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southsidestory · 4 years

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Caged

RATING: Explicit

FANDOM: Hunger Games

SHIP: Odesta

WARNINGS: Rape/non-con, drug use, forced sex work

SUMMARY: Annie’s Victory Tour brings her to the Capitol, with Finnick at her side. He did his job as her mentor when he got her out of the arena, but he can’t look after her anymore. All he can do is play the part Snow has given him. It’s almost simple now, posing for the cameras and obeying his patrons, all with a smile on his face. Pretending is so easy that he can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore. But Annie might be able to remind him.

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With his lips closed, Dionysus looks plain by Capitol standards. Pasty skin, undyed and free of tattoos. Short brown hair, black shoes, dark suit. Colorless, except for the trio of yellow tablets in his palm. My throat itches to swallow down the promise they hold, but I have two questions that need answering.

First: “Will I be able to fuck?”

The dealer laughs, revealing a mouth full of gold and gems. “Like a damn rabbit,” Dionysus says.

Second: “I want to feel nothing, but a good nothing. Can this do that?”

Sapphires flash on his eye teeth. “You’ll see nirvana,” he promises.

I don’t know what that is, or where it might be, but any place would be better than this one.

Red. That’s all I see, at first. Waves and folds of the color spilling down the length of Annie’s skirt. Six feet of fabric fans out behind her, but the top of the dress is spare, sheer wisps that cling to her breasts and shoulders and throat.

“Inspired,” says Sabina. “Her stylist has an eye for drama.”

Her stylist will be lucky to have eyes at all when I’m done with him.

I take a flute of turquoise champagne from a passing Avox’s tray. It tastes like turpentine and sugar, the medicine that District Four mothers force down their children’s sore throats. I drink three glasses in ten minutes. Red still bleeds along the edges of my vision, and no matter where I turn, there’s Annie. Trussed up for Capitol appetites, tribute all over again. When I reach for another glass Sabina touches her too-long nails to my wrist. Tap, tap: bad dog. She kisses me, tongue sour blue slick, and I imagine what a senator’s wife might look like if three weeping mouths opened in the middle of her chest.

Something tugs at my shirt sleeve, jealous but gentle. Annie, drowning in all that District One silk.

“I need you,” she says. Splattered droplets dot her left cheek, a constellation of freckles that shine crimson-wet in the low light.

“Everyone needs me tonight.”

Sabina laughs and Annie pulls away, so I know I've said the wrong thing. That’s what happens when I put pills in my mouth; nothing but mistakes come out.

I say, “Teenage girls,” and give my date a knowing smile. Let her read what she wants into that.

Sabina twines her fingers around my arm and leans in close, smug and conspiratorial. “My daughter’s at that age now. It’s all me, me, me! And they want everything immediately. Nothing pleases them…”

How this is any different from the rest of the Capitol I can’t guess, but I let her go on, nodding and humming my sympathy where appropriate. Oh yes, they’re selfish little brats. Ungrateful, never satisfied. When Sabina pauses to sample a canapé I say how much I hate to leave her for even a moment, but I am Annie’s mentor. Duty calls and all that.

Sabina frowns prettily. “I hope you're this dedicated in all of your pursuits.”

She should know the answer to that already. This isn’t our first date. Still, I feed her a stock innuendo about finishing the things I start.

“Go on then, but be back soon!”

I find my tribute talking to the light crew. A woman with tattooed vines climbing the side of her shaved head shows Annie how to hold a sheet of foil. It’s a clever way to hide from the cameras and I wish I’d thought of it first. Too late for that, because Annie turns her silver shield, and then there’s a lens blinking closer to my well-lit face.

“Perfect,” says Vines. “You’re a natural.”

Annie shakes her head. “No. He’s just an easy target.”

I duck into the bright circle of the light crew’s equipment before the cameras can focus. The heat feels artificial, claustrophobic, like the solar beds my stylist makes me visit. Annie returns the foil to Vines and thanks her for the lesson. I can’t breathe again until there’s ten feet between me and the clicking insect sound of mechanical eyes.

“I thought you were busy,” Annie says. Her voice is so light and casual that, if I didn’t know her, I’d have no idea that she’s annoyed.

“I shouldn't have said that. I didn’t mean it.”

Annie shrugs. “You never mean anything you say in the Capitol.”

Sometimes I forget how much she sees, this girl who’s turned my world upside down in six months. “Where are your tokens?”

Annie grasps at the place over her heart where two sea glass pendants always rest. She looks mildly surprised to catch only empty air between her fingers. “Vibius wouldn’t let me wear them. Said the colors...” She shakes her head, the way you would to get water out of your ears after swimming. “I’m hungry.”

But when I follow her to a banquet table she doesn’t eat a bite. Instead, she stacks gingerbread cubes around a pink chocolate fountain.

“Who’s your date?” she asks.

“Senator Wexler’s wife,” I say.

Annie never looks up, too busy skewering blueberries on toothpicks. She sticks them in the topmost layer of her curtain wall, like heads on neighboring spikes. Two by two by two. Then she says, “Doesn’t the senator mind?”

��Only that he couldn’t come with us.”

Annie tips over the fountain, and chocolate bursts through her gingerbread dam. It creeps along the aisle of white cloth and drips onto the floor. Part of me wants to scold her, because some Avox will have to clean all this up after the party. I don’t, though, because I know how everything shifts after the Games. You might leave the arena, but it comes with you all the same. Alliances replace friendships. Sleep never really comes easy again, because too many things are still awake in the dark. Survival is tangled up with fighting, hurting, killing, and sometimes you need small destructions just to breathe.

“Dance with me,” Annie says.

The train on that fucking dress is longer than she is. “How could I, with you in that?”

I laugh. Everything and nothing seems funny at the same time. Annie jumps a little when I finger one of the slivers of silk covering her chest. Vibius didn’t leave much to the imagination, so I can see the shape of her. Small teardrop breasts, narrow shoulders, long waist. Her nipples peak beneath the fabric.

Somewhere in my periphery a camera flashes.

“Stop,” Annie says, and I want to shake her. That word doesn’t mean anything in this city. A victor should understand the rules by now.

I trace her collarbone. We’re too far away for Sabina to see us, but even if she does it won’t matter. This is what they want me to be.

The preps painted Annie’s lips too, and it makes her look like a working girl. Ripe apple mouth ready to be plucked. If I could I’d spit on a napkin and wipe it all away, same as my mother used to do to get dirt off my face.

She leans into my touch and asks, “Why are you with that woman?”

“Because she can afford my company.”

Annie’s red, red mouth frowns, but I simply smile and step away, tell her to eat something and enjoy the party.

Sabina welcomes me with a soft hello peck to my cheek. I turn it into more, the kind of wet, deep kiss that decent folk back home wouldn’t dream of doing in public. But that’s how I like it, even if I can hear the cameras snapping behind and beside and in front of me. Pretending is so easy that I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.

These sounds are almost lost beneath the snap of handcuffs closing: footsteps, a full skirt whispering across the floor, the creak of hinges.

The manacles lock around my wrists, pulling my arms taut, stretching until my shoulders lift from the bed and I can feel the blades angling outward. Like clipped wings opening, Sabina said, the first time she bought me. A caged bird poised to take flight. Now she leans forward and bites my neck, just hard enough to mark. It’s always hard enough to mark with Sabina, whether she uses teeth or nails or the back of her hand.

I hear feather-light fabric brushing the carpet, then see something in the gap between door and frame. The briefest flash of red silk. There, then gone.

Sabina strikes me hard on the cheek. Pain vibrates through my jaw and up the side of my face. Stars burst behind my eyes, then in front of them, but I don’t feel distant or dizzy. Everything becomes sharper, brighter. Needles made of sunlight prick my vision, highlighting it all with stinging intensity. If I ever come down I’m going to kill Dionysus for selling me those three little pills the color of daffodils. He promised oblivion but gave me this instead. With every blow the room grows brighter, until all I see is Sabina, haloed in white.

Her mouth closes over me, warm and soft, drawing out all the things I don’t want to give. Then she’s straddling my lap, hands clutching my shoulders, nails digging into my skin. Ten welts spring beneath her touch, bright as pink ribbons down my chest. It’s winter everywhere but between her legs, and there she’s fever hot. Cold snakes down my throat, chokes and burrows inside me until it’s snowing under my skin.

“Finnick,” she hisses. I grip the bedposts and snap my hips up to meet her. I’m shaking from the chill air, the pleasure where a warm body takes mine in and the pain everywhere else. I don’t stop, not until she arches and trembles, mouth open on a whiny cry.

One beat, two, and she climbs off. Leaves me aching, tied up, and filthy while she saunters to the bathroom to refresh herself.

The haze clears, unfreezes, and I remember where I’ve seen red silk tonight.

I scrub until the scratch marks on my chest reopen and the water blushes down the drain, washing away smudged makeup and sweat, fresh blood and Sabina’s come. Not mine, and even though I’m half-hard, I’m mostly thankful. Dates are always worse when a client makes me finish. Steam fills the shower stall, wet and suffocating. Flash-bulbs go off behind my closed eyelids and all I can hear is the endless snapping of camera shutters. I sit on the tile floor, head between my knees, until the water grows cold.

After I get out of the shower and dry off, I pull on the tight blue pants from my date with Sabina and go to Annie’s room. I don’t knock, and when I step inside she jumps. Her dress is curled up in the corner, wilting. All those red folds remind me of a rose, so I turn away. Free of make-up, Annie’s face shines brown and clean. Dark waves fall limply around her cheeks, weighted and damp. By the way she holds the robe over her breasts I can tell she’s not wearing much underneath.

Good. I hope she feels naked. Exposed and vulnerable, like I do.

“You watched us.”

Annie sits on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up close to her body. She whispers an apology I can’t stand to hear.

“Don’t,” I say. She flinches and grasps the sea glass tokens around her neck. Her eyes dart away, focusing on some point along the baseboard.

“Look at me.” I kneel on the floor before her, too close to be ignored. “You didn’t have any trouble looking before.”

The only small mercy I can find is that Annie left before Sabina actually fucked me. But she saw me handcuffed to the bed, and that’s bad enough.

Annie bites her bottom lip, and for a moment all I can see is this same skittish girl, more innocent and less broken, on a different train, blushing under my hands.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “When I saw you leaving with that woman—I didn’t really think, I just wanted to know what was so special about her. So I followed you.”

I thought she wanted to see me, and I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. It’s a good thing that she didn’t want a peep show, that she ran off before she saw the main event. A good thing—but it still pisses me off.

I wrap my hands around her calves and slide down, thumbs grazing the soft skin of her inner ankles.

“Finnick?” Her lips linger on the sound, not quite closing over the question she’s made of my name.

“Open your legs,” I tell her. Because whatever she’s asking, this is the only answer I have to give.

Annie’s breath hitches. She trembles all the way down to her toes, but she’s warm, my girl. I brought her home and that makes Annie mine. She belongs to me in the same way I belong to my sponsors.

When she doesn’t move, I kiss the inside of her right knee, flicking my tongue over a new scar there—a pretty pink thing that’s cropped up since her Games—until her legs shake and unlock. Just as she falls open and willing below the waist, Annie clutches the collar of her robe even more tightly, keeping it closed to me.

Eighteen isn’t so young, I remind myself. Not here, not in this place.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and that’s all I need.

Beads of moisture cling to the dark curls between her legs. She smells like the Capitol, flowers and spun sugar, but when I put my mouth there all I taste is salt and wet and girl. Her hands scramble for purchase, first on the covers, then in my hair, and she pulls with more strength than I expected. Not as sharply as Sabina, but enough to smart. That’s been done to me so many times that I know it means more and now and harder—though by the way Annie’s thumb brushes over my cheek, I think it might also mean please.

No, eighteen isn’t too young for this, but I might be.

I can feel her looking: eyes on me, on my body, on the things I’m doing. Just like before, when she peeked into that bedroom and watched Sabina getting her money’s worth, and it stirs something ugly and angry in the pit of my stomach. So I pull away, let my mouth part from her with a goodbye kiss cruel enough to make her whine and tug on my hair, to say my name again. No question this time, just a soft plea.

I’m sick of being on my knees, and really, there’s no reason I can’t do what I want. No reason at all. When I stand, Annie’s eyes go to my chest, flickering across the stripes Sabina’s fingernails left behind. I strip off my pants, and her gaze lowers, lingers.

Beneath the robe I find her pliant and panting. Skin damp, nipples hard, breath coming fast and shallow. Greedy, grasping, her touch falls with selfish hunger, and in this Annie isn’t unlike my other lovers. Long legs wrap around my waist, anchoring me to her. She’s warm and wet, whimpering in a way that might sound pitiful if it wasn’t making me so hard. I press against her, teasing. Those little mewling noises grow stronger, tighten together into a full-throated moan.

“Have you ever done this before?” I ask.

Annie shakes her head, then says, “Almost, once, but…”

Her eyes go distant, and she’s about to slip away from me. Retreat to some inner place where her district partner still lives and loves, but I’m not going to let her mind wander, not now when our bodies are tangled up together. I kiss her, our first, and that’s so backwards that I almost laugh.

Beneath my mouth Annie takes a deep, gasping breath. Then she peppers kisses everywhere she can reach. My brow, both cheeks, the tip of my nose. My lips, again and again. The curve from shoulder to neck and the hollow between my collarbones. When her quick tongue darts out to trace the shell of my ear, I shudder. The drugs must have finally worn off, because I feel myself warming for the first time tonight. “Finnick,” she whispers. “I love you—”

I can’t stand to hear that, not from Annie. So I kiss her quiet, slip a hand between her thighs, and slide two fingers inside of her.

“You’re wetter than home,” I say, and it’s true. More so when I curl my fingers, beckoning her forward—closer to me, closer to coming. “Were you like this in the ballroom, when I touched you?”

“Yes?” It comes out a question, eager but unsure. Annie’s not fluent in pillow talk, and something about that sends a jolt through me. All at once I want her, need to fuck her like I’ll die if I don’t. Under me she’s subtle curves and rocking warmth. Open legs, cradling my hips as I push inside—and then I feel her. Tight, slick heat, stretched around my cock, gripping me, pulling me in.

Annie whimpers, but whether that sound is pained or pleased I’m not sure, can’t tell and barely care. “Yes,” she says, even though I never asked. Why didn’t I ask?

In the beginning I go gentle and steady. Then I slow our rhythm, stretch out the slide of skin on skin, and tell her to beg. Love me becomes have me, you can have me becomes fuck me.

For a moment all I can feel are handcuffs snapping closed, grabbing fingers and greedy cunt. I’m angry all over again but still aching, and Annie knows, because her hands untangle from my hair and dart down to cover her ears. But I catch her wrists, drag them over her head and let my weight do the rest.

I spread her arms apart, wide as they’ll go. Pinned, she’s a butterfly behind glass, pretty and splayed. Annie must like being caged better than I do, because soon she shivers beneath me, coming and crying at once. Back arched, small breasts thrust forward, toes curled and legs taut; she’s lovely like this and so tight it almost hurts.

On the low tide of our touch she says those three unwanted words, passes them from her mouth to mine like a hard candy secret.

“Don’t,” I say.

The camera loves me too. I’m sick to death of love.

But then my climax creeps up on me, sharp and sweet, and I can’t think anymore. There’s nothing but Annie beneath me, her body tight and wet around mine.

In the soft moment right after, I feel something new. A warmth, quiet and gentle, as Annie looks up at me with heavy-lidded green eyes. That love she promised is raw and open as a wound.

It’s terrifying. And tempting, which is the scariest part of all.

The knot around her throat unties easily, and I take a green sea glass token with me when I go. It’s all she has left of the boy who loved her, who died at her side. Stealing it is cruel, but I don’t do it out of spite or jealousy. The reason is simple: my patrons always pay, and Annie is no exception.

#odesta #odesta fanfiction #odesta fic #odesta fanfic #finnick odair #annie cresta #thg #hunger games #the hunger games #thg fic

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greywindys · 5 years

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It’s that time of year again! I, and possibly a good number of you reading this, just spent the whole of 2018 in the Gorillaz fandom. Congratulations! You made it! Because this year...kinda sucked. Not just for the Gorillaz fandom but, if this Washington Post article is any indication, for the rest of the world too. Maybe on an individual level there were moments of light. Maybe Gorillaz was your moment of light. If it was I’m genuinely happy because that means you probably found a way to avoid or ignore all the chaos that went down this year. But overall? Fandom was rife with disappointments, confusion and conflict with some good parts (for me, at least) sprinkled in here and there. Below is a personal reflection on the top 10 significant events in fandom of 2018.

1. Murdoc Goes to Prison

2018 started out peacefully for fandom. We were just finishing up sharing our scans of G-Magazine and theorizing over the next album when we’re treated with this - a nineteen second mocap of a frantic Murdoc accepting a Brit Award with an “oh by the way I’m going to prison.” We didn’t know why or for how long, and, though fans were confused and Murdoc going to prison is a tired, overplayed storyline at this point, it was cherished as any new Gorillaz content, especially animation, is cherished. Memes were made, most notably the #FreeMurdoc hashtag complete with a petition which was acknowledged by creators and caused the first big outburst in fandom for its messy tag. I did what I always do with Murdoc videos and went through the entire thing frame by frame to collect screenshots. Little did I know that this would be the only time I would get to indulge in this beloved past time. Little did I know that I would be wearing the same expression as Murdoc is in this screencap this entire phase.

2. Murdoc hate

Murdoc hate has always existed. It’s also generally accepted. However, when it was confirmed that Murdoc was going to be in prison for an undetermined amount of time and that he may not even speak this phase (thanks a lot, phase 5 plot!) it reached unprecedented levels of viciousness. Some fans took every opportunity to drag him in the main tag, start debates with anyone who might mention one positive thing about him and expressed how they genuinely wanted him to die and/or never come back. It kinda reminded me of this season of MTV’s The Challenge when everyone ganged up on Johnny Bananas. Like, yes he’s an asshole and yes this was probably long overdue but also omg when is there and end point? Is there an end point? It was like some people hated Murdoc more than they liked Gorillaz. For some additional context - this tense environment was born out of an astoundingly severe conflict that happened in spring where three separate fandom storms that had been brewing since late 2017 collided into one huge mess. Discords were raided, friendships were lost, the police were called (I’m not even exaggerating). I won’t go into it more but if you were there, you know what i’m talking about. Murdoc wasn’t the cause of this, but his character was at the center of one of those storms and the canon sending him to prison only reignited the ire towards him. For awhile Murdoc fans weren’t sure were exactly they stood with the greater fandom, and new fans were confused as to why this one green character was the source of so much grief for haters and fans alike. This continued for most of the year (and still continues today), hence why it’s getting a mention now.

3. Ace

Believe it or not Murdoc and Ace are confirmed #friends. You wouldn’t know that from all the Murdoc vs Ace content that sprung out of this year but Ace was the one who joined Murdoc for hot chocolate after he got out of prison, “they go way back” etc etc. Ace was a big deal because it was probably the only time the fandom guessed something correctly this entire year. Jamie began posting cryptic pictures of Noodle with this unidentified man, then another with only the Ace card visible. “It a Powerpuff Girls crossover!” Some people claimed. But that seemed so random? Really? A B-list cartoon villain from a cartoon targeting an entirely different demographic? More likely than you think! Ace never spoke a word and he wasn’t allowed to smoke or have sex. People obsessed over him anyways. To this day I still have no idea who he is or what kind of personality he has or really anything. But he wasn’t a bad guy (more on that later) and he was Murdoc’s friend so he’s alright with me.

4. Messaging Denholm

By now the fandom was fraught with distress on so many levels. We were lost. We needed someone to guide us, to show us the way, to show us the #truth. I don’t know exactly who started this trend but it soon spread around Reddit and other social media sites that Jamie’s son Denholm was replying to dm’s on Instagram and soon, he was graced with a deluge of of inquiries from casual fans and Murdoc stans alike. The thing is though - he actually *did* answer them. Many of us had spoilers re: Murdoc and Ace’s friendship, Murdoc getting out of prison, etc. MONTHS before they happened. I believe he even told us that 2D was fine back in like, June or something. Denholm knew! Eventually we pissed him off but it didn’t stop him from answering. He just answered angrier. It also caused fans to argue more because people started accusing others of photoshopping his responses and nothing can ever be done peacefully here. I haven’t followed up on this story singe the end of summer but I think fans have finally scaled back on the messaging. But I hear he’s working on a Gorillaz documentary for 2019 so...I’m sure we’ll be talking again soon.

5. Noodle

I want to take a moment here to also acknowledge the struggle AMA Gorillaz hosted on, of all places, Youtube. Thankfully, diligent redditors compiled a google doc of all the answers otherwise they would lost thanks to Youtube’s confusing interface. ANYHOW. The answer that stirred up the biggest milieu of debate and confusion came from Noodle. This isn’t exactly my lane - I don’t wade into Noodle issues and I don’t id as part of the LGBT community - so I’m not going to say much here other than, at the very least, this was the second or third time she has officially denied any interest in dating her bandmates.

6. 2D’s journal/2Doc

Okay first of all: 2DOC...jk, jk...jk? But no, honestly, this actually did become a big story this year, much bigger than expected. The release of 2D’s journal was the catalyst here, revealing a number of drawings and images of Murdoc. “Souk Eye,” a song that came with visuals featuring close ups of Murdoc’s face and vaguely romantic lyrics was depicted in 2D’s journal next to yet another drawing of Murdoc. We were confused! 2D didn’t care that Murdoc was gone, right? 2Doc shippers were intrigued. I was hesitant. We were all called delusional. However, “Souk Eye” was later confirmed to be a love song by Damon Albarn, and Murdoc and 2D have both claimed their relationship is “better” since the end of phase 5 (hhMmMmM). Obvi, take this with a grain of salt because it’s Gorillaz but the journal was instrumental in confirming how closely The Now Now (and the entire plot of phase 5, really) was tied to Murdoc and 2D’s relationship, particularly what 2D thinks of Murdoc. Think of it as platonic if you want but they share a closeness on SOME level and the content of 2018, from interviews to the Murdoc chats to the album itself, supports this. I rest my case.

7. Lost theories

Pour one out for all the lost theories. If you were a new fan this year you probably came up with a theory, or you got really invested in a theory. Some examples: HIM from PPG orchestrating the destruction of Gorillaz by possessing 2D and getting Murdoc framed with Ace as a double agent, or Murdoc’s imprisonment being tied to his trouble with EMI from phase 4, or phase 5 being about time travel, or Murdoc crashing Demon Dayz fest and fighting El Mierda on stage, or 2D being the one to frame Murdoc or Murdoc’s inmate number (24602) being a Les Mis reference implying that he’d get a character arc similar to Jean Valjean...you get the idea. But there are dreams that cannot beeee, and there are storms we cannot weather. You can argue about the budget or G-Shock or whatever but the truth is Gorillaz is just disorganized. This is their Brand™.

8. The Murdoc Chatbot

Gorillaz did an interesting thing this year - it let us talk to Murdoc! Sometime around June, he writers decided that the plot of phase 5 would be best spent, not on exploring the band’s dynamic with Murdoc gone or developing Ace’s personality, but on Murdoc! Fandom spent most of the summer following Murdoc’s experience in prison and helping to “free” him via a chatbot you could access through Kik, Instagram or Facebook. Basically, Murdoc was Paddington from Paddington 2, and we the fans were supposed to be the Browns trying to break him out and prove his innocence. Other fans begrudgingly used the chatbot to make fun of him or tell him to die and follow along with the story (it was the only place you could get plot updates). It was a neat idea as well as a funny experience to pretend to be talking to him, and the plot was very engaging at times. It was the chatbot that revealed the very dissatisfying (albeit happy) conclusion that Murdoc is no Paddington and had lied about everything - being framed, El Mierda etc. - but felt really bad about it. His apology was basically this. I’m going to also tag the #FreeMurdoc merchandise debacle, how overpriced it was and how it ended up being pointless anyways because Murdoc wasn’t framed and didn’t need to be “freed” onto this, because it all falls under the same event. Oh, and you got to talk to Noodle sometimes, too.

9. G-shock ends phase 5

I put “ends phase 5″ in strikethrough because G-Shock on its own is actually pretty cool, and made up for the lack of videos (2 in total) that were released this year. The now Murdoc inclusive band goes to space and starts an alien war! That’s fun! Completely removed from whatever phase 5 was, but fun! (And I say that genuinely) What was messy about G-shock was that it came out of nowhere. The final Murdoc chat, that was SUPPOSED to reveal the ending to the prison arc, hadn’t even happened but suddenly, Murdoc was back to sell watches to aliens with the rest of the band and Ace was gone. But the final chat was delayed by a month and G-Shock came out anyways. Out of this came memes about how phase 5 ended so Gorillaz could try to sell us watches.

10. Cass Browne Tells us the True Plastic Beach Ending

We ended 2018 with not one but two major interviews from the fancast, Hallelujah Monkeyz but I’m choosing to cover their latest interview with Cass Browne, writer of Rise of the Ogre. If you were new this year you probably heard older fans mention ad nauseam how much they missed this guy name Cass. Well, Cass came back and dropped actual bombs about the true ending of phase 3, Murdoc’s lost backstory and the Plastic Beach book he found AND that a sequel to ROTO was planned and dropped. Understandably, this sparked a lot of discussion and also revealed just how important Cass was to the continuity of the Gorillaz storyline. Back then, we had ROTO and Plastic Beach. Today, we have “Murdoc drowns in poop and reunites with the band offscreen”

And that’s the year! And look I’m not saying this because I’m a stan but this was a Murdoc year. He was at the center of like, at least 80% of the angst and joy of fandom and I could make separate “top 10 Murdoc moments” or “top 10 2Doc moments.” I guess for me, on an individual level, it was an alright year. For one, I actually talked to more people this year and met some really great friends (something I don’t typically do in fandom). I also get to check “write a fanfic” off my bucket list (it’s still a WIP but it’s the first WIP I’ve ever had so I’m counting it). And personally, my life has changed and without getting into too many details I’ve overcome a lot, grown professionally and...I think I can be kinda proud of myself for that. I expect 2019 to be a slower year than this one, and, I think the fandom needs that. Hopefully I’ll still see some of you around because I’m going to be here for at least the next few months while I finish up you know what.

Honorable mentions: 2D “Dies” of Ligma and other 2D memes, 2D writes The Now Now, Benjamin Clementine says he regrets working with Gorillaz, Noodles old VA confirms Jamie ghosted her and recast Noodle without telling her, Gorillaz delay the final Murdoc chat by a month, Demon Dayz doesn’t get streamed, Music video releases - “Humilty” and “Tranz”, Cyborg Noodle returns with boobs and causes debate, the “Let Ace Speak” petition,

#endofyear #long post /#there's a 2doc mention in here just fyi if you want to avoid #not as organized as last year's that's for sure #but here it is!#again this is more for my records and tradition but also here to read if you want

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thecloserkin · 5 years

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fic rec: Dante’s Stars by Pretani

fandom: A Series of Unfortunate Events

pairing: Violet Baudelaire/Klaus Baudelaire

word count: 94k, complete

Is it canon: Yes

Is it explicit: Yes

Is it endgame: Yes

Is it shippable: I’m fucking crying it’s so beautiful

Bottom line: The one and only Violet/Klaus epic, read it and bawl your eyes out (def read the warnings first tho)

It’s a canon-divergence AU where the Baudelaires stage their own deaths to escape Count Olaf. In canon the three Baudelaire orphans—inventor Violet, bookworm Klaus, and baby Sunny—are hounded from guardian to guardian by cartoonish villain Olaf, who will stop at nothing to get his hands on their fortune. Olaf murders or incapacitates every single adult who spares two seconds of sympathy for these kids, leaving a wide swathe of destruction in his wake. In this fic the Baudelaires have decided to wipe the slate clean and assume new identities.

I have mentioned in the past how salty I am about the Baudelaires’ characters being sidelined for Snicket the narrator, Olaf the villain, and/or sundry other bit-players (in the Netflix show the Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender p much steals every scene they’re in). In canon we’re not really privy to the kids’ inner lives. This fic avoids that pitfall by sticking with tightly focused third-person Violet and Klaus POVs.

The thing this fic does really well is instill a pervasive sense of dread/paranoia which is remarkable because for the first 25% absolutely nothing ominous happens. The orphans get taken in by a slightly addled, very nice old lady and they just … live in her house. For free. While she cooks for them. And every morning Violet and Klaus hook up in her barn.

Ok back up so the ship they’re passengers on goes down in a storm, all hands lost, the Baudelaires are presumed drowned with the rest. Which is positively providential. The first event of any import to occur is that Klaus swipes some cash from a dead man’s wallet. Violet has ethical qualms but Klaus quashes them by pointing out that Sunny’s starving:

”I’d do anything for her,” he said. “Even become a thief or a murderer.”

Then his dark eyes found Violet’s. “I’d do it for you, too.”

So on the one hand I think this is rather extra. I mean, what possible use could a dead man have had for that money? Money that could put actual food in Sunny’s stomach. The Baudelaires are keenly aware that justice does not equal unquestioning obedience to authority and I think their exposure to a raft of tyrannical and unjust authority figures has hammered that home. They’re down with bending the rules because they know the rules are never even-handedly applied anyway (ie. the show trial at Hotel Denouement, the farcical final exam at Prufrock Academy). On the other hand I remember how uneasy they felt about stealing Hal’s keys in Hostile Hospital, and that was barely a misdemeanor! A friend of mine astutely pointed out how Violet is always trying to behave in any given situation the way their parents would have wished, whereas Klaus takes a pragmatic approach: do whatever keeps his sisters safe. And that is a very interesting contrast and one I want to see explored further.

They get on a train. Things that happen: Klaus notices when Violet is down in the dumps or angry or upset or in this case, wistfully jealous of other people who lead “normal” lives, bustling all around them. He’s not in love with her yet but noticing is the first step. Violet atm is super focused on being the elder sister, the adult in the room, the One In Charge. They get off the train and as soon as they blow into town Violet gets catcalled and propositioned. One of the themes of this fic is the horrendous baseline level of violence against women, some of it normalized and casual like the catcalling. The Big Bad Villain of the piece is literally a guy who’s murdered multiple girlfriends on account of them fridging his ass, since he appears to think that women owe him sex. And this man’s driving ambition is to add Violet to his list of conquests.

So often, men treated her as little more than an object … Klaus was different. He saw her, the woman she was inside.

HOW COULD SHE NOT FALL FOR HIM?? Is there another man she could learn to trust enough to fall in love with? However I’m getting ahead of the story. Klaus is still in the phase where he’s awakening to his attraction to Violet:

She was mother and sister, soft skin and tender strength, and he hid his face in her neck. Like a child, she rocked him gently, cradling his head.

I have to protect her, even if it’s from myself.

He couldn’t take this, his brave, beautiful sister, so near … the knowledge of what those men wanted to do to her. I”ll kill them … And what he wanted …

God but it kills me, Klaus thinking that his attraction to Violet is as noxious as those vile men and their rapacious stares. Klaus himself otoh is president of the Violet Baudelaire Fan Club. The contrast could not be more marked. Look at him building her up when she’s about ready to to give up on picking a lock because she’s lost her hair ribbon:

”I’m done, Klaus. I don’t have anything else to give”. ”Vi … “ he was pleading, willing her to believe in herself again, because he did. “You’re a brilliant inventor,” he told her. “It’s who you are. Nothing can take that away. You don’t need your ribbon.”

The unwarranted parallel that he draws between himself and a bunch of sexual predators is the source of so much angst and pining:

Is that what I am? A pervert?

She’ll blame herself for this

Well, well, well, if it isn’t ye olde I’m-Leaving-Her-For-Her-Own-Good-Lest-My-Perverted-Attraction-To-Her-Despoil-Her-Innocence. I am absolute trash for it every time, film at 11.

”I love you, Vi … I’m in love with you.” He said it like he was confessing to a crime, and she wanted to scream, to laugh and cry all at once.

THEIR LOVE IS A CRIME!!! Could these babies be more pure??

They’d always had an extraordinary connection. It was the reason for their seamless partnership, their ability to support one another … But now, the bond that had kept them alive was killing him. How could anything ever be right again?

”Vi, I’m sorry … I want to be your brother, but I can’t … I want to be more than that … I don’t know what to do.” ”Kiss me,” she said, “and be both.”

THATS IT THATS A WRAP I CAN NOW DIE HAPPY. That “kiss me and be both” is PERFECTION.

And she knew she’d never willingly give herself to anyone but him.

she’d loved him even then. Who could tell when they had crossed the line? It was already too late.

cross the line what line??? they were made for each other.

”You know, we missed the sunrise,” he said, nose to nose with his sister.

Violet and Klaus carve an extra hour out of their morning to go make out in the barn. I shit you not these kids spend a whole month without progressing past first base because Klaus doesn’t want to “pressure” Violet into anything she’s not ready for. Violet, for her part, is beginning to suspect there’s something wrong with her person; why hasn’t he even tried to take her top off? Thank you #Patriarchy for teaching us that desirability is the measure of a woman’s worth. God they are so thirsty. This bitch almost fell over the first time he touched her tits:

“Vi,” he spoke into her hair, voice breaking. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me to —“ But she only titled her head, to meet his mouth in a feverish kiss.

So Klaus and Sunny are having a snow fight and Violet tugs her glove off to tousle his hair and it’s THE SEXIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN BYE. True story after I read this fic I legitimately thought that “Vi” was a pet name Klaus called her by in canon, and when I finally finished the books much much later and realized that it wasn’t—well, it should have been.

There is a fairy tale about a princess who disguises herself in the skin of a donkey to escape the attentions of her lecherous father the king. Violet and Sunny discuss it. Violet points out that rape is wrong because rape is rape, because it is coercive, not because it’s incest. I love it when fic highlights the fairytale parallels to the Baudelaires’ situation, and I feel like Donkeyskin was such a spot-on choice because it’s all about surviving sexual assault and learning to make oneself vulnerable again afterwards? Klaus is the prince who sees through her disguise and falls head over heels in love with her CHANGE MY MIND. On the subject of happily ever after:

”Is that what you think I want? A fairytale? A walk down the aisle in a white dress?" He felt a lump forming in his throat. "Most girls think about those things, don't they?" "I don't," she told him. "I prefer not to. And as for children…well…I love them. That's why I don't want any of my own … how selfish would I be, to bring another little life into this? Another hostage they could use against us. Imagine how awful it would be if…" She shook her head. "No children… not ever. I couldn't protect them." And she turned to him with a soft look. "It's no sacrifice, Klaus. Not for me. I've already been through a… a wedding, you know." He felt her shudder, and she averted her eyes. "I won't be sorry if I never see another wedding dress again."

My dudes, when you have children each and every one of them is a hostage to fortune because of course they are. Also, Violet’s traumatized by the whole idea of being a bride, after going through the wringer of her fake wedding to Olaf. Olaf put Sunny in a cage to compel her compliance, and that’s what the Big Bad in this fic does too. He says things like “You’re a sick little bitch, aren’t you? Spreading your legs for your own brother” which turns their beautiful relationship into this ugly depraved thing to be ashamed of. I mean, this guy was literally a voyeur who would watch them from his hidey-hole while they were being intimate?? My god I would feel so unclean. And the worst part is, he overheard them calling each other by their real names not their aliases, so now he knows who they are and since the Baudelaires are still on the lamb this is bad. It gets pretty dark pretty fast.

“He won't want you anymore! No one's gonna want you when we're done!"

So he kidnaps and rapes Violet. Klaus and Sunny rescue her, dispatch the villain (Klaus’s earlier “I’d do anything” for his sisters, including becoming “a thief or a murderer,” acquires sudden resonance), and that’s when fucking Count Olaf shows up!!!! These kids just cannot catch a break. Turns out the Big Bad was actually working for Count Olaf all along. Olaf’s plan is still the same plan from The Bad Beginning where he plotted to steal the Baudelaire fortune by marrying Violet. Since Count Olaf has never in his life paid a henchman a salary, he was keeping the Big Bad sweet by promising to let him ravish Violet first. Let the full enormity of that sink in. Oh wait a minute Olaf isalso bent on knocking Violet up asap so the union can’t be dissolved on non-consummation grounds, or somesuch:

"You look at me as if I were a usurper, boy, about to steal something of yours. Tell me…" He gestured at Violet. "Is she yours?"

Why would you do this to me??????? This is so, so painful. Olaf uses an electric cattle prod on Klaus and makes Violet watch??? It’s ok though the Baudelaires prevail in the end, and emerge from the bloodstained ordeal as the family they are. My kink will forever be Violet and Klaus praising each other’s bravery and resourcefulness. They! Are! So! Proud! and! Supportive! Of! Each! Other! This line from earlier in the fic gets me every time:

I’ve failed them. This was his greatest fear, worse than death or any torment fate could devise. In his head, he imagined the struggle, saw his girls beaten and shot, felt each blow and bullet as if his own body were the target instead.

Klaus Baudelaire laying down his own body between the world and his sisters is really the only thing I care about:

And then her gaze fell to the marred canvas of his body.

I bet his back is a mess of burn marks ugh. Four weeks after Violet’s discharged from the hospital (practical Violet made sure to get the green light from the medical professionals) they finally have sex again, which is a relief—after the rape they were both hesitant to initiate sex because she thought she was damaged goods and he thought she wanted space? Silly kids. Oh and and here they are being mistaken by strangers for a pair of lovebirds:

One of the women sighed dreamily. "Did you ever see a more likely pair of turtledoves?" "Of course not," Mr. Poe sputtered, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief. "The very idea!" And he excused himself hurriedly, to make some phone calls. "Don't be silly," said the other. "They're siblings. Haven't you heard? … They're the Baudelaire orphans." "Well, I daresay," the first one went on, "anyone would've taken them for sweethearts."

I CANNOT WITH THESE TWO

The Baudelaires finally, finally come into their fortune free and clear. They put on their parents’ wedding rings and move to Canada. A cat (!!!) leaves baby Beatrice II in a basket outside their front door, and that completes their family. Nobody deserves good things more than these kids, and this fic ends exactly where it ought, describing “a rural life of moral simplicity.”

I read this fic years ago and it was w i l d rereading it again, thanks for coming along for the ride. If anyone wants to scream/cry about this fic in particular, or Violet and Klaus in general, feel free to send me an ask or message me ANYTIME

#fic rec #asoue #violet x klaus #Baudelairecest

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mcwriting · 6 years

Text

Attention

Sooooo… this is loosely based on Attention by Charlie Puth but it’s not a songfic. A Tom Holland AU where he lives in LA and yeah. More description below in the background section.

Fandom: Marvel-ish bc Tom is Spiderman, even though i should just start saying Tom Holland lol

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Setting: A random club in LA

Word Count: 2,546

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, some dirty dancing, and flirting. Nothing too heavy imo

Rating: T (?)

Background: So, like I said, it’s a sort-of AU where Tom has been dating a girl and taking her to the same club in LA for months before they break up and this one-shot ensues. Reader is the bartender (probably around 23 lol) and it eventually becomes Tom x reader (bear with me).

---

They were an interesting couple to begin with.

Tom Holland and his girlfriend had been coming to the same club ever since you had been working as a bartender, which was a job you had started 6 months before in January.

Your new job was at a popular (and very exclusive) club in LA that was known for its frequent celebrity visitors. You were young, and had only gotten the job because you had recently won a bartending competition, which definitely made your resume stick out. After the first three days you had stopped getting starstruck when some famous person or another walked through the doors. Your composed demeanor to the celebrities (and incredibly good looks) had caused you to be well revered by some of them, and they often hung by your end of the bar when they came.

Tom and his girl had been “frequent flyers,” if you will, to the club and came every Friday and Saturday night.

Until they didn’t.

For the first five months, you watched them enter every weekend, her dressed in a different skimpy outfit each time you saw her and him usually skinny jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket.

He came up to you on your second night on the job.

“Never seen you here before. New?” he asked coolly. You were starstruck at first. This was a celebrity you were actually a pretty big fan of, not to mention that you had just the slightest crush on him.

“It’s my second night, actually,” you replied casually as you toweled off a glass you had used to shake a cocktail right before.

He gave a warm smile and thought about his next words.

“Welcome, then. What’s your favorite drink?”

“For myself?” you questioned, to which he answered with a nod. “Well I’ve always like harder alcohols myself. It isn’t often that you’ll catch me with some fruity drink like the ones I make for those crazy party girls out here. I will say that a classic gin and tonic is my go-to, though.”

“Well that makes two of us, though my girlfriend is one of those girls that are into the fruity things,” he finished with a sarcastic tone.

“So what would you like then?”

“How ‘bout a gin and tonic for myself, and then surprise me with my girlfriend’s, she won’t know the difference. She asks me to choose for her and I couldn’t care less,” he chuckled, leaning his elbows over the bar.

You quickly made up the drinks and slid them over to the Brit across from you.

“Thanks, love. Feel free to put it on my tab.”

He started to walk away when he paused and turned back quickly.

“I didn’t seem to catch your name. Would you mind sharing it?”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you Mr. Holland.”

“Oh please, call me Tom. But same to you, y/n.”

With that, he had walked away, and for the next five months he came to be a friend of sorts, coming to you to get the same thing every weekend (“a gin and tonic and whatever you think she’ll like this time”) and sharing a conversation about one thing or another while you tended.

It all changed about the fourth month.

While Tom had still been bringing his girlfriend on the regular every Friday and Saturday, he had begun to seem less interested when he entered the club and slightly irritable to his girlfriend. When you overheard her ask to come and order a drink with him, he waved her off and told her he wanted to come alone before walking over to you. His demeanor seemed to soften when he saw you, but you could tell his attitude was different than normal.

It kept going like this for another three weeks before one Friday they just didn’t show up.

It was the next day that you heard through the grapevine that he had dumped her on Thursday and she was devastated.

Three more weeks went by and nothing. Gossip mags and websites had had their heyday with the couple for about four days after the breakup until they found a new Hollywood story to focus on. Rumors raged from “Holland’s had it!” to “Is she actually pregnant?” You had even heard a small rumor that the two of you had been secretly dating (but that one never took off… thankfully)

Then one Monday night, she showed up.

Another skimpy, sequin-y dress and impossibly high heels like the ones she used to wear for Tom. She was alone and obviously tipsy already, which made you almost audibly groan when she stumbled towards you.

“Heeey… uh hehe, you’rrrre the one who made me drinkss, right?” she slurred, leaning over the bar giggling.

You felt uncomfortable, knowing she had had a quite a few too many before showing up. You looked around, trying to spot a bouncer. Usually you weren’t one to get a girl kicked out, unless she was violent of course, but you were already kind of annoyed with her and how uneasy she had made Tom in the end of their relationship.

You locked eyes with one of the bouncers you had become really good friends with and tipped your head back to signal him over. He rushed to you and you did your “secret hand signal” that meant you needed to talk to him. You whispered “Lead her away, don’t draw too much attention. She showed up drunk if you couldn’t tell.”

He did as asked and you sighed with relief, and you were happy to see her leave later that night around the same time your shift ended.

Until she showed up again on Thursday.

And Friday.

And Saturday.

For three more weeks, every Thursday-Monday she would come and party, sometimes drunk, other times ready to get drunk.

And then one Tuesday night, Tom showed up with his best friend and roommate Harrison and a few other guys. You saw the surprise and delight on his face when your eyes met his. You watched him signal to his friends that he’d be right back and he weaved his way through the dance floor to you.

“Oh my God, y/n! You’re still here!” He exclaimed with a wide smile.

“Sometimes unfortunately, but yeah, I am. Your usual? Well, minus the surprise drink?” you questioned. His face dropped a little and he thought about his reply.

“Whiskey. Rocks.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Wow, hitting the big ones now, huh?”

“I need it. I’m fed up with everything that’s been going on with… her.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked innocently. “I thought that all finally blew over?”

He leaned forward before whispering, “Has she been here?”

“What?”

“You know, has she been here? To party?”

You didn’t want to lie to him, but you also knew giving away her weekend activities to someone else could get you in trouble at work. His pleading eyes made you finally give in and you groaned.

“Fine. Yeah, she has. Every weekend she shows up either drunk or trying to be.”

It was his turn to groan now with an exaggerated lean backwards.

“She’s been showing up to just about every party and club in L.A. looking for me. All she wants is attention…” he trailed as you poured his amber drink.

You chuckled as you set the glass in front of Tom, who was looking down at his hands resting on the bar’s edge.

“Well, I’m not one for gossip, but from what I’ve heard, she’s been throwing down some real crap on your name. I don’t listen to any of it or really know what she’s said, but I guess she’s been roasting you pretty hard around here.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, explaining that she has never been rejected before and clearly didn’t know how to handle it. He threw back his whiskey in one swift motion and set the tumbler back on the bar for you to wash.

“Thanks for the vent, y/n. Good to see you. I hope this will all be over soon and you and I can just be bar buddies again.” he commented. And with that, he walked off with a small wave to his guys.

A couple nights later, a Thursday, he returned with only Harrison. They beelined for you and you finally met the infamous best friend to Tom Holland.

You failed to remember, of course, that the girl had been frequenting Thursday nights. At least, until it was too late.

Some people froze upon sight of her. This was the first time the two of them had been seen in the same building in almost two months, and you didn’t notice her until it was too late to warn Tom. You reached to point when suddenly,

“Oh, Tommy!” she cooed, standing only a few feet behind him.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line before turning slowly.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, obvious strain in his voice.

“Oh, come on, baby. What do you think I’m doing here? I was looking for you silly!”

She slinked up to him and placed a newly manicured hand over his chest. Her gold dress dipped so low on her chest that you wanted to call her out on public indecency, and the hem barely reached the tops of her thighs. You also couldn’t help but notice the strong perfume emitting from her body, overwhelming your nostrils.

“You need to leave. You’re drunk and we aren’t together anymore,” Tom muttered through gritted teeth.

“Baby, look at me. I did this all for you. Can’t you tell I still want you?”

“You just want me in your bed tonight. You really think I don’t know about all the dirt you’ve thrown on my name? Nice try.” He said angrily, pushing her hands off his body.

“Tom it’s more than that! I still love you and want us to be together!”

“Look: no matter what you think you’re doing, I’m not taking you home. I’m not getting back together with you. You just want attention, not me. And I realize that you hate the idea of me dating other people or even just getting over you, but I was serious a month-and-a-half ago when we broke up. It’s over.” He was loud enough now that people nearby could hear, too.

“Well fine then! Have fun knocking up the bartender you’ve been sooooooo close with the past few months! And don’t you even think about coming back to me when you decide she’s useless!”

Cue the collective gasp across the club. She smirked to herself, obviously proud of what she had done, and looked between you and Tom. With that, she turned on her heel and sauntered out of the place, never to be seen there again.

All eyes were now on you and your face burned. People didn’t think you and Tom were really together, did they? You glanced down at your watch and was happy to see that your shift was coming to a close, so you quickly untied your apron and muttered,

“It’s time for me to go. See you around Tom… maybe.” You rushed to the employee lounge in the back and quickly punched out. You didn’t really have a reason to feel this way, but you felt your eyes burn, threatening to spill tears.

You stepped out the back door when a familiar voice called your name.

“Y/n please! Stop!” Tom was yelling, rushing towards you. The guard outside the door stepped in front of you. He, too, was a friend, and was great at scaring off people when needed.

“Please, sir. Ms. Y/n is off the clock and headed home. I suggest you do the same.”

“He’s fine,” you explained, stepping out from behind the guard. “What do you want, Tom? I realize what just happened back there, but I don’t need you to save me. We’re very different people, and you said yourself that you just wanted to be bar buddies. I’m pretty sure ‘bar buddies’ doesn’t carry over into our personal lives.”

You marched off to your car, unsure of where this sudden burst of anger was coming from, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you around.

“Y/n, just please hear me out!” He let go of your wrist when you exhaled and nodded. “Here’s the deal. You’re really cool, and funny, and beautiful. I was afraid to tell you this, but there’s a reason I broke up with my girlfriend, and it’s not just that she’s terrible. I broke up with her because I like you. A lot.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. One of Hollywood’s favorite young stars, who was incredibly hot nonetheless, was telling you that you were the reason he broke up with his A-list girlfriend. This couldn’t be real.

“Stop trying to spare my feelings, Tom. What happened in the club was embarrassing, but you can’t let what she said rule your decisions.”

“Y/n. I’m serious. I’ve had a crush on you since April.”

It was mid July.

“You two started fighting in April.” you retorted, not sure what to say.

“My point exactly.”

Your world seemed to crash down on you and your heartbeat quickened. He was joking right? All of those flirty winks he gave and the fact that he hung out with you more that month than his girlfriend was just friendly, right? But it wasn’t. He was being serious, and you could see it in his eyes.

“Tom, I…”

“Don’t. Just let me have this.” He whispered, a hand reaching up to brush your cheek. You involuntarily leaned into it, his warm touch sending fire through your body. You looked him in the eyes and nodded, knowing what was coming next.

His lips met yours and it was like nothing you had ever experienced or imagined. You wanted to stay in this moment forever, but the two of you finally broke apart.

You heard a sniffle and some applause to the right of you, which caused both of you to snap away and look in that direction.

“I’m sorry, but it’s just so beautiful!” your security guard friend cried. Had he been there the whole time? Yeah, probably. But that didn’t matter now, what mattered was this moment. Tom. You. That’s what mattered.

A few weeks later…

So now, it’s a routine. Tom goes off to film in the mornings and meets you for lunch every day before you head off to the club. Most nights when he can, he shows up and sits on one of the barstools watching you do your job of shaking cocktails, blending margaritas, pouring the occasional whiskey or brandy, and popping caps off of beers. Sometimes he drinks, but usually he just sits contently, admiring you for your personality and looks.

He announced your relationship on Instagram a few nights after everything happened, when you went on your first date. Tabloids exploded when they caught wind of the situation, and people often came to the club just to get one of your drinks and meet you.

You were an interesting couple to begin with, but one thing was for sure, you weren’t in it for the attention.

---

A/N: So I’m not super happy with the ending, but I hope you enjoy this. I started writing this like… November 11 and today it’s December 18… whoops. I’ve got other things in my drafts that I need to work on over Christmas break, so hopefully I’ll be able to publish those soon. As always, my asks are always open if you have a request or just want to ask something :)

#attention #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #marvel #MARVEL FANDOM #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #one-shot #100

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sunbrights · 6 years

Text

fic: ice diamonds

fandom: danganronpa characters/pairings: kuzupeko. rating: t notes: An early Christmas gift for @thewildwilds, who is a rad person and a lovely friend. If you’re somehow not familiar yet with her Gambler/Yakuza AU, you should absolutely check it out! This one was specifically inspired by the fourth image in this set. read on AO3

She picks her favorite dive to oversee from: a skinny, crowded place on the west side of the city. Its peak Friday business hours dovetail neatly with her timeline, and it's tucked into an alley only four blocks away, out of view from the main road. The clientele is diverse enough to allow them to blend in, but savvy enough to know to give her berth when necessary.

Genji doesn't like the idea of her being so close. Not with a wildcard like this in play, he says, so seriously that he can't possibly intend the pun.

She goes anyway. It's been weeks, after all, and the whisky selection is to die for.

Matsuoka is on shift tonight; he beams at her from behind the bar as soon as she steps through the door. “Is that Pekoyama-san?” he says, just loudly enough to raise the appropriate heads and just jovially enough not to alarm the rest. She’s always appreciated him. “What’ll it be?”

“The Hibiki today,” she says, hanging her purse off the hook below the bar. “Thank you.”

“Coming right up.”

Matsuoka is an artist with the ice. He holds it bare-handed and carves it with a short, flat knife, until it’s all clear angles and glittering edges. He spins it into a glass, pours a generous two fingers over the top, and sets the drink in front of her. It shines with refracted light and rich, dark color.

It’s mostly for show. It’s a reason for her to be here, at this bar, at this time. She breathes it in, oaky and floral, and lets that by itself calm her nerves.

“Been a while since we saw you last,” Matsuoka says, drying his hands on a clean dish towel. “Started to get worried this neighborhood was on the up-and-up.”

“Business,” she answers. “You know how things are.”

He winks at her, and leaves her be.

She waits. Genji and the others trickle in over the next twenty minutes or so, and take scattered seats around the room. They do a decent job of not making themselves conspicuous, casually dressed and striking up conversations with civilians, but that doesn't make it any less overbearing. He's brought three more bodies than she asked.

It's too late for there to be anything done about it, though. She holds her phone in her lap and watches the stream of people flow in and out the door: older gentlemen and young couples and packs of laughing women. She allows herself a single sip of her drink; it’s early, but the whisky is too good to let dilute.

Her phone buzzes in her palm, almost fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.

+81-9059529861 (21:47) All done (21:47) Told you I didn’t need that much time

It’s meant to be a notification, to keep her apprised of progress. She’s not meant to reply.

She sets her phone flat on the bar and takes another pull of her drink.

(21:47) Checking your ego wasn’t the point of the timeline.

(21:47) Yeah, but it kinda was, wasn’t it? (21:48) I can keep going if you want. I’m on a roll

She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, but only just. This batch of the Hibiki has particularly strong notes of plum, and she takes a moment to appreciate them.

(21:48) No.

(21:48) You're the boss, princess (21:48) Just so we’re clear, though, you're the one leaving money on the table here, not me

(21:49) I'm clear on what we agreed the plan was. (21:49) Are you?

She waits. Minutes drag with no response.

It's uncharacteristic.

Peak begins to pass. The crowd is still dense enough for her purposes, but there are more people leaving now than arriving. Genji and the others have to mingle and redistribute, to accommodate the ratio shift. Each time the door opens, it brings in a gust of cold air with it, tickling her wrists and ankles.

She waits, but her phone is silent until the next check-in.

Soseki (22:03) Cargo’s here but the guy ghosted (22:03) You want us to track him down?

Her jaw aches with tension. Cold air from the door flapping open and closed makes it worse.

This was the point of her timeline. She scrolls back through her text history to find the approximate time he fell off the radar, and draws a radius in her head of his possible locations. Soseki can fan east and she and Genji can split west and south—

“Sorry, sir,” Matsuoka says to her right, “going to need to ask you to take off your hat inside.”

“Sure,” comes the answer, before she's had a chance to process the pulse of adrenaline that zips through her, a thrill like static electricity. “Sorry about that.”

Kuzuryuu tips his trilby off his head and lays it casually on the bar, not two feet from her glass.

She presses her fingers against the blooming spot of pain just above her left eye.

Genji is trying to get her attention; he sinks down in his chair, arms spread wide over the back, jaw jumping. She ignores him, and taps out her reply to Soseki, one-handed.

(22:04) Don’t bother. I have eyes on him. (22:05) Just take what we came for. I’ll handle the rest.

(22:05) Yes ma’am

The phone vibrates again, and a second message slides in beneath the first.

+81-9059529861 (22:05) Talking about me? (22:05) You look pissed

She curls her hand around her glass, and tilts her head enough to let him into her peripheral vision. He’s taken a stool at the far end of the bar, draped his coat on the stool beside him, and is making inane small talk with Matsuoka.

The best course of action is to ignore him. It’s safest, for all of them, in the inevitability that he drew retaliatory eyes with him. There’s no reason for her to get caught up in his irresponsibility.

She lays her phone in her lap and types with her thumb, beneath the bar.

(22:06) Was that your goal?

“What can I get you, friend?”

Matsuoka seems charmed. By what, she can’t fathom. Kuzuryuu squints up at the draft list— and then his eyes slide abruptly left, straight at her.

Her phone buzzes. She can’t see his other hand, she realizes.

“I’ll have one of whatever the lady’s having,” he says, smile wide.

She refuses to rise to his bait. To anyone watching who matters, it’s not evidence of anything. It’s barely even memorable, just a harmless overture from a stranger. It certainly isn’t anything to work herself up about.

But Matsuoka has known her too long; he looks down at her, an interested light behind his eyes, and leans both elbows on the bar.

“Friend of yours, Pekoyama-san?”

She can feel Kuzuryuu’s expectant look on the side of her face. She takes a sip of her drink, and it burns on her tongue, bright and smooth.

“That depends,” she muses, swirling the glass. “Are you friends with the flies that hover around your dinner?”

Matsuoka booms with laughter. Kuzuryuu claps a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Best move on from that one, my friend,” Matsuoka tells him, tipping ice into a cocktail shaker. “Pekoyama-san is a cold, cold woman.”

“Little late for that warning, doncha think?”

“Eh, everyone needs a laugh sometimes.”

She tunes their banter out, and lowers her eyes.

(22:06) A man can’t have a drink every now and then?

(22:09) You’ve picked easily the most troublesome place to have it in. For me and for you.

He’s good, she’ll give him that. She only notices the flicker of his eyes and the shift in his shoulders because she’s looking for them; each motion slides effortlessly behind something else, full-bodied sleight-of-hand.

(22:10) What can I say? I was on a roll. No point in letting it go to waste

(22:10) And what do you think your odds are of this ending well for you?

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider, Pekoyama-san?” Matsuoka asks her. Kuzuryuu has foregone the Hibiki 12 year; Matsuoka pours him an ale from the tap. “I like this one.”

Her phone buzzes. “Hey, hey,” Kuzuryuu says. “I appreciate the solidarity, but the lady’s made her decision. Don’t make me out like a creep.”

“Believe me,” Matsuoka laughs, “Pekoyama-san doesn’t have anything to worry about from a skinny thing like you.”

(22:11) You tell me

The back of her neck prickles. Her heart pounds. She feels like she could turn her palm over and find her sword already there, battle-ready.

She swallows the last of her drink. It leaves only the ice behind, just beginning to melt, cold against her lips.

Then she tucks her phone back into her purse.

Kuzuryuu looks at her, which would be fine, except for how his eyes hang on her fingertips when she snaps the mouth of her purse closed again. It’s a mistake, if a brief one.

Matsuoka clears away her empty glass. “Another?”

She considers. A mistake, maybe.

Or, perhaps, a risk.

“Please.”

He carves the ice. It’s beautiful, flat and flawless, as clear as an open window. He spins it into a new glass, and pours the whisky over top.

She waves it away, when he tries to hand it to her. She snaps open her wallet and lays bills on the bar, enough to cover the drinks and Matsuoka both. “For the gentleman with the hat,” she says, setting both feet on the floor. “That half-price beer is a travesty.”

Matsuoka does as she asks, laughing his belly laugh. “I tried to warn you,” he tells Kuzuryuu, as she passes. “Like ice. You would’ve done better to find another girl in another bar.”

She can see Kuzuryuu watching her, in the bar’s front window. He draws his thumb around the edge of the glass and answers, “Where’s the fun in that?”

She lets the door clatter shut behind her.

“I always thought it was a shitty comparison,” he tells her later, one day when the odds are much lower, the stakes are much higher, and his smile steals into the curve of her neck. “Not much else burns like you do.”

#peko pekoyama #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #kuzupeko #danganronpa #sdr2 #some of y'all may have seen this already #but here it is on the blog now!#this au is super fun and i love it #sunwrites

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sunflowerspectre · 4 years

Text

Commission Piece | Bars and Bards

A commission for anon for their Dungeons and Dragons OCs.

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons Summary: A mercenary that doubles as a bard and an adventurer that moonlights as a smuggler walk into a bar to learn elvish. Word Count Requested: 2,500 - 5k Final Word Count: 4635

Bars and Bards

To be honest, it is a fifty-fifty shot that Bayleaf will even enter the bar, nevertheless actually teach Dia elvish. Dia was adamant that they would pay him for it, but so far no coins have exchanged hands, which meant their deal is not exactly set in stone. But the party is going to be here for a while it seems and knowing how busy things could get, Dia doubts that they would get another chance to actually sit down and learn the language any time soon.

They shouldn’t really care this much about it, and they don’t, not really. But Dia doesn’t exactly like being inconvenienced when they make plans with someone, and they do want to learn elvish and finding a teacher whose willing is harder than they would like.

Their hand fiddles with the loose coin in their pocket, tracing over its engraved features. They wave the bartender over and make their order simple with the hopes that they won’t be waiting long.

“Diamond,” a vaguely familiar, but somewhat forgotten, voice calls out, smiling eagerly as he makes his way toward her.

Dia vaguely recalls his face, and when they stare at it long enough they can see the similarities between him and his cousin. Elam only introduced them once, offhandedly, when they got into town, as a cousin of his, and Dia is fairly sure that their name was only said once during the entire exchange. She has to give a bit of credit to him for remembering it considering she’s drawing a blank on the name Elam gave and vaguely wonders if Elam actually did give them his name.

“Jeb. We met before, remember? But you had your hands full with that party of yours, lotta new people comin’ in lately, but I don’t think any of ya will be stayin’ too long if you’re the adventuring sort, but some of these people ...”

He trails off a bit, but Dia nods in a somewhat understanding. A lot of new travelers can, at times, bring trouble. For them, it can be something that is easily taken care of with a knife, or a good kick to the head when needed. But for the locals - alone, orphaned locals, locals that can’t protect themselves - Dia can imagine it could be a bit harder for them to tame the outlaws that come into town and trash it, or worse.

Then again, they’re not against being a hired hand or a hired guard if someone is truly troubled. Troublesome people in town can mean some good jobs - though the more Dia thinks about it, the more they realize that there are bound to be some good jobs and not just from the locals.

“Are you waiting for someone,” Jeb looks around, as if he could spot Bayleaf despite not knowing who Dia is waiting for, “Didn’t get stood up on a date, I hope.”

Dia snorts, almost breaking into a laugh, and gives Jeb a friendly smile, “No date, just a lesson plan. I’m just hoping my teacher comes before I have too much of the ale.”

Jeb gives a hearty laugh at that comment, “I don’t know, I think some folks learn a bit easier after they get a few drinks in them.”

Deciding that they can not really disagree with that logic, Dia nods in agreement as Jeb takes a seat next to her as he talks animatedly, his hands moving with each word. Dia listens as much as they can, but a few things go missed due to how fast Jeb talks, jumping from topic to topic before they can process the previous one. He talks loudly, with passion, and draws a few stares their way that Dia does their best to turn away from, shrinking from the attention.

Despite that, Jeb’s company is not completely unwelcome as he provides decent company and a conversation while Dia waits for their teacher. Dia comments on a few things here and there, but is content to just listen as they drink and eat their way through their order. Jeb eagerly tells them all about the town, which shopkeepers are easier to bargain with, which inns are the cheapest, and how some of the folk are more eager for a good trade than coin. Somehow, he manages to slip in town gossip between the helpful spouts of information that Dia could actually use since they are not too keen on knowing exactly which shopkeeper is having an affair.

Jeb stops their conversation, practically mid-rant, when he spots someone at the bar. He watches them closely with squinted eyes that wrinkle and crease before he seems to recognize them. He hops up with an apology, giving a friendly pat to Dia’s shoulder.

“Hand on, lil’ Diamond. I think I spot an ol’ friend over there and they have a habit of disappearin’ on me quick if I don’t stop ‘em. If that teacher of yours doesn’t show up soon, just give me a holler.”

Dia watches him depart to the opposite side of the bar, waving toward a man who looks surprised - and mildly uncomfortable - at spotting Jeb. She snorts over the edge of her mug and after a moment of watching the way that the other man is trying to slide away from Jeb’s hug, they turn their attention toward the door as if Bayleaf will walk through any second now that they do not have any present company.

Dia vaguely wonders just how much longer they should hold up their hope that Bayleaf will come. If Bayleaf stands them up, they would have more than a few choice words to say to him. Maybe they could try to get Bayleaf to pay off the bar tab if they play their cards right, as a matter of respect.

Dia’s eyes nonchalantly wander around the bar, taking in its patrons. They spot two people in the dark corner that seem like they are about two full pints away from having a really good time together. Dia keeps their gaze on them for a good moment before giving the two strangers privacy when their tongues start to lock on each other. They give the pair about ten minutes before it gets so risue that the staff will kick them out; granted this means that the staff would actually have to notice them first.

Dia spots another pair that’s not getting along as well in the opposite corner and they can catch enough of the conversation to know what’s going on. Of course, it doesn’t take a genius to put it together when the more feminine of the pair slaps the other and slams a piece of a rejected jewelry on the counter before storming out of the bar. Dia snorts when it takes all but two minutes before the one left is flirting with the curvy barmaid.

No one else in the bar holds more than about ten seconds of their attention. Two passed out drunk and about five others looking about one pint away from doing the same. A few stumble in and out of the bar as the sun begins to set. If not for the good ale and at least edible food that isn’t rations, Dia would already be heading out as their hope of Bayleaf showing up dwindles rapidly.

Dia briefly spots Jeb again at the bar - his ‘old friend’ had apparently disappeared and Dia can’t spot them in the bar. They wonder if Jeb scared them off, or if Jeb’s short attention span had just shifted long enough for the man to escape. Either way, Jeb seems quite happy to talk the ear off the bartender, who nods as they clean a mug with a dirty rag. Jeb briefly catches their gaze and she raises her mug at him in acknowledgement and the gesture is returned with a slightly drunk smile.

Dia is about finished up the sandwich and they are already ordering a third thing of ale when Bayleaf strolls in through the doorway. His green curls barely brush against the edges of his shoulders, though it does not stop him from preening it like a bird strutting its feathers as he struts through the bar with his head head. But Dia finds the gleam in his eyes a bit hollow.

He gives a flirtatious wink to the barmaid handling a nearby table, making Dia roll their eyes at the way the barmaid giggles with flushed cheeks, before he finally takes a seat by Dia at the bar. He barely acknowledges Dia’s presence, not offering any form of greeting. Dia snorts at the way he sits on the stool, straight and stiff with his shoulders pulled back as if he is carrying a weight that is heavier than just his hair. Alternatively, the weight on Dia’s shoulders becomes lighter as they relax into their seat.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” Dia comments casually, the mug in their swaying as they speak.

Bayleaf eyes the drink, briefly wondering just how much they have had. While he wouldn’t necessarily care if Dia got hammered, he is not a big fan of trying to teach a new language to a drunk; not to mention that as sloppy as drunks are, they are more likely to try something. Though, it could be an act, a way for him to relax in a bar of an unfamiliar town with unfamiliar people.

“I’m an elf of my word, you offered to pay me to teach you elvish, so here I am.”

He leans back in his seat as he gestures toward himself with a wave of a polished hand. He catches the eye of the barman, trying to nod him over, but the barman either does not notice, or is choosing to ignore him. Thick eyebrows furrow as he sits up straighter, tapping the bar as a way to signal he’s wanting a drink.

“You’re pretty late for someone who is so eager to get paid.”

Dia takes a large drink of their ale, but Bayleaf just eyes them from the corner of his eyes with a sly grin.

“I can’t be late if a certain someone only gave me a location and not a time.”

Dia does not bother to argue, they thought it was pretty obvious that they wanted him there before sundown, but it was never explicitly said. Details are always everything in the world that they live in, with everyone’s second nature is knowing how to find loopholes and fuck over the person you’re ‘partners’ with. They should know better than to expect anything better from a hired helping hand. But still, he showed up, didn’t he?

Dia shifts their pockets before tossing him a small bag of coins. Bayleaf catches it easily, feeling the weight in his palm before looking at Dia with a raised brow.

“You’ll get the rest after you teach me.”

“And what if you happen to be unteachable?”

It would say more about you as a teacher than me as a student, Dia can’t help but to think. They don’t know anything about Bayleaf’s teaching ability, but Dia has been wanting this for a long time. The usefulness of actualling knowing elvish varies greatly, it’s something that they are actually excited for. They are more than willing to put in the work if he is.

Dia meets his gaze evenly, and for a moment, the idea of letting their eyes change into their natural form passes through their mind. It would be easy to let the dark void roll over their eyes. The level of intimidation and fear that the sheer endless darkness in their eyes could cause are tempting. But the idea of scaring off the only person willing to teach them elvish, however, is a different matter - so is them seeing her for what she is but she swallows that down and tells themselves that the cost of intimidation is just the loss of a teacher and nothing more.

They settle for a harsh glare.

“I’m a fast learner.”

Bayleaf stares for a moment, looking them over as if he is debating something. He spots the harsh serious gleam in their eyes and is almost relieved to see that Dia is not playing an odd joke on him. They’re serious. Dead serious. If Dia really is going to want to learn (and he is getting paid), he may as well try his best to teach them. And if good teaching earns him a little extra when it’s all said and done then...

“Alright. We’ll get started as soon as I actually manage to get a drink.”

Bayleaf’s mild frustration toward the lack of service begins to seep into his tone and voice, and it does not go unnoticed by Dia. Dia glances over toward Jeb, who despite being in an animated conversation with the bartender looks their way tentatively. His eyes don’t seem to have the same spark in them when he looks over Bayleaf, his eyes focusing too long on the ears, before he gives Dia a hesitant smile and turns back to his conversation. The bartender, however, looks their way but their lips thin and they don’t give any sign of acknowledgement as they turn back to Jeb.

“Oi,” Dia whistles sharply and they relish, just a bit, in the way it makes the bartender jump, “Need another drink over here.”

The bartender seems to snap toward them as if he had just remembered that Dia is sitting at the bar. He doesn’t even glance toward Bayleaf, settling instead on focusing simply on Dia, who has their mug tipped his way. He refills it quickly, but still hasn’t acknowledged the man beside them.

“Him too,” Dia nods toward Bayleaf, who looks at them with a bit of caution. Dia glances at him through the corner of their eyes and then, after a brief moment of hesitation, continues. “Add it to my tab.”

Their comment takes Bayleaf a bit off guard, but he is not about to argue against a free drink. The bartender turns toward Bayleaf tentatively, as if he doesn’t know how to act or what to say. His eyes are drawn to Bayleaf’s brashly colored hair before he focuses on the sharp point of Bayleaf’s ears.

“I don’t know what you elves like to drink,” the bartender’s tone is not quite friendly enough for Dia’s tastes as their knuckles go white against the handle of their mug.

Bayleaf rolls his shoulders to loosen the tension that is threatening to build up. Unfortunately, there is little he can do about the throbbing that is forming at his temples.

“I don’t know about other elves, but give me the hardest ale you have.”

Bayleaf’s tone is tense as he makes his order, but the bartender just gives a forced smile that puts Bayleaf on edge. He has a feeling that with the way this evening is going so far, he is going to need a few of the hardest ales they have.

“Ah so this is the teacher you’ve been waiting for.”

Jeb pops up and breaks the tense silence that was beginning to fall across them. He seems oblivious to any tension, even though even he eyes Bayleaf with caution. Despite the fact that Jeb’s hand easily goes to Dia’s shoulder, he seems careful to not touch Bayleaf.

“She’s been waiting for you, you know,” Jeb mildly scolds, “It’s not very nice to keep a pretty young lady waiting at the bar.”

Oh yes, Bayleaf is definitely going to have a headache before the night is over.

“Well if the pretty young lady had happened to give me a time then she wouldn’t have been waiting for so long.”

Bayleaf sends a pointed look in her direction, but Dia waves the comment off as Jeb looks him over with careful consideration before breaking out into a grin. He slaps Dia’s back so hard that it nearly tumbles them over.

“Ha! Well, can’t argue with that!”

Bayleaf squints, furrowing his brows before glancing toward Dia and mouthing a question, who is he? Dia shrugs and the vague answer only causes the hackles on Bayleaf’s neck to rise before Dia continue with a more direct answer.

Jeb. Elam Cousin. That made a bit more sense, Bayleaf can vaguely remember Elam sort of introducing them, and it at least puts Bayleaf at a little of ease now that he knows why Jeb looks so familiar.

“Well, I won’t get in the way of your lessons! I’m always here at the bar if you ever need any friendly local guide!”

At the realization that Jeb is always here, Bayleaf just knows that he will most definitely get in the way of the lessons.

_________________________________

The next week is full of slow words and carefully drawn elvish letters over drinks as the bar begins to become their regular spot to go over their lessons, with neither of them wanting to deal with any heckling from their party if they did it at camp. Of course, all of the ale that is at their ready is only a plus.

Bayleaf does not like to think too hard about what their tab looks like. After the first night, Dia made it clear that them buying his drinks is not going to be a regular thing since they are already paying him for lessons. Though opening a tab with the bartender proved to be a hassle, though Dia’s surprising vouch for him helped considerably, Bayleaf imagines that his own tab is at least a few good jobs worth by now. Dia’s tab is likely even higher.

They don’t sit at the bar, settling on the most well-lit table that they could find. After making sure the table’s counter is free of vomit, wet spots and other unknown substances, Bayleaf spreads out their supplies of papers and quills and the lesson begins.

“What’s this word,” Dia points to a word that Bayleaf had written down earlier.

“ Please,” Bayleaf repeats the word in both elvish and common.

Dia repeats the word a bit sloppily, but fixes their pronunciation quickly. “ Please…. Why the fuck are you teaching me please?”

Dia’s hands move as they speak, barely missing their nearby mug. Bayleaf takes that moment to grab it, moving it further away from both Dia’s constantly moving hands and the limited amount of paper with a grimace. Until Dia buys the supplies themselves, he will be sure to keep the drinks a more suitable distance away.

“Because you need to learn your basics and some damn manners.”

Bayleaf waves a barmaid over offhandedly, already needing another drink.

“I have manners.”

Dia’s voice speaks of pride, and a touch of hurt, their chest puffed out.

“Limited manners, maybe, but knowing what to say to get you what you want isn’t the same thing.”

Dia visibly deflates, but hides it as best as they can despite the tenseness in their shoulders and the lock of their jaw. A part prepares for the worst, for the judgement, or a scolding while the other half already has a few smart comments and choice words at the tip of their tongue ready.

But Bayleaf meets Dia’s eyes without a sense of judgement despite the bit of frustration that seeps into his tone. He speaks simply, as if he’s just stating the facts, and he should. There’s no point in trying to act as if either of them are decent living beings. He knows exactly the type of person Dia is and they are dangerous. They both are.

“Speaking the way you do won’t work the same in Elvish. Traditional elves especially. The former speech, manners, honorifics and knowing exactly the right grammer, is how you get what you want. Being overly polite gets you a lot farther than just normal manners. If you want me to teach you elvish, then this is where we are starting.”

Despite the fact that his patience is beginning to wear thin, Bayleaf tries his best to explain as simple as he can as he reminds himself that he still needs the other half of his ‘tutoring’ payment. Dia settles down at his comment at least, merely frowning sightly as Bayleaf whispers a quick thank you to the barmaid for the new drink.

“And for fuck’s sake, Dia, we aren’t even a week into this,” Bayleaf reminds them as he takes a much needed drink.

___________________________

A month into their lessons, Dia can at least carry a simple conversation. Their trips on words are limited, but perfection with simple words is the foundation for learning the language. But Bayleaf supposes that it is something and while simple, it is at least above a small child’s level. The more he can teach Dia, the higher his second payment is going to be.

The hardest part, he quickly finds out, is that conversing in elvish with Dia is difficult when neither of them want to say the first word.

“How’s the lessons going,” Jeb doesn’t even hesitate to sit down at their table. “I’m still not sure what language it is, but I’m sure you’ll get it down in no time.”

“It’s elvish and it’s more complicated than it looks.”

Bayleaf’s eyes darken, glancing over at Dia as if he can’t believe that they divulge that information so easily and quickly. Though if Dia notices his glare, they don’t comment on it. With a tense sigh, he glances toward Jeb, who in turn, is looking over the elvish written on the papers. His brows are furrowed and he tries to mouth some of the letters, despite how wrong he is on what they supposedly sound like.

“Well,” Jeb begins and Bayleaf finds himself hoping that Jeb isn’t going to try to read the script aloud and butch it, but Jeb just laughs, “It definitely looks complicated, can’t make heads or tails of it! If she’s making such good progress, makes me wonder if she’s just that good of a student or are you that good of a teacher?”

Bayleaf doesn’t offer a reply, unsure of how to respond and how sincere Jeb’s statement is, but Dia takes the reigns as they glance between Jeb and Bayleaf.

“Both,” Dia finally settles on and it satisfies Jeb, who takes it in stride with a smile.

But the comment stays in Bayleaf’s head even as Jeb leaves and they continue their lesson.

Three months into their lessons, Dia is speaking more fluently than Bayleaf actually thought that they would be capable of. Not quite perfect, and he highly doubts that Dia will be giving any big, inspirational monologues in elvish just yet, but it is more than he expected of them. Their accent still needed a bit of tweaking and he needs to focus their lessons more on writing the elvish letters now.

Dia sits at the table, talking more in elvish than Bayleaf had heard them even speak in common. He sits back and just listens, offering a few corrections here and there that they catch on quickly, taking each correction with stride.

He watches them carefully, noting the ignited fire in their eyes and the passion they speak each word with. He closes his eyes, just listening to Dia speak and offering soft-spoken corrections until he hears the familiar heart laugh of Jeb. He debates about opening his eyes to check when he hears someone pulling up a chair at their table, but he doesn’t need to check when he hears Jeb’s voice.

“I thought this was supposed to be a study lesson, not nap time!”

Bayleaf hears Dia’s soft chuckle and he sighs, “Don’t encourage him, Dia, or he’ll never leave.”

Bayleaf’s eyes shot open as Jeb slaps him on his back hard enough to knock the wind of him. Bayleaf coughs, trying to get the air back into his lungs, glaring lightly at the way both Dia and Jeb begin to laugh.

“HA! You know you don’t want me to leave!”

______________________________________

It was a bad day for the both of them, a job not going as well as they would have liked makes their lessons tense and full of frustration with their conversations being short and crass. When it’s clear that Dia isn’t even trying to write the letters correctly, Bayleaf snaps at them harshly, wondering what is the point of them being there if they’re not even going to try.

Dia doesn’t meet Bayleaf’s gaze, refusing to look in his direction as they fiddle with the string necklace around their neck.

Bayleaf glances at Jeb when the man comes by with a hesitant expression, sitting down at their table with three fresh mugs of ale in his hand. He looks between them, as if he’s trying to decide what happened while he was gone with furrowed brows. Bayleaf immediately takes the offered mug with relish, chugging half of it in one go while Dia’s mug sits untouched. However, when the barmaid brings by another plate of PBJ sandwiches, the entire plate is completely claimed by Dia.

“That’s the third plate of sandwiches,” Jeb breaks the silence, “I didn’t know adventurers had such big appetites.”

Jeb gives a full bellied laugh as he tries to take one of the sandwiches, only to have his hand swatted away by Dia.

“He’s right,” Bayleaf comments nonchalantly, “I didn’t think you would be such a big fan of those.”

Dia stops mid-bite, setting their food down with a grimace before they look toward Bayleaf with eyes that look a bit too haunted. He knows that look - the melancholic, reminiscing gleam in the eyes when memories surface in your mind and you’re struggling to figure out if you’re going to swim through the waves or drown in them.

He oddly wonders just which decision Dia will make.

“They just bring back memories,” Dia’s voice is rough and dry.

They don’t offer any explanation beyond that and they don’t need to as Bayleaf puts away their supplies and decides the night is better spent getting hammered, a decision that Jeb is more than happy with as he calls out for the bartender to bring them something harder than ale.

When their lessons are finished, Dia hands him a small pouch and immediately, Bayleaf can feel the heavier difference between this batch of coins and the first. When he looks at her questioningly, Dia just offers a half-hearted shrug and a small smile.

“You’re a good teacher.”

The sincerity in their voice takes him back and he’s still stunned when Dia pats him on the back as they leave the bar to join the rest of their party. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and heads to the bar. The last few jobs have paid well and he doesn’t plan on leaving his tab open when it’s no skin off his back to pay it off while he can.

But he’s not prepared when the bartender shakes off the payment, refusing to take it as he shakes his head.

“Oh no, that odd lil’ thing with the gray hair paid for both of your tabs.”

The bartender is quick to shut the conversation off, making it clear that he’s not too interested in having a long conversation with the elf. The bartender turns his back to Bayleaf as he turns to the paying customers, one of which is Jeb.

Jeb gives him a big, sloppy grin and wave, trying to usher him over to join him, but Bayleaf can’t quite bring himself to drink as a heavy stone settles at the bottom of his gut as it turns. Bayleaf swallows thickly as he puts his money back into his pouch. Dia paying off his tab leaves him with more worries than relief, wondering just what they could want in return.

Commission Info | Find it on A03

#dungeons and dragons #oc #original characters #myworks #mycommissions #commissions

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officialpittacuslore · 7 years

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Why do you ship Jadam? I'm not asking this in like a mean way, I'm just curious. Sorry if it sounds mean. But yeah.

You’re one of the far tamer anons I’ve gotten about Jadam, Anon, do not fret! I keep getting told I’m wasting my time and reaching to be a special snowflake on sarahah from all of my compulsive heterosexual Instagram followers, lmao

Really, it’s the developing relationship between John and Adam’s characters that I sort of slept on in the wake of other ships that really pulled me in hardcore? An RP a few friends and I run really started the while analyzing process tbh. Like, for example, Stohn is rough and tumble, it’s a strong trust ship built over several trials and errors and has these two sort of opposite personalities learning to fight together and be equal to each other instead of be a leader and a second in command and then Adive is like these two lost souls learning to love themselves after everything they’ve endured as well as each other after coming together over their paralleled means.

Jadam is one of the most open and communicative ships I’ve considered tbh, it’s softer and gentler than y'all’s average MLM ship, it’s a lot of bantering, playful humor and late night conversations over things that only they can talk to one another about. Like John and Adam? Relationship or not, these two have an understanding of the other ones’ story that the rest of the Garde and their other shared friends won’t understand. These two were drawing ever closer in general since they first initially met at the end of Fall of Five, they’ve always been up front and bone brittle honest with each other about the little things and the deeper ones.

In United As One, Adam is one of three characters who(though yes he does ask John if he’s ok but also *knows* it’s a dumb question as soon as he asks it)doesn’t completely blank or shut out on John’s darker changes, he understands them. The only other characters who don’t ask and don’t press it are Nine and Five, the two who both sort of crave or currently live in chaos. Sam is John’s best friend and he honestly doesn’t really… do much for John when he loses Sarah, UAO really focuses Sam on his relationship more so.

John couldn’t fall sleep no matter how exhausted he was alone but he collapsed in seconds next to Adam.

John literally argues with Adam over his choice to stay in the Arctic with the other Mogadorians but tries to understand it. He goes out of his way to make sure Adam is comfortable and at his best, always. John’s first concern when Adam struck the General was if he was ok with killing his own father, even after Adam was so open about his hatred for the abusive asshole. Not to forget John makes an extra ass scene in front of Lawson because of what happened to Adam at the military base.

They’re just. They’re good shit. I know one reason I keep get rudely asked about Jadam(again Anon, not you but others from Insta mainly) is there’s a wing of this fandom that’s so hellbent on Oadam and the straight canon ships(though the Jarah defenders didn’t come up until Jadam surfaced a few weeks ago so I’m guessing it’s more Oadam drama using John’s relationship with Sarah as nothing more than a reason to refute any and all LGBT ships so, you know, nice bi, demi, and pan erasure, you fucking assholes) that the mere idea that anyone in your ship can be paired with someone else is like poisonous and they want content for their ship and honestly that’s why people stop making content. I also never liked the idea of “since half of my ship is dead and actually can never come back, I guess the other person can never love again” that this fandom does with Adam and Marina, lol. Like. That’s cruel and unusual but it’s one of the negative aspects in all around fandom culture.

I also never was super into Oadam? I like never read Adam’s novellas either though, Knave is pushing me to do so trust me. I just got more into Oadam by reading fanfics and seeing the edits and work for it, but in the main timeline I never really… got a ‘straight’ picture about Adam either. Not entirely gay but definitely not dead set vagina only. I liked Adive way more when it surfaced, Adarina and Adix are both good options too, and I was open to the idea of Nadam when Knave tried that out, but never heavily Oadam. Like, I felt like especially then, the ship of Adam and One was put on this pedestal by the fandom with Navrina so high that I stopped paying attention to it unless one of my friends made something for it. Like I’ve never been a Navrina super fan either, just casual for it.

I ship based off chemistry completely, not gender because that’s glorifying the sexualization of LGBT people and that is FUCKED, and I’ve never personally read any of Oadam’s chemistry in its source material; now, granted, Adive has no in book chemistry and that one is more of a theory based chemistry ship versus context one. Nadam had some playfully bickering but not a whole lot extra to go off of.

Now, Jadam does have something going for it.

Jadam has crazy chemistry but it’s constructed way differently than the ships that have to have fire and ice to survive.

I’m so sorry this is long omg, a lot of thoughts on ships here in this head of mine apparently!

#asks #answered #jadam #lorien legacies #LL ship talks

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roadswewalk · 7 years

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Time to lay some ghosts

Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.

- Elizabeth (Bennet) Darcy in Pride & Prejudice

[Disclaimer: Though far from my usual content, this is not an anti-Johnlock post, and it is not informed by TFP spoilers. It’s also not the new normal for my blog: we’ll be back to gifs and stupid jokes soon.]

I want to enjoy the possible last episode of my favorite show, and that means letting go of some expectations. This is largely a personal post that I’m writing to clarify my own thoughts and prepare mentally for TFP, but perhaps it may also help anyone who is dealing with shaken assumptions and unwanted or unexpected developments from T6T & TLD. If it does, then I’ll be glad. Anyone can feel free to reach out at any time with questions or just to talk about the show. I joined this fandom to engage with people, and I’m entering a strange interval where I have unusually minimal real-life obligations.

This post has two parts. Part one: notes on some specific theories that I’m finally rejecting post-TLD. Part two: thought process and personal attitude, for context. Skip part two if you don’t care - unless part one pisses you off, in which case I’d appreciate the chance to explain myself. That is, if anyone reads any of it at all. ;) All under the cut.

And yes, I realize many fans are well beyond this point mentally and emotionally:

Well, Watson, we can but possess our souls in patience and see what the hour may bring.

- Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Three Garridebs

Conclusion: Bring it on, dads. You’re still pretty cool. Just don’t embarrass me unforgivably.

Or, if you’re indeed about to jump the shark, please do it at the climax of an epic jet-ski chase, replete with risk, loyalty, danger, hair dye, big coats, romance, gorgeous smiles, splashy effects, lame puns, excessive guns blazing, and impossible physics amazing. Well, you’ve promised the first few, anyway.

The ghosts I am laying to rest

Context: I am hiding from spoilers from the TFP screening (and apparently the Russian leak, WTF), so I don’t know as much as others right now, including what’s been confirmed or not. A bit of mood has filtered through from my activity feed (e.g no one’s laughing at Eurus jokes, or laughing much at all, or engaging with vague new theories). But I can’t draw specific conclusions from that, and otherwise I have no idea.

Knowing the nature of most of my followers, let me start by saying that I consider all of these theories to be logically separate from the basic possibility of canon Johnlock. I know some people feel differently, and have more elaborate theories that depend on certain characters being revealed in certain ways, etc. I won’t write “why Johnlock could still happen” for each item below. In general, it’s just this: it can be simpler than that, and still work. A hundred thousand fanfics have proven that. As a reminder, I am not a committed TJLC believer, though that’s not saying much, as I’m skeptical of everything - see part two for explanation.

I have flirted with these theories to varying degrees, but never actually invited them out for a foot chase or Chinese food. Most I’ve never even mentioned on here, primarily for lack of time, for coming too late to the fandom, or because I had nothing unique to add. So my comments in dismissing them are accordingly brief, and may come across as blunt. In all cases I’d be at least intrigued to be wrong - and knowing our writers, most likely pleasantly surprised as well.

Mary: She’s dead. This was part of the consequences we were promised for Sherlock and John’s insane lifestyle. And as awkward as the death scene was, John’s grief in the moment and throughout TLD was real. I’m letting her rest in peace. That includes leaving her murder case closed. It was shocking (in part for not being shocking enough), but was heralded adequately by the episode, the creators, and television history.

Mary as villain, Moriarty associate, etc.: Speaking of peace, there is by now plenty of textual evidence for Mary as a sympathetic character. The evidence for her villainy remains subtextual or subject to interpretation, and the challenges to her personality were always emotionally charged. As I’ve said elsewhere, the explanation given by the show for her shooting Sherlock is entirely acceptable within the show’s established boundaries. Even as a temporary romantic obstacle in a romance, she still wouldn’t qualify as a villain.

Anti-Johnlockary friendship: This is closely related to the above. Sherlock genuinely liked Mary, valued her judgment, and wanted John to be happy with her. This was clearly shown both textually and subtextually in TSoT and T6T. In T6T when he was anticipating his death, he may have even hoped that she would pick up where he left off, after. Her importance to John can’t be made clearer than in TLD. Meanwhile her advice to Sherlock in that episode is not really more ridiculous than what Sherlock did to himself the day after he met John Watson. The teasing between the three of them is pretty typical of mature, clever, close friends, in my experience.

Lazarus was false: The creators have said on a few occasions that they wished they had been as clever as the fans. Perhaps this is one case of it. But in the end, they wrote a television ending for a television show. Again, it’s acceptable within the show’s established boundaries. And after they dug up the characters’ feelings again but not the details of the act, I’m convinced the Lazarus explanation did indeed survive the fall (and the hiatuses).

Sherlock has been depressed and dabbling in drugs since TEH, and his increasingly elaborate mind palace sequences are the result: My own theory, though not something I’m desperately attached to. Now that I’ve definitely seen Sherlock deducing on drugs, it’s clear the writers were just having fun with their own trope, previously.

Continuity errors, set choices, and plot holes indicate T6T and TLD are not real: My immediate instinct with T6T was reliable narrator, at least to the extent that Sherlock is capable of it. Without adopting preconceptions based on other theories, that remains the most fitting explanation. The twists in this episode were not as deep as usual, perhaps because the show had an extra agenda of “consequences” to communicate. The housekeeping episodes are always a bit of a mess, anyway. As for TLD, we now have textual examples of how the creators handle drug-induced hallucination and memory distortion. We have the first serious misfortune contemplated by the show as well as massive character development in the span of these two episodes. Audiences would not accept their reversal, and the writers knew and intended this when writing. cf bullets below for opinions on the potential “mistakes”.

EMP or any other (TD12 etc.) massive retcon/rehash stretching into previous seasons: They wrote “it was all a dream” once, and even then, Sue and Benedict were hesitant to sign on, critics were unimpressed, and some casual fans were alienated. Even with 26 pages of dialogue between Mycroft and Sherlock in TFP, with flashbacks throughout, it wouldn’t be possible to go back and re-interpret major events from multiple seasons. The questions raised in T6T and TLD alone will be difficult to address in just one episode (because there’s still whatever new plot they devised, as well). In the end, there’s also the simplest question: why would you want this now? We have enough character development, enough beautiful moments, and enough mind-fuckery to be going on with.

Adlock as a central focus: This isn’t a popular theory, but it may be a common if unacknowledged fear. The way Irene’s re-introduction in TLD was handled - as leverage for a scene about John and Sherlock’s friendship - makes me confident that anything further to do with her would be sideplot, comic relief, or tension release at best. But (branching into pure speculation here) based on what the writers have said in the past, I think it most likely she’ll remain a mysterious yet absent symbol of the ambiguity that defines part of Sherlock’s appeal.

Mega flashbacks of Johnlock scenes: Honestly I’ve never really been on board with this. The fact that the creators have had to remount expensive scenes like the fall and the tarmac for subsequent seasons proves that they just don’t plan this far ahead when writing and shooting. In any case, logistically, there is simply not time to fit it in now.

Finally, the one that hurts the most. Johnlock as television history / groundbreaking representation: If they’re not doing Johnlock, they’re doing it wrong. But unfortunately, if they’re doing Johnlock, they’re also doing it wrong. All the metas about romantic character arcs, slow burn, and audience manipulation to combat heteronormativity were absolutely right. Series 4 was the time to draw this story together, or at least to build it to its climax. At this point, a S4 Johnlock resolution would have to be addressed so quickly (because there’s so much else to address already in TFP), it would blindside casual fans, not convince them that it’s what they were seeing all along. It would come across as one more rug pull, and would be derided with all the vitriol that this fandom has been intercepting in the meantime. We didn’t join this game only to be met with a moving or shrinking target. Could they still do it in series 5? Maybe. They introduced enough estrangement and other darkness that delaying relationship progression now makes actual emotional sense. But the show is at its peak influence right now, they’ve never been assured of a 5th series, and the writers have admitted that their plans for series 5 amount to little more than notes. Canon Johnlock is possible, but I think they’ve missed their chance to make history with it.

How I got here

None of you know me personally, and I almost never post this type of thing. So if anyone’s reading it, some background is called for. Let’s start with the impersonal bit, which you might have a chance of relating to.

As a television audience, we have to draw a line: where do we suspend disbelief? Some shows make this decision easy, but Sherlock makes it nearly impossible. We either draw the line generously, redraw it constantly, or commit to endless (fun?) mental anguish. In defense of generosity, and to avoid the disappointment and evasion of declaring it all “bad writing”, it’s important to keep these facts in mind:

The show is written by committee, pass-the-pen style, so inconsistencies in characterizations and plot logic are bound to occur, even with the head writers vetting everything.

The writers’ commitment to shocking rug pulls and the attendant necessity of obsessive secret-keeping mean that some writing choices exist in a critical vacuum, unexamined and un-analyzed except by the core creators. Market research is impossible here, and history illustrates the many potential pitfalls of this approach.

The show’s influence is outsize and its quality is tremendous in comparison to its relatively tiny budget and production team. We ARE watching low-budget network television, so expectations need to align.

The fandom vastly outnumbers the production crew, and vastly outspends it in both (re)creative and analytic effort, so we’re bound to catch more details than they do.

Some members of fandom also vastly exceed the creators in cleverness and creativity. I’m constantly astounded by the intelligence, imagination, and critical capacity of the fans, and between you and me, that is saying something. Our creators are clever and imaginative, but they’ve got nothing on some of you.

At the core of that production team is a nepotistic hive mind. It’s not nice, but it’s true. There is definitely a virtuous circle, a positive feedback loop, going on. Part of this is borne of the secret-keeping, part of the low budget, and part of the usual human tendencies to value our own, to seek comfort, and to submit to confirmation bias.

The writers and actors have admitted to not fully developing backstories before jumping into the scripts [BC] [AA]. I actually thought Benedict must have been lying in that NPR interview (or trying to wind Steven up) when I first read it, but later interviews have confirmed it. Our best fanfic writers take backstory more seriously than this, so we should expect OOC moments.

The writers don’t often use consultants, even where they obviously should and easily could. Plenty of unnecessary mistakes happen when you don’t ask for help.

Various breaks in the show’s own internal logic suggest that the writers also didn’t bother to map this out fully before they began. They firmly believe that Sherlock “exists in a slightly exaggerated version of our own universe“, so they make assumptions accordingly. Except, obviously there are huge differences between the Sherlock universe and the real world. They simply go unacknowledged, with little or no explanation offered to help fans make sense of them. We’re meant to let them pass unhindered over our suspension lines. Rowling’s or Tolkien’s meticulously-planned fantasy world this is not.

Our creators are nonetheless at the top of their crafts, producing an entertainment product that never fails to be unique, surprising, visually stunning, mentally engaging, and emotionally wrenching. The original reason we (most of us) are here is still this amazing show.

And now for the personal part. First, it’s my policy to let entertainment enhance my life, but never to ruin it. If that sounds flippant, know that it’s something of a self-preservation tactic: part of managing a tendency to depression. It’s also my policy to believe nothing without proof. I’m heavily influenced by scientific skepticism, and prefer “reliable and valid [conclusions] to ones that are comforting or convenient”. That makes me an extreme outlier among humans, let along among conspirators, which is why I say that my non-belief in TJLC has little bearing on anything. Theory-wise, I don’t have a lot of chips on the table - most of mine are partly crack or lightly researched. I do have personal investment in queer representation in media. I even have a little bit of money on the table for this show. But not all my eggs are in this basket: I’ve always believed that it’s a larger battle than this one show can wage (again, self-preservation).

As for enhancing my life, I had a blast watching TLD. But I was strung out, panicked, and somewhat disengaged watching T6T. The quality of writing and nature of the episodes can partly account for it, but when I examine my own mind, I know that a huge part of that was expectations. I came to TLD after a week of overwhelming work obligations. I’d had to abstain from the fandom, had missed nearly all the theories and analysis, and brought mainly my own impressions of T6T with me. By contrast, I came to T6T fully steeped in fandom culture and theory (mostly TJLC), having spent a shocking fraction of my December devouring meta, analyzing promo material, making a fanvid, rewatching multiple times, and even leaking a bit of content. My first impression was “difficult to engage with”, and I was constantly distracted with thoughts of the fandom - this despite the fact that I usually have no problem forgetting outside life while I’m consuming entertainment. It was depressing, and literally for my own sake, I can’t afford to get depressed.

The simple explanation is that my expectations were too high and too specific. In a brief career in corporate America that included marketing work, I learned that the key to avoiding failure in almost any human interaction is managing expectations. Cynical, but true. It’s a valuable life lesson, though, and one that I guess I am lucky to have learned so early. I am now something of a career traveler, and the same truth holds: when I travel to a new place for the first time with sketchy plans and low expectations, I never fail to be amazed. High expectations frequently result in disappointment. I do know to apply this truth to entertainment consumption, as well, but I was a little swept away in the fervor pre-T6T. I’m trying not to make that mistake again.

The name of my blog is meant to represent how I engage with this show, and indeed with everything. Challenging my own perspective frequently and rigorously is important to my worldview and self-worth. Quotes to live by include “the un-examined life is not worth living”, “an echo chamber is a reassuring womb but no place to live”, and “the surest way to corrupt a youth is to teach him to hold in higher regard those who think alike than those who think differently” (paraphrased, you can Google ‘em). I pursue multiple interpretations (roads) simultaneously, compartmentalizing to avoid cognitive dissonance. The demons beneath are the perils of committing to any one path without justification: dangerous to theorize without data and all that.

Over the years, so few fan theories have been borne out by the show. That’s not any kind of shade on fandom. If anything, it proves how wondrous and limitless is human imagination. I’ve enjoyed reading theories so much, I wonder if there is anything to do with Sherlock, or indeed anything nerdy under the sun, that wouldn’t entertain me. (Yes, I used to read the dictionary as a child.) But Moftiss have shown time and again that their idea of a great television story is simpler, more traditional, and more worthy of an old white man than what the fandom tends to imagine. So I’m taking them at their word for most of the previous episodes, and resetting my expectations in hopes of at least being entertained, if not validated and delighted, by tomorrow’s episode.

(Actual conclusion is outside the cut, above.)

#sherlock #fandom #s4 #speculation #clueing for looks #tfp #bbc sherlock #omg

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