tightens, and he rethinks every interaction he had with Will earlier that day. If Will doesn't love him, then he was completely wrong. His feelings are unrequited. He's completely alone. El is dying in front of him, so he does what he can. He forces himself to say "that thing."

He lies his ass off, but what else is he going to do? Will doesn't love him but apparently El does. He cares for El so much. He obviously doesn't want her to die! So he bottles up his own feelings and tells her exactly what he thinks she wants to hear. He makes up lie after lie, but at that point, he's saying anything that might help. His face right before he says he loves her is heartbreaking. That is not the face of a boy professing his love to his girlfriend. That is the face of a boy forced to lie to save a life. Forced to push aside his own feelings after apparently misinterpreting everything. That is a face of despair.

Two days later, it's clear Mike's lies didn't help anyone. El is more distant than ever. Max is comatose. Will is ignoring him. No matter what he does, Mike can never seem to get it right. Yet he does know one thing: he loves Will. So even in his mind, even though he now believes Will doesn't actually love him, Mike keeps hoping. He resigns himself to the fact that he'll just keep being Will's best friend, because that's how he can stick by his side. It's clear he's still contemplating this on the drive back to Hawkins.

And it's even more clear that he loves Will in the scenes in Hopper's cabin. Mike and El have barely spoken two words to each other after his grand confession of love-- despite the fact they were sitting inches apart for 48 hours. Yet who does Mike gravitate towards, as he always does? Will. We get a beautiful parallel to S2, in which Mike would've moved heaven and hell to keep Will by his side.

If one thing's for certain in Mike's mind, it's that he loves Will. He's not losing him again. Despite finding out that the malicious presence that's been out for Will for years is now back, Mike is resolute. Vecna is not touching Will ever again, not if Mike has any say in the matter. They'll figure this out together-- as best friends, as a team, as something more. Because even if Mike believes that Will doesn't love him, Mike does love Will. He always has and always will. And he's not losing him ever again.

#okkk here it is! (only like 4 days after i promised it lol)#i understand mike. I KNOW THE TRUTH #no offense but if you disagree argue with a wall bc. i know mikes thoughts. i'm sure of it #byler #mike wheeler #byler analysis #sarah.txt

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ultraviolet-cello · 4 months

Text

Alright since the @tristampparty is Well under way now I'm gonna do a little day by day analysis or details I like about the episode of the day, along with my usual art hustle :3!

Because this is going to end up being Super long we'll put this under a cut! [Spoiler warning for All of Trigun, primarily Tristamp and Trimax]

Tl;dr? I'm normal about how Knives is in Tristamp

So I'll be going point by point in chronological notes that I kept while writing abt this episode :] thank u to Mal for putting up with my rambles hehehe.

So the Seeds ships specifically are reminiscent, to me at least, of the Angel Arm (probably moreso the tristamp version which, can you believe, is incredibly difficult to get a screenshot of lmao)

That's interesting to me because it could be just a design choice but if it is an in-universe thing, it does,... imply some things about Plants. Granted, Independents probably weren't known abt when the Seeds ships launched, but is there another aspect of Plants that takes that form? And is that impactful enough for a human fleet to design their ships after that? Much to think about for something that's probably just symbolic lmao

Now for Knives! So a little bit of context that I will elaborate on as we watch, but I think the narrative is heavily biased against Knives when he was a child, and that we will get some recontextualization next season that's more in line with how we know him in Trimax.

In particular, I think the beginning flashback is possibly theeee most unbiased depiction of events because all the rest are specifically memories being told to others by Vash or Knives, or the whole memory thing in July. Granted it's still very Vash-focused but it gives us two major things.

Knives seemingly wanting to take Rem along with him. In Trimax, it's semi-implied that Knives would have initially wanted Rem to live and spirals very hard into telling Vash he hates Rem as a coping mechanism (which I will elaborate on if anyone's interested in my reading of those scenes), and it seems to be even more overt here.

He doesn't stop reaching out either until Rem shuts the escape pod/pulls the lever (Unclear on when that is)

2. From that scene, the only time we see Knives' face/expression again is when the escape pod is being like. Slung out of the ship. The rest of it always blocks his face and expression in favour of seeing Vash's far louder and emotional reactions.

and we just straight up do not see knives again until his big maniacal speech thing and that's,,, well we just don't know how long it's been since they crashed. could be minutes. could be hours. could be enough for knives to have had a breakdown and start laughing at the sky because he just doesn't know what else to do

i think (hope) season 2 might end up having a lot of the same flashbacks from knives' pov/an unbiased pov :]

Moving on with the episode: Roberto! I love Roberto a lot actually, he definitely grows on you. Something I did notice is that throughout this ep he says that Meryl and Vash would not last long on this planet which. That's interesting, considering he doesn't say that to Wolfwood, and yet Wolfwood and Roberto are the ones doomed by the (sometimes meta) narrative.

So when Vash is found he's been strung up by the Bad Lads gang (who have far more presence in episode one than I originally thought lmao), and he looks... a little dehydrated maybe, but overall fine.

The guys next to him, though? not doing remotely as well. Now while there is the possibility that he just got tied up later there's also the possibility that. While he does need to eat he doesn't need to eat as much as the average human. Which. is a lovely thought for the two dead guys. [Also a possibility that if Vash does need to consume less than a human, it could be another justification to himself for his eating issues]

The bounty! So it's technically Knives' bounty but whatever. [Sidenote: the idea that Vash and Knives look very similar is hilarious to me because they do not and never have to me] The particular notes are that Knives definitely had a hand in this - Vash is the only person specified alive, the bounty is obscenely high (compared to the other wanted posters), and it's specifically stamped with July Military, which. Well Knives and Conrad operate in July, and Conrad (by extension Knives) very clearly has a Lot of power in that City because he has the tower, that massive lab, etc. I wouldn't be surprised if they were the ones who initially created the bounty/wanted poster.

This Thomas carrying co... coffins? Are they coffins??

Background wanted posters for B.D.N, Marilyn Nebraska, Rai-Dei, and some other characters from trimax/98. And also for Nightow. for 30 $$ you can bring in Nightow the Comix Artist dead or alive! Wanted for Couch Crimes

Roberto kinda fascinates me as a character, especially when he sticks up for Vash and suggests a duel. My friend Mal describes him as a tsundere for friendship and. yeah okay that works lmao. for all his,,, roberto-isms, roberto has a a bit of a moral streak (he gets maddddd when he learns that children have been experimented on, hesitates in defending himself against Elendira, and lies to the police to get information out of them). He's just a Lot jaded, and we're already primed to like Meryl because, well she's Meryl, but he tends to be right when it comes to Meryl's inexperience. i like him. It's also, come to think of it, possibly because Vash fascinates Roberto a little bit. Roberto really saw Vash and went "I gotta study this guy" lmao

Vash having absolutely Perfect trigger discipline lmao

OKAY SO THIS PART IS MY FAVOURITE. For reference I am a black belt in a couple different martial arts, and working to become a sensei in Goju Ryu Karate, so this sequence is delightful! Let's break it down :] The initial block is one we use to open up a person's body - if that arm is clear out of the way you can keep control of the gun arm in this case by just pushing outwards (And with Vash's additional strength in his prosthetic that's Pretty Dang Effective, especially because in gun situations you want to keep the gun barrel away from you, so you're taught to use two arms - Vash doesn't need to do that)

From there, he goes and grabs the guy's shoulder to pull him forward unexpectedly - this throws him off balance and shifts his weight onto Vash's, so Vash is taking all that bodyweight. From there, all Vash has to do is maintain his grip on the gun arm's wrist (keeping the gun away from both parties in case he accidentally fires or there's a misfire), then turn sharply and let the body follow through!

From there he keeps the grip on the wrist and twists, which sends the gun out of the guy's grip and out of danger. At the same time, he spins his own gun's grip and hits the back of the head with the barrel - Notably he lets go of the wrist, which, if he'd kept holding it, would break the arm. I'm not entirely sure which martial arts were referenced for Vash's style, but this is exactly the type of thing I teach! [For anyone interested, I practice Goju Ryu karate, aiki jiu jitsu, iado (sword), self defense, and general okinawan kobudo (weapons like the bo staff, sais, and nunchaku)]

okay i blacked out and am no longer in teaching mode. Vash's arm, when he picks up that rock, glows very very green

what does that mean? I have 0 idea, it could be that it's overstrained, or using more power than usual. I mean, he did rip a rock out of the ground.

Zaziecam birdworm heading to July from Jeneora Rock! Probably how Knives got word of where Vash was

This fucking scene. man y'all this scene HAUNTS me.

It's so. unreliable at best. this scene goes adult vash saying he has a brother into this flashback. knives says, in order, that "he finally did it", not to worry because the plants are fine, he got rem killed, and tells vash not to get mad because he's already his accomplice, and nothing else. now we Know that that's not the case because Knives directly adds in information in future renditions of this flashback (That Vash gave him the launch codes). Which. What else don't we know about this scene. Clearly it's been a little while, the fire is burning, and Knives had all this time to climb the tower while Vash was (unconscious?). I want to see it from Knives' pov.

Knives keeping a bunch of last run plant corpses as statues to.. remind himself of his goal I guess. I read Tristamp Knives as Trimax Knives taken to the extreme (will elaborate in one of the flashback episodes), so I think he's a touch uh. Extremely unhealthy.

And that's it for episode one! I hope if you read this you had fun and it wasn't too much of a slog to read lmao i'm just rambling. I hope you had fun if you made it this far :]

#trigun stampede #trigun #cli analysis #< i guess we'll use that tag :3 #tristampParty #uwuwuwuuwuwu im having fun #feel free to make me elaborate on things if y want :D

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ripplestitchskein · 1 month

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I've been binge reading your Helluva Boss and Stolitz posts for a while now and I love how mature and nuanced your takes are. I've run into a good deal too many Stolitz antis on Twitter who won't give Stolas and Blitzo's relationship a chance to improve later, despite the show clearly trying to do just that. I'm especially tired of people saying that their relationship is one-sided. And even when actual evidence is put out there that Blitzo actually does like Stolas back, they say it doesn't count because those hints are less than 5 second long small details rather than being spoonfed to them. Just argued with one of them on Twitter like an hour ago and that's exactly what they said. And they accused ME of not paying attention because in their mind, Stolitz was built up from sexual assault, and they think Blitzo's line in Western Energy "He can get hurt?" is somehow out of character which confused the hell out of me, and they kept insisting that Blitzo had "zero interest" in Stolas no matter what.

Thank you so much!! I do try my best to be as rational and logical as possible so I’m glad it’s coming through, not to say I don’t have emotionally based reactions or bias but in my meta analysis I try to set my personal feelings about the text presented aside and just talk about what it could potentially mean based on recurring elements, themes, and deliberate choices made throughout not just in individual scenes.

LooLoo Land is a perfect example, there are some moments in that episode I heavily dislike (Blitzø shoving the dolls down his pants, the “as long as she washes it” convo, and Stolas being sexually inappropriate in front of his kid) so I do understand some of the criticism. It was also episode two and being a creative myself I know firsthand that things like that happen. You put in things early, for a joke, a laugh, to highlight personalities and they don’t necessarily come across the way you intended or jive with where the story ends up. Which is why a lot of my analysis takes in the entirety of what we have so far, the recurring stuff, not just individual moments or one off lines.

I’ve always maintained that it’s crucial to remember that creators are not perfect beings who are getting their story from on high fully formed, they make mistakes, they get inspired and take things in a different direction as things develop, they can contradict themselves over time. It happens.

It’s also a cartoon so it’s limited in how much it can even do, how expressive the characters can be, how much time they have to explore and the medium absolutely comes into play when analyzing it. Art has always been and will always be subjective, and unless the creator flat out contradicts something it’s largely left to interpretation, but that interpretation cannot be based on one scene, or one episode, or a one off bit of dialogue or a single expression either.

I always encourage not wasting your time arguing with people who are still serving up early content talking points or who dont have media literacy as a learned skilled. I know it’s super hard, I’m guilty of it myself. I was so close to going off on a “Stella and Stolas are mutually abusive” take last night you have no idea. It was more the dude was just being deliberately obtuse to the point I stopped myself and was like “they have to be trolling, no way someone believes this”. You can’t change their minds, they obviously don’t want to engage with the material from a place of good faith, and it just bums you out at the end of it.

A lot of them are really young too I find, which may be part of the disparity. I’m 38 so I have a lot of different experiences to draw from they haven’t had yet. I’ve been a fandom girl since I was a kid, I’ve always been a shipper and I also create things so my perspective is further down the line and with lived experience some people don’t have yet. I’m reminded of this daily, my oldest son is 18 and we have many conversations where I’m reminded about how much you learn as you grow older and the assumptions you make as a younger person. This is not to say that younger people can’t think critically but it is a skill and it improves over time like any other.

I also encourage people to think of what is being said and why. There is a lot of hate for VivziePop as a person. My understanding is she said some things early on and created a hate base that is going to deliberately misinterpret just to validate their initial assumptions about her motive and character. With popular things there is always a small subset that hate a show because of its popularity too, I don’t think because they are jealous like some speculate but because they didn’t personally enjoy it and don’t like feeling like they are missing something, so they take it in a “it must be the children who are wrong” Principal Skinner approach. They can’t see why people love it so those people must be ignoring what they didn’t like about it and they must tell them.

Sometimes people like another ship or another character more, and their ship might involve one half of yours, or they don’t feel their character is getting the same focus and attention because of yours. So instead of just letting everyone enjoy their own things it’s now a competition, a source of resentment and they must make that everyone else’s problem.

And I’ve talked about the fascistic purity culture that seems to encroach into fiction spaces as well that is also at heavily play. Any time a character does anything that is vaguely “toxic”, “problematic” they are immediately painted with the SA brush, the creator is promoting it and the fans are enabling it and are somehow directly responsible for it existing in the world. You can’t do anything about them except enjoy what you like, look at it critically within your own personal comfort level, and as always, my favorite thing to say “kill the cop in your head.” Not just with fiction but everything.

I’m glad my analysis is being enjoyed, and I super appreciate your feedback on it. Come to my inbox anytime and we’ll enjoy the ride together!

#inbox #stolas x blitz #stolitz #helluva boss #will I ever answer anything in less than 500 words?#not fucking likely

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sandcobangevent · 15 hours

Text

All in the Family

by emilycare and alastor watson-holmes Read the fic and view the art on AO3!

“John, we should go.”

Mariana stood, pulling her coat off the back of the chair and slinging her purse over her shoulder.

John stayed where he was.

The monitors whirred, a slight beep sounded. The wheels on a gurney rattled in the hall. The sound grew louder momentarily as a nurse passed the room Sherlock had been checked into, receded to a low rumble, and then was gone.

Mariana put a hand on John’s shoulder gently. “You need to get some rest. There’s nothing more we can do now. The doctors have things well in hand.” She smiled at him. “You know that better than I.”

John sighed. His shoulders slumped. He tore his eyes away from the quiet figure on the bed and looked up at Mariana.

“Of course, you’re right. They’ve stabilized him, and his numbers are much better.” He nodded at a display, but his hands continued to grip the sides of the plastic chair beneath him. His eyes drifted away from Mariana’s gaze and shifted right back to where they had been for the past hour: where Sherlock had lain since leaving the critical care unit.

Marian gave his shoulder a pat. “Alright.” John looked at her again. She gave him an earnest look. “It’s going to be alright. He’s going to be alright.”

John flashed her a grimace of a smile. “Of course he is.”

Mariana sighed and let her hand drop to her side. “Don’t forget to eat something for dinner. There is a café downstairs. They have bacon butties, which I know you love. John?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Bacon butties. Butt-butt-buttery. Butt-tastic. I’ll be sure to go right down and get one. In a bit.”

“Uh huh. Well, I’ll see you later then.” She looked from John to Sherlock. “And don’t worry about Archie.”

John’s eyes snapped around to meet Mariana’s. “Oh! Thank you so much.” He stood, touching her elbow. “I’m so sorry to put you to the trouble, Mariana—”

“John,” Mariana interrupted. “It’s no trouble. He’s my dog, too.” She gestured to Sherlock. “We all love him.”

“I know, and I appreciate it,” said John. He mopped his hand across his forehead and through his hair, leaving it tousled. “Oh, perhaps I should go, too.” He tugged at the ends of his short hair, his other hand perched on his hip, staring back at Sherlock again.

Mariana said, “Stay, John. It’s obvious that you want to.”

John looked at her. His fake smile was gone now. In his eyes she saw the exhaustion, the fear, the loss that she’d been feeling, too. Since she received the call from John that Sherlock had been attacked in the park. That he was being rushed to hospital.

She had been shocked: the case was over. But somehow the sister of the person they’d most likely put in prison for life had tracked them down. She followed them as they left Baker Street, and ambushed Sherlock with a knife.

Sherlock had been taken by surprise. Wearing his ear defenders and concentrating on some lose ends about the case they’d not been able to tie up, he was unaware of his attacker. John had not been at his side. When it happened, he was standing in line to get them both ice lollies, allowing Sherlock to avoid the crowd.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Mariana said as John saw her to the elevator.

John’s shoulders tensed. “And whose fault is it then?”

“This woman, the sister. Sherlock said she was accomplice to the murder, right?”

“Yes,” said John, turning another shade of pale. “As he lay there bleeding out, the git was deducing her.” John gave a disbelieving laugh. “He honestly was so happy with himself. I had to force him to stay still so I could put pressure on his wound.”

“I cannot believe that—what am I saying, of course, I do. It’s Sherlock.”

They both chuckled. Mariana’s elevator arrived.

“So, thank you for watching Archie,” Johns said. “Thank goodness he was back at the flat when everything happened.”

Mariana stepped into the lift. She looked back at John. Something in his expression made her stop the door from closing.

“John, do you want me to stay? I could call someone else to look after Archie. There are plenty of dog watchers in London.”

“What? No, go home, get some rest.”

“But,” Mariana hesitated. “I don’t know if you should be alone right now. You’ve been through a lot, too.”

John put out a hand and touched Mariana’s. He shook his head. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I just…I really don’t want him to be alone. Don’t want him to wake up from the anaesthesia and not know what’s going on.” He glanced back down the hall.

Mariana squeezed John’s hand. She nodded.

“Go.”

“Thanks, Mari,” John said. Then he gave the first real smile she’d seen on him since the attack. “Besides,” he tapped his recorder. “I’ve got plenty of company, right here.”

Some time later, after several nurses had been in to check Sherlock’s temperature and IV, someone came by with a packet of Sherlock’s things they had stripped from him prior to surgery. John set them down and pulled his chair out of the way. He turned the lights up and started adjusting Sherlock’s dressings. John averted his eyes as Sherlock’s gown was untied to replace it. Another smiling nurse joined the first, and nodded to John as she pulled the privacy curtain closed.

John hummed to himself and pulled out the recorder. Checking the battery level, he saw that it was charged. He pushed record. Settling in on the chair once more, he narrated the actions of the nurses, the summaries given by the surgeons who had worked on Sherlock earlier, and described their surroundings for the listeners at home.

“..It’s really rather a nice hospital. If you like those kinds of things. I mean, who really likes a hospital though? I mean, but I have had some hospitals I’ve come to feel quite partial to. Bart’s, for one. Of course. Lots of good memories there with Stamo. And the boys, back in uni. And well, the girls, too. I mean, the women. Ladies? No, women, surely. And other folks, of course. Now what do I call nonbinary blokes? Um, mates? Mates is good, that’s not gendered, is it? What do you think, podpals? Is ‘mate’ generic? What do you use to refer to your non-, fluid-, other- questioning- or variously other gendered palsy-walsies? Oh, Christ, John. Palsy-walsies? They’re not 3 years old. I am sorry, listeners. Oh, bollocks. Maybe I should just erase all this and start over—”

John’s rambling was interrupted by a buzzing sound. He looked around.

“Sorry, my good podlings. Wait—podpals, we’ve already got a fine little moniker there, don’t we? Gender neutral with the best of them, I would say. What was I saying? Oh right!” John reached pulled the bag to him. “Unh. I mean, there’s a call coming to Sherlock’s phone.” He glanced at the recorder, weighing out whether he should stop the recording, then rolled his eyes, leaving it rolling and pulled open the plastic bag.

Once he got the phone out of the bag, John paused. The nurses were finishing up with Sherlock. One pulled open the curtain as he watched. She gave John a bright smile.

“Your fellow’s doing fine. No need to worry.”

“He’s—” John paused, both not wanting to make the wrong impression, and also not wanting to come off like a homophobic arsehole, hurrying to deny any possibility of them being mistaken for lovers.

She tutted sympathetically. “You’re looking worse for wear. Would you like me to make arrangements for there to be a bed pulled in here, tonight? We sometimes make exceptions to the visiting hours for partners. And I can see you’ve had a right fright with this one.”

“Erm. That would be—I mean, we are partners.”

“Fine then,” she said brightly. “Don’t you worry about it. We’ll take care of it.”

They trundled away in a flurry of bustle, taking their antiseptic atmosphere to the next room down the hall.

“Well, podpals. Looks like we’ve gotten ourselves into a fine one, haven’t we,” John said, a new cheer in his voice evident. “What do you think? Would Sherlock mind that I’ve implied we are…intimate in order to keep him company here? Honestly, I don’t think he would mind. But what’s that you’re all shouting at me from the pod-void? What was I doing just a minute ago, and what’s happening on Sherlock’s phone? Well, wait no more faithful listeners. Here we are, I’ve got Sherlock’s phone now, and it says that Sherlock had a call from one—wait for it—there was a call from someone called the ‘British Government’… Erm, well. I guess that should be no surprise, when we’ve actually had Barack Obama in the flat. And there’s a text coming in now from that same account. Well, sorry to rouse your curiosity, but surely this is private. We’ll just put that phone right back down.” John set the phone on the table by Sherlock. Then drummed his fingers on the edge of the bed as he heard it buzz once more. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself. He reached over, picked up the phone and read the most recent text.

The British Government: We do hope you will respond, eventually.

John scrolled up to prior messages and found similar expressions of impatience. Several from the last few minutes. Others from prior days. He smiled, thinking that his business partner had put the affairs of the private citizens they’d just helped over some toff from the government. But John dutifully thumbed a message, letting them know that the detective was injured and not consulting presently, but that he or an associate would be in contact when he was well enough to consider their case.

“Whatever case it is that they want to consult with our Sherlock on will just have to wait. Perhaps it’s something to do with national security? Or maybe someone stole some of the crown jewels? Or robbed the British Museum. Wouldn’t be the worst thing, that. I mean, I might lend a helping hand if certain parties came to us wanting to liberate some of the treasures rotting behind glass in our country for some godforsaken reason, when they really belong back where they came from. Oh, the purloined flowers of colonialism, eh? What do you think, Sherlock? That a nice little phrase there?”

John addressed Sherlock in the bed, leaning closer. He lowered his voice as he came near. Sherlock twitched, his shoulder hitching up slightly. John thought he saw movement of eyes beneath closed eyelids. But Sherlock made no response to John otherwise. Sherlock’s hands lay limp and heavy on the tightly made sheets.

John rested his hand on the bed. The energy that had briefly animated him seemed to depart. He sighed.

“Well, podpals,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’ll be talking with you again later. Seems like we’ll be on a bit of a hiatus from cases. But I’ll be sure to give you updates on Sherlock’s condition. And I hope you all won’t forget about us in the meantime.”

John turned off the recorder and put it away with some finality.

“Well, mate,” John said. “It’s just you and me now. I hope this place isn’t driving you batty.” Sherlock took a slightly deeper breath, and John went on, encouraged. “I’ll see if we can get your weighted blanket in here. Though they’ve got you tucked in so tight, might well not need it. You can adjust that bed up and down when you want. Wonder if you’ll want us to get you one for home? Not sure how we’d get it up the stairs, but anything’s possible… Oh, mate. Sherlock. You’ve got to hang in there, right? I don’t think... I mean. I don’t really want to think about what it would be if you didn’t do well. I mean, we’ve just caught our stride, right? After the Silver Blaze thing, and all, I mean. We’re just right together. Don’t you think? And well, I mean, I’m sure I’m not alone, but I just think that the world kind of needs you. And well, maybe…”

John had leaned closer as he spoke, his hand resting now on Sherlock’s wrist, lightly. Sherlock’s hand moved beneath his, and John pulled away.

Even more quietly, John said, “I’ll let you rest. Heal up. Sherly.”

Moving the chair back, as far as he could in the small room, John pulled out his phone and caught up on messages. Mariana had reached home by now and sent a picture of Archie on their sofa. John smiled at the image of the dog lying belly-up for scritches. A warm feeling in his stomach chased away the chill that he’d been feeling. He checked his emails, and comments on Twitter, Discord and the Patreon blog, not replying to the folks who had questions about the case as yet. Unsure what to say.

Sherlock’s phone buzzed.

John opened an app on his phone and started playing the latest mindless game he’d become addicted to.

Sherlock’s phone buzzed again. It shuddered on the table. John looked over at it. The light flashed on the screen and he peered curiously. Then he shook his head, stood briefly and turned the phone upside down.

Over the next few minutes it buzzed again once, then twice. Then several times in succession. John paused in his game each time.

Sometime later the phone buzzed again several times in a row. He almost went to pick up the phone again, then stopped himself and moved closer to Sherlock instead.

Sherlock was lying still, breathing easily, a canula positioned beneath his nostrils blowing oxygen steadily. John laid his hand on Sherlock’s arm, feeling the cool skin beneath his.

“Mate, you’ve really got to wake up soon. I mean, Archie is going to miss his favorite place to nap. And Mariana will absolutely lose the plot if we don’t get another case with an actual client soon. You know, the kind that hire us, rather than us wandering in on them and telling the police what’s what. Turns out it’s kind of slightly expensive to live in central London. Who would have guessed?”

The phone buzzed again, then went silent.

“And there’s this,” John said. He reached over now and did pick up the phone. “Somebody’s missing you. Not really sure who, since Mariana knows you’re not in any shape to be answering. And I’m right here. Guess it could be some past clients. Or,” John made a face. “whoever it is that provides your little pick me ups, or whatever you call them.” John gave a long sigh. He picked up Sherlock’s hand in both of his and chafed it. “I really, really, just need to know you’re coming back. Because, I don’t think I can handle this on my own. And more than that, I just miss your wise-arse self. I mean, I’d be happy to come running right now to, I dunno, watch you learn to juggle? Set up a beehive? You’ve done with ants, maybe it’s time to graduate to the big time.”

Sherlock turned his head, his chin dipping down as it came into contact with the tube connected to his face. The hand in John’s resisted his grip, and his eyes rolled slightly, showing some agitation.

“Hey, mate,” said John, “are you waking up?” He pushed the button to call an attendant, then put a hand on Sherlock’s cheek to still his motions. “It’s all right, Sherlock. You’re fine.” John took Sherlock’s hand in his again, interlacing their fingers.

He heard footsteps at the door. John kept his eyes on Sherlock, but addressed the arrival, “Heyyy, I’m so glad you could come so quickly. Sorry to trouble you, but he’s just gotten restless and I was worried he might pull something out of him if he woke up in a panic and—”

John broke off. Instead of the familiar figures in green and blue scrubs, there was a tall, imposing figure in a three piece suit standing at the door. Dark eyes stared at John where he stood by the bed, fingers interlaced with Sherlock’s.

“Oi,” barked John. “This is a private room.” He peered past the man, but saw no nurse responding yet. He pointed with his chin. “Reception’s that way. They’ll help you find who you need.”

Rather than leaving, the man stepped into the room, walking over to the bed. He raised his eyebrows as he came closer.

“Erm, can I help you?” asked John. He gave his best dismissive glance to the stranger, but suddenly the motions Sherlock had been making ceased, his body relaxing back into stillness, and the change brought John’s full attention back to his friend.

The door opened once more, and two nurses entered. “Doctor Watson?” one asked.

“He seemed to be waking.” John dropped his hand from Sherlock’s lax one. “I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden he just fell back asleep.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” the nurse said. “May we help you?” she addressed the newcomer.

“Possibly. But it’s my brother that needs the assistance presently.”

“Your brother?” John asked.

The man inclined his head. “Indeed. Why wasn’t I informed?”

The nurse looked at the clipboard on the end of the bed. “Mr Holmes listed Doctor Watson, his husband," she nodded to John, "as his emergency contact. The hospital leaves it to the family members to inform one another. You’ll excuse me.” She closed the curtains around them once more as they checked on Sherlock.

“Husband?!” said the stranger.

“Erm,” John put out his hands. “Well, they may have assumed, and it was easier to let them think that.”

“You’re impersonating my brother’s spouse?!”

“No, really, it’s not like that at all. I just said the truth, I told them I was his partner, and well, they assumed something different. Meant I could stay here later, and honestly, I just thought he might be upset if he woke up somewhere strange, alone. It’s so bright here, and never really quiet. I just didn’t want him to not have a familiar face with him. And you know, I didn’t know if he had any family to be here for him, so well, we’re it.”

“Could you take this outside?” said the nurse. “He does seem to be still asleep, so we don’t want to disturb him.

“Certainly,” said the stranger, with a flick of a cold glance at John.

“Of course,” said John, huffing at the thought that it was him who was disturbing Sherlock.

“Mr Holmes,” said John as they awkwardly stood together outside of the room. “Shall we have a cup of coffee and start over.” John held out his hand. “The most important thing is that we are both here for Sherlock. Now.”

Holmes shook John’s hand. “Certainly. My brother never mentioned me?”

“No,” said John, thinking of Victor Trevor’s words to the same effect.

“Well, I have you at the disadvantage. I know that you’re a doctor, and served in the military—officially and unofficially. You share a flat and a business with my brother. You have a dog and suffer from PTSD.”

John had frozen at the mention of his military history and stood staring up at the man. Holmes’ eyes had the same faraway look that Sherlock’s would get during a case.

“How did you know all of that? No, wait. You saw some dog hair on my coat, didn’t you? And did you guess about my stint in the army from how I walk? Sherlock tells me my injury still shows. But how could you possibly know about my PTSD?”

“Oh, Doctor Watson, your life is an open book. Since you met my brother, I hear of Sherlock everywhere. And I thought it prudent to learn a bit about someone who has brought him so much attention and notoriety.”

“So, you listened to the podcast,” John said. “Of course, I should have realized. No one can do what he does.”

“On the contrary,” said Holmes. “My brother was always a bit slower on the uptake. He has this trouble concentrating, you see.”

“You mean his ADHD. Can just call it that, you know.”

“Apparently that is what my brother is convinced is the case.”

“Hey, are you insinuating he doesn’t know what’s going on in his own head?”

“No, Doctor Watson. I merely mean that he has come to these conclusions on his own. There is no formal diagnosis.” He quirked his eyebrow again at John. “I had thought that if he had taken up with a medical practitioner that might mean he was pursuing something a bit more rigorous.”

“He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much. Doesn’t need me around to take care of him. And apparently doesn’t need you nosing about his business, since I hadn’t even heard of your existence until today. And he’s being called on by Presidents and heads of state.”

Holmes gave a small, sad smile. “I know. I’m most proud of him.”

John was taken aback. “Well,” he said, still standing on his dignity. “You should be. He’s remarkable.”

Mycroft flashed a smile at John. “He is, isn’t he?” The door opened to the room, a nurse gesturing for them to return inside. Holmes gestured to John, letting him lead the way.

They were informed that Sherlock was resting peacefully once more. That the doctor on shift would be by soon to inform them about the recovery procedures, and most importantly, when he was likely to be released. John listened raptly, asking questions and forgetting for a moment that the brother was there at all.

“Did you have any questions, Mr Holmes?” asked the nurse when John was done with his cross-examination.

“No, Doctor Watson has been most thorough. I can see that Sherlock is indeed in good hands.”

The nurse smiled, patting John on the shoulder. “He’s a very lucky man, your brother, to have a partner as knowledgeable and caring as he is.”

John’s face turned pink. “Well, about that—”

Holmes spoke swiftly, “Thank you, I agree wholeheartedly. And I’m very glad that you’ve made arrangements for him to be able to be with my brother overnight.” He gave a meaningful look to John. John closed his mouth, and the pink tinge crept up to his ears.

After she left, John and Holmes stood by the bed. Another silence ensued, the awkwardness tenfold deeper than before. John racked his brain wildly for what to say.

Holmes relieved him of the necessity. He put out his hand for John to shake once more.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Doctor Watson.”

“John, please.”

“John, then. My name is Mycroft. And here is my number.” He held out a business card. “Please don’t hesitate to call me should you need anything. I’ll make arrangements to be sure my brother’s insurance payment is in order.”

“Uh, that’s—I mean, thank you very much, but that won’t be necessary. He is—we all are—covered through the business.”

“Of course, you are.” Holmes smiled again, this time with a mischievous glint. The expression changed the look of his features. Now John could see the resemblance. “Not covered through spousal military benefits, then?”

John rolled his eyes. “No, of course not, I told you—”

“Not to worry, good doctor. Please give my greetings to your other business partner, Señora Ametxazurra,” Mycroft said, his pronunciation impeccable.

“Of course. Of course, I will.”

Mycroft nodded and left. John stood, staring after him, musing, until a voice spoke, startling him.

“John,” said Sherlock. His voice gruff with sleep.

John leapt at the sound. “Sherlock!”

“Is he gone?”

“Who? Your brother? Wait, were you just faking it this whole time?”

Sherlock shrugged. He tugged at the line connected to his nose. “Is this really necessary?”

John pulled Sherlock’s hand away from the tube. “Course it is. Standard procedure. But wait, you’re awake. How did the nurses not realize?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’ve been to university, and suffered through having an overbearing older brother and family. I’ve had plenty of opportunities for practice.”

“Well, mate. I’m just glad you’re awake now.” John pulled up a chair. “I’m sure you’ll want an update. And I’d like to hear how you’re feeling. Lestrade came by earlier to check on you. Brought you some flowers. Lovely. And Mariana was here most of the day. She’s with Archie now. He sends little snuffles of love by the way. Misses you, apparently.”

“Does he?” Sherlock said doubtfully, but with a smile.

“Absolutely. Place isn’t the same without you to drool on. I heard it from the horse’s mouth itself.”

“Don’t you mean the dog’s mouth?”

“I guess I do. So, I’ll fill you in. But is there anything you need.”

“There is one thing.”

“Name it.”

“When I woke, I had a pleasant sensation of pressure.”

“Did you? I was wondering if these blankets would do it for you. We can have Mariana bring over your weighted blanket if you want, though.”

“No, that is now what I was referring to. Although that is…adequate.”

“What then?”

Sherlock held out his hand.

“Oh,” said John, blushing once more. “Didn’t really think you’d notice that. Being asleep and all.”

“Do you not want to,” asked Sherlock, “now that I am awake?”

“No, no, its fine,” said John, taking Sherlock’s hand.

“Good. Husband.”

“Not letting me live that down any time soon, are you.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and gave a slight smile.

“Nope.”

#submission #sherlock & co #sherlock and co #fanart #fanfiction #event #flash bang #creative collaboration #john watson #mariana ametxazurra #sherlock homes #mycroft holmes

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