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dodo-begone · 3 years

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It's Tough to be Mortal

Pairing: God!Reader x Hermitcraft

Request: DODO MY BELOVED DO YOU REMEMBER THE CONVO WE HAD ABOUT GOD READER. WOULD YOU BE COOL WRITING THAT BESTIE?

Word count: 4k

Grian was standing in front of his mansion, debating on what needed revamping. Sure it was already enormous but there was something missing about it. It’s been bothering him for ages. An answer that always seemed to appear was something others would call outlandish. Something more than unnecessary.

His mansion needed to be taller.

Did his mansion already tower over the rainforest that lay before of it? Yes. Did it also go pretty far below ground level? Also yes. A grand mansion like this must have something to separate it from the surrounding area. The moat-like feature couldn’t be small either. No, that’d be an injustice to the mansion. What he needed was something to-scale for it. Though it’d be nice if his nether portals would actually fit in the little arches he dug out…

“Hey Grian!” a voice suddenly appeared. It’s unexpected entrance made it seem like a bellow and it was absolutely terrifying to hear.

Grian shrieked, jumping around to see who disturbed him from his thoughts. There, behind him, was little ole you. If he weren’t so spooked, he would’ve found your expression rather hilarious.

Your face was a gorgeous combination of joy with a hint of confusion. The expression was similar to one Grian wore often. He mostly wore it when he was found pranking the other hermits. Although you did many pranks alongside him, it didn’t seem like you were trying to pull on now. “Seem” being the key word. Appearances can be deceiving after all.

“Why hello there,” Grian was grateful for your sudden appearance. Another set of eyes to help decide what was missing. It was like the gods just knew of his plight. “Why’d you come visit?”

“Oh I just wanted to chit-chat,” You reply, your eyes wandering to Grian’s most recent muse. “But you seem somewhat busy at the moment. I’ll come by another time.”

“Wait,” Grian still desperately needed an outsider’s opinion. “We can talk right now. I’m just trying to figure out what my mansion is missing.”

“Are you sure,” you prod. Talking to Grian after you interrupted him felt wrong. He was obviously busy and you disturbed him more than you should’ve. The creative process could be rather elusive once you have it, easily escaping the moment you stop thinking of it.

“Positive.”

“Well, if you insist,” you give in rather easily. How you craved interaction. And it was so readily available here as well. “I mostly came over to thank you.”

“Thank me for what,” Grian was beyond confused. First off you could be thankful for anything. Second off you didn’t need to thank him for anything. Third off he can’t think of anything he’d done for you that you hadn’t thank him for already. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, you know. Everything was a pleasure to do.”

“But i still feel like making you aware,” you reply so nonchalantly to him. In a way it seemed like you didn’t care what he had to say in reply. He knew you did care, you’ve shown you cared in the past. But now it seems to be the opposite. It must’ve been like one of those cases where you don’t listen to a friend when you help them because they think they’re a problem. That’s what it feels like anyways.

“You and the hermits made me realize so many things about life I had either long forgotten or never realized,” your words were spoken in such a soft manner, like you were dreamily reliving whatever you were referring to.

“Again, it wasn’t a problem at all,” Grian reiterated himself. He didn’t want to seem rude but at the same time it honestly wasn’t something that bothered or irked him. Although he may not have realized he was helping you with that, it was nice to know you felt great about your interactions together.

You looked like you were far from finished talking though. So Grian decided to listen to your words. Maybe look at what needed fixing with his mansion. No, that’d be rather rude.

“With our interactions together,” you were restarting whatever you were saying. Oh boy. “the small joys of life have been revealed to me. For example, I never knew those loud boxes of yours had any significance besides just making a loud noise. Well they are made to make noise, but I was unaware of the significance besides that. Now, through you, I have found the sounds rather joyful. I never knew you could trap music in a box until now.”

Grian had been beyond confused with your description. It felt odd and awkward. He only figured out what you meant when you said “music in a box”. Either you meant a music box or a jukebox. Everyone knew what a music box was; everyone had interacted with one in their lifetime whether they remembered it or not. Jukeboxes were also a well known item. Your experience with them felt odd to hear. Very alien. Who doesn’t know what a juke box is?

“Oh don’t even get me started on those little slimy critters,” you excitement seemed to grow exponentially. If he weren’t there to see it, he would have a hard time picturing what that description would entail. “The slimy ones are slugs, right? I think they’re slugs. Not those square ones, no i know those are Slimes. But the cylindrical ones, i think that’s what you call that shape, that most people find rather unpleasant. They live in gardens. Yes, those. I never got to experience them up close until recently. Also the little slugs with shells.” You pause, a look of deep concentration covers your face. A few times you try to restart your description with the name but come up empty.

The pause is long enough to give away that you most likely didn’t remember the name of what you described at all. It was rather cute because you were so deep in thought about it. You looked around too, like anything could give you a clue as to your mystery animal.

“Do you mean snail,” Grian prompted. He was giving you a stick to latch onto. Watching you flail for an answer any longer would be cruel.

“Yes,” you reply gleefully,” those things. Snails and slugs are so sweet. I can’t believe people can dislike them so much. They regard them as pests but they’re just little wonders. It’s so hard to see why people dislike them. Is it because they’re slimy, like blood?”

That description felt like a record scratching or stopping; it felt like the mood got changed completely. “Excuse me,” Grian laughed nervously. He simply must’ve misheard. “Could you repeat that?”

“I absolutely can- wait, which part do you need,” your confusion was rather evident. Did you really have no clue where the problem lay?

“The snail and slug part. Where you were wondering why people didn’t like them. What was the reasoning you gave?”

“Oh that! I said, ‘is it because they’re slimy, like blood’” You reply so helpfully. A child-like glee seemed to emanate from you.

“I don’t think that’s exactly why people dislike them,” Grian began. He didn’t know how to bring it up to you that your description wasn’t wrong but also wasn’t right. “Some people dislike them because they eat, destroy or kill their plants. Or they have a plethora of them where they’re unwanted.”

“Oh,” somehow his answer saddened you. “So they treat them like unwanted kittens?”

Again, you weren’t wrong nor were you exactly right. It just didn’t exactly sit right with him. Because yes, they could be treated like unwanted kittens.

“Sure,” It was simpler to just go along with it. After all, the general idea wasn’t wrong. Anything unwanted was a pest in someone’s eyes and therefore treated like one.

“Oh the poor things,” you start to tear up. “Why do people treat them like that?” You’re tearing up over snails and slugs? This is going to be a long explanation as to why they’re treated so horribly. He really didn’t want to have to break your heart further over the slugs and snails, but your pained yet curious eyes just begged for more information. It was going to be a long day.

______________________________________________________________

The clicking of redstone echoed around the cavern. After a long chain of clicks, lights flickered and moved. It was like the sun, although the appearance was shoddy and limited considering what it was made of.

It’s creation was for one purpose; to replicate the sun but underground. A quirky clock. Very large and eye catching. Much more eye catching than a regular clock anyways. The ceiling was partially ripped out, revealing the dazzling rays of sunlight that peaked over the horizon.

Zedaph, the creator of this magnificent creation, stood below it. Both looking at it in awe and scrupulously. He was only at the beginning stages but this played a key part in showing the progress. Was he actually doing everything right? It already moved once but it did that last time. Oh it’s getting close to changing now, or should be. “Zedaph,” you flung yourself at him, hanging onto him as you two went down. Although not the most pleasant entrance, it was rather endearing. “Oh sorry about that! Looks like I got a wee bit over excited.”

“It’s alright,” you two got off the ground, you much more gracefully than him. “It didn’t hurt too much.”

“Oh my gosh I hurt you,” you frantically search Zedaph over, looking for any sign of damage you might have caused. “Oh i am so so sorry I didn’t mean for any of that to happen I just-” “I said it’s alright,” Zedaph reiterates, gently pushing you away. “I’m perfectly fine. See?” He even does a little twirl for you.

You don’t seem convinced, not in the slightest. But your second attempt to search him gets declined and you’re forced to believe him. At least somewhat.

“So what brings you around here,” Zedaph inquires. “I know my indoor sun-clock system is pretty awesome, but it’s far from complete. And there isn’t really anything else in the cave of contraptions either.”

“I’m well aware of that,” your reply is odd, but easily overlooked. All of the other hermits have their quirks, after all. This is no different. “But I came over for other reasons.”

“Other reasons?” “Well not reasons,” you correct yourself. “What I actually mean is reason. I don’t know why I said reasons. Why did I say- anyways I just wanted to talk with you.”

“Some good ole talking with me,” Zedaph had to clear any doubt, even though there really shouldn’t have been any. “Well I’m quite honored to have you over to talk. What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh I simply wanted to discuss the differences between Hermitcraft and other servers. I knew Hermitcraft was different but I couldn’t put a finger on what it was. That was until recently. That “eureka” moment hit me and I just had to share with someone.” Your self satisfaction was undeniable and honestly somewhat charming in the way you were so pleased and proud by your actions.

“How so,” Zedaph inquires. He wants to listen to you, he really does. But redstone is just calling his name and how can he deny it. So he starts to fiddle with some redstone. Find a way to do the decline of the sun for his clock. He could easily listen to what you were saying and figure this out, right? It couldn’t be that hard.

“So I noticed how everything is so nice and peaceful here,” you remark, slowly following him. “It’s like one of those fairytales you share to your children. So absolutely perfect. Then there are others where chaos reigns like there’s no god but itself. You know what I’m saying.”

“Uh-huh,” Zedaph mindlessly agrees with whatever you just said. “Fairytales are like that.”

“Excellent,” you quietly cheer in joy at his supposed “understanding”. “So anyways this place is so much less malevolently chaotic and more playfully chaotic. And I recently realized something. Something that you guys don’t do that many other servers do. Are you aware of what that is?”

“Yea sure,” Zedaph started to fiddle around with the placement of droppers and redstone. “Go right on ahead.”

“Okay! So what you guys don’t do is something many other servers do- oh I just mentioned that. But anyways! There’s so little violence, it’s truly wonderful, don’t get me wrong. I must inquire though, do you expect there to be any violence? Anytime soon for that matter?”

Zedaph gives a simple “no” before his mind and hands are back onto the redstone before him.

“Well that’s great yet terrible,” you sigh in disappointment. “A true tragedy. Guess I need to go to another server again.”

Those words caught Zedaph’s attention rather quickly. He’d only half listened before but you now had his entire attention.

His mouth spoke faster than he could think. “Why would you go somewhere else? Especially for violence?”

He turns to you and is greeted with your confusion. Perplexion shows itself well on your face, accentuated by a small head tilt. It was a silent way of asking “are you really asking this” or a simple curiosity. Either or really. Yet this didn’t clear his confusion at all. If anything, it made everything just that more muddled. Why are you acting like he should know the answer?

“No I genuinely don’t understand. Can you please explain?” Zedaph hoped you could actually clear his confusion rather than make it worse. You had to. After all, people usually start to clear up what they said after you ask at least once or twice.

“Well you guys have no violence,” You reply so matter of factly. This still doesn’t help. Zedaph’s mild fear and confusion must’ve been evident as you continued with your explanation. “It’s rather simple really. I feed off of violence, in a crude description of it. And I could spark some conflict here rather easily, get my fill without having to leave. But I like you guys too much to just make you suffer so. That’s why I asked. Because if I did it, the conflict would be so much worse than what you guys would create.”

Zedaph was baffled and stumped. Okay that made sense yet didn’t all at the same time. Like yeah some people thrive off of drama, so violence could be similar-ish. He was just making excuses at this point. He really didn’t understand any of that.

“And you guys rarely make sacrifices as well,” you muse, not taking into account that you lost Zedaph literally ages ago.

“Excuse me did you say “sacrifices” because I must’ve heard wrong. Nobody really makes sacrifices in this day and age.” Zedaph was getting more unnerved with each new thing you mention. It’s like the more you talk, the worse everything gets.

“Yeah I said sacrifices. Gosh you’re so silly,” you giggle at his “ignorance”. “People still make sacrifices! You just aren’t in the right crowd when it happens, that’s all.”

“Okay and uuh,” his confusion blurs everything ever more. How could he nicely and politely state this? Is there a nice way to state or ask what in God’s name was going on? “What do they sacrifice, exactly?”

“You know, the usual things,” another answered in a manner that just screamed “you should know this man”. Like a teenager with their fads. “Like items and that jazz. Things that are deemed “important” or whatever. You know, the usual sacrifice stuff.”

“No, I have no clue why,” his irritation was becoming very apparent. “That’s why I was asking.”

“Oh well I’m no good at explaining this type of stuff,” you mutter, going deep into your thoughts. “You know what? I should get going. I don’t want to bother you much more.”

Zedaph sees you walk out a door and tries to stop you, yet you’re gone before he knows it. You just magically poof away the moment you’re out of sight. Wow you are just so darn fast. The awkward energy became too much? Or was it the explanation that chased you away? Did he pressure you too much?

Questions ran rampant in his mind after your interaction. He wanted answers for them, but he’d have to wait until he saw you again to ask.

______________________________________________________________

Many other odd events go on across the server. Each having one thing in common: you. You were in every interaction where something odd was mentioned or happened. After stories were traded about your interaction with each of them, it finally became too much to ignore. Yes, all of them had little quirks or be quirky in general, but this was excessive. Maybe it was just the style you did things, but they needed confirmation.

So they called together a meeting. One where everyone could hear what you had been up to and these anomalous events.

Around their little circle they went, each recounting your actions and the events that happened afterwards. With each person you became more peculiar, more of a figure to be gawked at. There were so many things and all so incredible.

Doc recounted how you were helping him with his redstone and in turn trying to learn the redstone Doc was doing. It was supposed to be a day-long-ish lesson for you two. Everything had gone well, quite normal, in fact.

You were rather studious, watching his actions slowly and taking all he did into memory. A few questions were brought up, which was also a normal thing. Redstone was a rather confusing subject. But then an odd question came out of practically nowhere. Nothing prompted it, as far as Doc was aware. Well, one thing could’ve but even then it was farfetched.

He had mentioned how he was a block or two short on what he needed. A block that’d fit the color scheme of the farm he had been working on. And you simply asked if he needed a block because you had one on you. He replied with a simple yes and that should’ve been the end of the interaction, besides the transition of said item.

Dropped into his unsuspecting hands was a block of bedrock. It was black and grey. Something that went with what he was building with. So he placed it down without much of a second thought. But when he tried to move it later on, he realized what had happened. Though how it all exactly happened was a mystery. How could you have gotten some bedrock?

When everybody at the meeting had shared what was going on, it was clear. Clear but not clear. It was like you had some powers. Admin powers, to be exact. But you weren’t an admin. Far from it. You had only recently joined the server. So that begged the question; how did you obtain those items and why were you reacting the way you were?

Your actions seemed to hold little to no regard for those you found “unimportant” but hyperfocused on those you did. Aloof was another way to describe your demeanor. An aloof person that held a regal air around them. Like nothing could touch them.

Their chatter was growing in volume the longer they were together. Arguing ensued over what could be going on. Was some mythical force at work? Were you some type of hybrid? A hybrid with powers they were unaware of? Were you a hacker? The possibilities were nearly endless but one thing was certain; you were not a normal hermit.

A loud cough broke through the cacophony of voices, effectively silencing them. Confusion soon took hold of the group. Wait, everyone was here though. And nobody in the circle did it. Right? It didn’t sound like any of them, at least. Another cough was released and almost every head in that circle whipped toward the direction the cough originated from. Their answer stood behind them, at the entrance.

You stood there, a confused look adorned your face along with a little head tilt. Why were you here? Did anybody invite you? They didn’t remember inviting you. At least the majority of them didn’t.

Scar quickly got out of his chair, walking over for a hug and some greetings. He thanked you for coming and gave you the unfortunate news that the meeting was coming to a close. Man he really told you the wrong time, huh? That was his bad.

You simper, shifting your view over to the remaining hermits. Grin widening, you give them a squinted smile and a little hand wave.

It was obvious now, didn’t need to be said. But it seemed Scar had invited you along as well. They really should have specified who needed to come to the meeting instead of “everyone” because- well this could work in their favor.

“So what’d I miss,” you ask, making your way over the hermits with Scar by your side. “Scar didn’t exactly tell me what this was all about. But he didn’t know either. Did you all miss some information when you were inviting people?”

They look between each other, trying to find someone with the courage to break the question to you. One of them had to do it, but which one of them would?

Finally a brave soul spoke up. It was their admin, Xisuma. Grateful couldn’t even describe how they felt when he started to talk to you.

“We’ve actually been meaning to ask you something,” Xisuma speaks in a measured and steady tone. One that gave away no weakness he might’ve been experiencing. Like anxiety or how awkward it was to even ask someone something about themselves. Something that would, in usual cases, be seen as an insult or something akin to that. A negative thing.

“Oh,” you play his game, humoring him and going along with the unspoken script. “What do you want to know?”

“It’s actually quite simple really,” Xisuma starts, but soon pauses again. A few false starts later and he’s back on his feet, metaphorically anyways. “This is going to sound very odd and quite possibly rude. But are you, um, are you a god, by chance?”

Silence came to suffocate the room after his question came out into the open. The air was tense with anxiety.

“Oh yea that,” you giggle. “Yea I am. So what?”

“I’m sorry, but did you say “so what”?” Xisuma wanted clarification because there was no way you just answered with that. “So what”? That was definitely an unexpected answer. Honestly they weren’t expecting too much or too much. It was hard to tell.

“Yes I did,” you speak your words slowly and methodically, checking the reactions of everyone in the room. Like a switch your words flow from a molasses like pace to water. “Look I’d absolutely love to get into this and talk with you all about this in depth, but it really isn’t a good idea. I haven’t had the best experiences with explaining this type of stuff with… well with beings like you.”

Everyone was giving each other looks, silently asking each other “is this really going on” or “Excuse me, what now”. Silence settles over the group again. You leave them some time to ponder over the news, but not enough for it to cause any trouble. At least that’s what you think.

You clap your hands and it echoes around the room, once again catching everyone’s attention. “Look like I said, I’d love to explain this all to you. This isn’t the best time though. So why don’t we just chill out? Talk to each other like the friends we are! You guys have cookies, right? Scar said you guys would have cookies.”

#hermitcraft shipping #hermit shipping #hermitcraft x reader #mcyt x reader #grian x reader #xisuma x reader #zedaph x reader #doc x reader #grian hermitcraft #xisuma hermitcraft #zedaph hermitcraft #doc hermitcraft #c: grian #c: xisuma #c: zedaph #c: doc #dodo writing

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 3 years

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Gibbous Chapter 9

Chapter Title: The Thought of Fresh Meat Is Making Me Ill

Summary: It was October. A month full of cheer for the macabre. A month where humans gleefully wore the skins of those they saw as monsters. A month that Virgil generally enjoyed. It was the one month out of the year where he felt the most alive. Yet somehow, for this year’s October, he felt dead inside. Like his body had turned into the rotting corpse of a zombie and his soul was somehow still trapped inside.

Pairings: platonic lamp & platonic sleepxiety

Chapter Word-Count: 5503

Warnings: Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Anxiety, Depression, Paranoia, Arguing, Disassociation, Sensory Overload (Yeah this one isn't gonna be a particularly happy one, Virgil Is Spiraling Mentally Big Time)

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Surprise b*tch, bet you thought you saw the last of me! I'm back for my yearly update--this chapter is dedicated to all the lovely comments people have left on previous chapter! Also!! I rewrote a significant amount of Crescent Chapter 3 and added onto Gibbous Chapter 5, the latter you might want to reread as it adds a bit to the opening scene of this chapter.

Chapter title taken from "I know I'm a Wolf" from the Young Heretics!

In books, there was always a perfect, logical sense of progression. Stories were generally told in a three-act structure. The setup, the midpoint and the resolution. The beginning of a story established the protagonist to the reader. It gave you details about their personality, their way of living, their wants and desires. Then the protagonist found themselves upended by an inciting incident.

Something that caused their way of living to never again be the same. Tension grew and grew as they sought to come about a way to continue living. Until it reached a climax, one where after which, they either thrived or withered away. In which case, the story ended as the protagonist returned to a new sense of normalcy.

One that would last until the next inciting incident came along to shake up their world once again.

Once one found this pattern, it was hard to ever see stories the same way again. There were certain things to always expect—things you could decipher before the story’s end. Real life, however, wasn’t quite like that.

Or at least this was what Logan had come to find. Sure, in many ways events in life played out like stories. There was an inciting incident, something that arose tension as one sought to solve the dilemma. It just wasn’t as neatly bound together like a story or even a math equation. Life was messy, complicated—it threw in plot twists or details that critics would claim lazy and unbelievable.

Logan was harshly reminded of this in the case of one Virgil Raine. He couldn’t understand—he was doing everything right, remaining patient and giving Virgil a chance to open up to Logan on his own time. Yet the human shied further and further away, all development he made since working at the library immediately erased. Virgil even shut out all notions of spending time outside work without explanation. It’d been weeks at this point with no result despite the attempts of Logan, Patton and even Remy, who was arguably the closet with Virgil.

Perhaps this was something that should be expected. Virgil rarely spoke about his past, but what little he shared, he had to fend mostly for his own from a young age. Whoever hurt Virgil caused him to believe again he couldn't rely on anyone but himself.

Logan was not a particularly violent person. He'd been ignorantly cruel once upon a time, yes, but even back then he wasn't one to have the urge to kill people. The wolfish part of him begged to differ, as always. His instincts howled at him to find that person and tear them limb to limb. Better yet, they demanded he snatch Virgil away and bring him against his will to the pack, to safety. As much as Logan wanted this, logically he knew Virgil might never fully trust Patton or himself ever again despite their good intentions. Illogically, he couldn’t bring himself to do the one thing he swore he’d never do again, even if it was for Virgil's safety.

He pondered this, sitting in front of a mountain of paperwork. It was late, too late for him to still be at the library. He couldn’t bring himself to move from his desk, not until he figured something out. He gnashed sharpened teeth in agitation, gripping his hair with claw-like fingernails. It didn't help that normally this time of the month, his cognitive thinking skills were usually in a different state of being. If he wasn't careful, the cleaning staff might find a wolf rampant in the library the next morning.

His phone rang just then, some meme-related ringtone Roman picked out that he’d found funny. Logan snatched it up and answered it.

“Patton, listen, I will be home soon I am just finishing up—”

“I’m not Patton,” The person on the other line cut in, “It’s me, Remy.”

“Oh,” Logan cleared his throat, thrown off by this revelation, “is something the matter?”

“Yeah, something’s the matter alright,” Remy said, his voice hoarse, “I fucked up big time with Virgil.”

It was October. A month full of cheer for the macabre. A month where humans gleefully wore the skins of those they saw as monsters. A month that Virgil generally enjoyed. It was the one month out of the year where he felt the most alive. Yet somehow, for this year’s October, he felt dead inside. Like his body had turned into the rotting corpse of a zombie and his soul was somehow still trapped inside.

He supposed it had something to do with how September slipped from his fingers much in the way that his phone slipped from Jerad’s fingers. Falling all the way down, down, down, breaking upon the asphalt below into a million tiny pieces. Tried as he might, the memory haunted him in the waking world as well as his dreams.

Only, in his dreams, sometimes it was him that fell to the ground. Like a shoddy version of Humpty Dumpty. Remy, Patton and Logan would try to fix him to no avail. They’d always leave, scoffing that it wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t cry or reach out towards them, begging for them to return. He could only lay there, broken and bleeding, watching as they abandoned him. Sometimes Roman showed up to gloat, mocking him for thinking they ever cared for him.

The worst thing about it? He knew it was going to happen in real life. It was only a matter of time. Even Jerad knew this.

“C’mon, you really want to hang out with them and not me, your friend?” Jerad scoffed, “what have they done for you? Have they helped out you when you couldn’t pay rent? Replaced your shitty phone for the best smartphone out there?”

“Well no but—”

“Face it, V-Man, they’re using you. They set you up with a new job, making you beholden to them and it’s sickening! They don’t actually care about you. Once they’ve had their fun jerking you around, they’ll just throw you out with the garbage. And I don’t want you coming to me, bawling like a baby, when it happens!”

As much as Jerad was a jerk, Virgil knew deep down he was right. He’d been so ecstatic at their displays of friendship, he didn’t even stop to consider it was all a façade. Maybe they themselves thought it was real, that they actually cared for him. But eventually they’ll realize the truth. That he’s a loser and nothing more.

Or maybe they already knew the truth and were merely toying with him. Virgil was just a human, mortal through and through. Remy, Patton and Logan were all near-immortal, unkillable save a well-placed piece of silver and a stake of wood in Remy’s case. At least with Jerad, he was honest. He knew Virgil was a loser and made it clear he only hung out with Virgil because it was better than nothing.

Jerad had been nice to Virgil lately—or nice as Jerad could be at least. He’d insisted on occasionally giving Virgil rides to and from work. An offer Virgil couldn’t refuse—no matter how hard his heart thudded against his chest with Jerad’s sharp swerves and his blaring car radio. He taken to asking about Virgil’s day even, asking where he’d been and what he’d been doing. He even took Virgil out to bars and clubs in an attempt to get him to loosen up.

Virgil wanted to tell him he’d rather set himself on fire than willingly enter a noisy nightclub. However every time his lips went to form those words, he found himself saying yes always. So that was how he found himself dissociating in a noisy nightclub, holding onto a pink-colored alcoholic beverage he faked taking a sip from.

A hand knocked jokingly against his forehead. “Yo, Virgin!”

Virgil blinked, his gaze blearily onto Jerad. It was hard to concentrate with all the flashing lights and loud music. He wanted to crawl underneath his beloved purple fleece blanket in his dark, silent bedroom and never leave. But he couldn’t leave just yet. Jerad had been nice to take him along to the club. If he’d asked leave now, he’d get upset. He knew eventually Jerad would get upset at him for something, but he preferred to delay that as long as possible.

“Yeah?” Virgil mumbled, curling his fingers tighter around the alcoholic drink that had been hoisted upon him. Jerad knew he didn’t like alcohol—it was something he ridiculed Virgil about constantly. He always insisted on Virgil drinking, saying he’d stop being a pussy and man up eventually about it.

“Are you high or something? You looked like you were seeing into the third dimension or something.”

Virgil shrugged. Jerad laughed at that, patting him on the back. Virgil tensed from each thud of Jerad’s hand, but he did not flinch or move away. It was a friendly gesture on Jerad’s part. If he wanted to really hurt Virgil, he would’ve put more force behind it.

“Probably not! You’re too much of an anxious wimp,” Jerad said, downing the contents of his drink, “but let me know if you ever get man enough to try it—your good friend Jerad has connections.”

“Okay.” Virgil said, his voice sounding far off in the distance to his own ears.

Jerad laughed again, and then started rambling about something probably among the lines of his most recent hookup, his parents being jerks for not giving him a new sports car or the latest college professor he deemed a complete idiot. Virgil stared at him, nodding all the right moments yet barely processed any of the words being directed his way.

Even with lungs filled with air and a warm beating heart, Virgil felt nothing. He was nothing. A worthless sentient waste of space. Like an ugly mutt nobody wanted that should be euthanized to end its miserable existence.

His phone—the replacement one Jerad gave him—vibrated in his pocket. A text, no doubt from one of the others. The fourth one this night. Virgil’s hand twitched, refraining from looking at it in the presence of Jerad. Virgil didn’t feel like losing a second phone within a month of the first.

“Um, hey,” Virgil interrupted, wincing, “I gotta go use the bathroom, is that alright?”

“’Is that alright?’” Jerad mimicked in a high pitch tone, “Dude, is this elementary school or something? You want a hall pass? Me to hold your hand the whole way there?”

Virgil stared at him.

Jerad rolled his eyes, “Go ahead, whatever. I don’t care if you take a dump, just be quick with it.”

“Thanks.” Virgil bit out, running off before Jerad could change his mind.

He twisted and pivoted around the crowd of sweaty, glistening bodies wearing skimpy clothing. The bright neon lights and loud music warped around him like something out of a nightmare. Eventually he made it to the restrooms and locked himself in the nearest stall. The pulse of his heart roaring in his ears, he drew the phone of his pocket.

Four New Text Notifications from Patton

Patton: [Image of a black cat that looked approximately a year old. It appeared to be nestled close to Patton’s chest, staring up at the camera in wide-eyed stare.]

Patton: Look at what I found on my evening walk! Isn’t she the cutest??

Patton: I’m trying to convince Logan to let me keep her. Maybe you can come visit tomorrow and meet her??

Patton: It’s ok if not! I know you’ve been busy and I want to let you know I’m here for you, you can come to me about anything okay?

Virgil’s vision blurred a bit. He didn’t understand it. Why hadn’t Patton given up already? It’s been weeks since he’s sent Patton a text. He’d been terrified, too, really. And in the few times he ran into Patton at the library, he made excuses and scurried the other way.

Logan was at least kind enough to exchange a few pleasantries and keep their verbal interactions work-oriented. And Remy? They still delved deep into discussions about their taste in music but there was an awkward unspoken agreement not to bring up what happened that one morning. Virgil also shied from hanging outside of work, hoping Remy would eventually forget about him. It seemed to be working; Remy hadn’t offered to hang out in about a week or so.

But Patton? Patton seemed determined to stay in contact with Virgil, sending his dumb silly memes and cute animal videos. He sent good morning and good night texts, while making sure Virgil knew he could respond to them on his own time. On one hand, it made sense—this was the same Patton who saved a complete stranger’s life for literally no reason. On the other hand, he wished Patton would give up. It would made things easier, make it hurt less for everyone.

His phone buzzed with a new text notification.

Jerad: Dude, did you fall in or something?

Virgil swallowed, wiping away any stupid tears running down his face. As he typed a response to Jerad with shaky hands, the bathroom door slammed open, banging against the wall. He almost dropped his phone in the process, silently cursing at how close he’d been to breaking yet another phone.

Several loud booming voices filled the bathroom, peppered with obnoxious laughter every half second. Virgil shut his eyes, resisting the urge to cover his ears also in the process. The noise was too much. It was too much in the club outside, but all those voices echoing off the small crammed walls of the bathroom made Virgil want to scream.

The door creaked open yet again, the voices venturing away from Virgil. Good, they were leaving so Virgil could finally self-destruct in peace. Or so he thought, as a set of footsteps stopped abruptly, wavering. The club music blasted from the doorway, drowning out whatever discussion took place.

Then the door swung shut, the roaring club music muted once more. Virgil waited, breath catching in his throat as the single set of footsteps took a couple strides towards him. Oh god, this was how he was going to die, wasn’t he? This was probably some serial killer with an obsession of killing people in night club restrooms.

This was, of course, the moment his phone started vibrating in his hand. A call. Someone was calling him in the final moments of his life. Virgil looked down at the caller id; Remy. His heartrate spiked, dancing so painfully close to what a heart attack must feel like. Why was Remy calling him? Was he at last going to tell him he was done with Virgil forever?

Virgil almost wanted to ignore the call. But then he glanced at the black boots hovering near his stall and gave it a second thought. If this was going to be how his life ended, it’d probably be best to say goodbye to someone at least. Sucking a breath in, he pressed the green phone icon and held the phone to his ears.

“Hi?” He whispered.

“Hey Virgil,” Remy said, echoing oddly in Virgil’s ears, “what are you up to tonight?”

Virgil glanced down at the black boots menacingly close to his stall, “Umm, I’m just home, chilling.”

“That’s a lie, Hon. I know you’re hiding in a stall of this bathroom.”

“W-what are you talking about?” Virgil couldn’t breathe.

Remy sighed, sounding so similar to the person outside the stall, “Please, let’s talk face to face, alright?”

This was some sort of trick to lure him out of the stall, wasn’t it? Still, with the hand not clutching tightly to his phone, he reached out and unlatched the stall door.

Remy stood there, expression hidden under his black shades. His hair was slicked back with gel, shimmering with a glitter of some sort. He wore his iconic black leather jacket with a black crop top underneath. His whole outfit was black, in fact, down to his ripped jeans and the ankle-length boots. Virgil had seen him wear something similar before to a college event he’d taken Virgil to.

“W-what are you doing here?” Virgil demanded.

“I could ask you the same,” Remy responded, eyebrows raised above his shades, “this isn’t your scene, Virge. What are you doing here?”

“I’m not answering unless you answer.” Virgil said, trying to ignore how much he sounded like a toddler.

“A few of my homies from the art program wanted to celebrate the end of mid-terms. This is the night club most of the college body hangs at.” Remy crossed his arms.

“And how did you know I was in here?”

“A few keen observations,” Remy mustered a thin smile. He tapped his nose for emphasis before drawing his finger close to his lips. Virgil’s eyes widened in understanding. Vampire senses, then. “But mostly, I’d recognize those faded converse of yours anywhere.”

“O-oh.”

“I answered your question, now it’s your turn, Virge.”

“I…” Virgil said, the rest of his words strangled in his throat. His phone buzzed in his hand; another impatient text from Jerad no doubt. He didn’t bother to look at it, choosing to focus on taking a breath in rather than going unconscious from a lack of oxygen.

He could tell Remy the truth. That he’d gone with Jerad—his roommate whom he used to complain to Remy about all the time. But then Remy would ask why he was with Jerad and then—well. Then Virgil would have tell him what happened the time he found him the night his phone broke and well, Virgil wasn’t ready for that. He couldn’t tell Remy about his humiliating mistake.

“I…went here to have a good time completely by myself.” Virgil withheld himself from wincing because wow that didn’t sound weird or suspicious in the slightest, “So you can go catch up with your friends or whatever, I’m good hanging out right here.”

“Right here, in the restroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Honey,” Remy said, his voice washed with some emotion Virgil couldn’t identify, “Let’s ditch this shithole and go somewhere else.”

“W-what—but your friends—” Virgil stammered.

“—will be fine without me. N-G-L they’ll probably too trying to give themselves alcohol poison even realize I’m gone,” Remy shrugged his shoulders, “besides, you don’t seem as gucci as you say you are in here and it’s been a while since we really hung out hung out, y’know?”

Virgil stubbornly directed his gaze away from Remy, jaw tightening. It had to be okay, didn’t it? Jerad was most likely to get too drunk to even coherent colors, let alone that Virgil slipped off without him. Maybe he wouldn’t be mad. Maybe he wouldn’t fly into a rage and come close to hanging him off a balcony. Besides Remy would be even more suspicious if he said no.

Virgil sighed, holding the home button on the phone until it shut off completely. That way he wouldn’t have to deal with Jerad calling him, demanding to know where he’d disappear off to, despite ditching Virgil all the time without warning.

“Alright, fine.”

Remy smiled, his teeth looking a little too sharp for Virgil’s liking. Wordlessly he turned aside and reached for the bathroom door.

Virgil swallowed, shoving the phone in his pocket to be forgotten about. Tried as he might, he still flinched as lively blare of the club’s music and flashing lights greeted him with full force. He froze, cowering before the threshold of the door. A hand landed on his shoulder, soft and gentle.

“Virgil?” Remy asked, his brows furrowing together.

Molten lava settled in the pit of Virgil’s stomach—pity. That was the expression on Remy’s face he couldn’t identify at first. He didn’t want pity; Virgil knew what pity meant. He didn’t want pity of any kind, it reminded him too much of the foster parents that looked at him like he was some feral dog that could be whipped into obedience. And sure, Remy had never hurt him but it didn’t mean Virgil forgotten about that morning spent at Remy’s dorm a month back.

Eyes lit up with a burning, controlled fire. Words hissed through a clenching jaw, “Tell me their name and I’ll beat them up for you.”

If Remy was willing to hurt who he deemed as threats to Virgil, who’s to say he wouldn’t be willing to hurt Virgil? To reprimand Virgil, to let him know how much of an idiot he was being? It sounded absurd, even now, because he’d known Remy for almost a year. Remy had plenty opportunities up to now to do something and hadn’t. Yet he was a vampire; years were nothing to him. He had plenty of time to wait for Virgil to slip up in some way and make his irritation known.

And Virgil knew by now to expect the other shoe to drop in a relationship—it was why he distanced himself, isolated himself to solely to work and his cramped little room at the apartment. He was foolish to believe Remy, Patton and Logan were different. Logan and Patton especially—what was he thinking? Patton saved him, sure, but Logan had been hellbent on locking him in their basement for the eternity of time. Why had ever he allowed himself to accept their apologies, to believe something was going right in his life for once?

“I’m fine.” Virgil snarled, shoving himself forward. It was like marching into a warzone, the music assaulted his ears and rattled uncomfortably against his chest cavity. He grimaced, keeping his eyes towards the floor, away from the flashing lights. He stopped a bit before the ocean of bodies that stood between them and the entrance.

He knew if he looked up, he could make out the back of Jerad’s shirt from his spot at the bar. Stupid, this was so stupid. Why had he allowed himself to get talk into this by Remy? There was no doubt in his mind that Jerad would catch him trying to leave and rightfully demand why he was ditching him for Remy. It was a shit thing to do, after all.

Friends don’t ditch one another without explanation. Jerad left him, sure, but he always had an explanation after the fact. Virgil didn’t think Jerad would like his explanation very much. Especially when it involved Remy, one of the people Jerad had been trying to warn him about.

A hand gracefully looped itself around one of his own, tugging him off to the side rather than through the crowd. Virgil looked to see Remy guiding them towards a set of doors, ones clearly marked for employees only.

“Remy—”

“Shhh, this is a faster way outta here, trust me.” He said, flashing a smile. Perhaps it was meant to be comforting but for Virgil it only caused his stomach to churn.

Right before they made it to the doors, an employee materialized in front of them. “Excuse me, sirs, you’re not allowed back here—”

“Cindy, gurl, remember me, Lansing? Worked here last summer? Do you remember, yeah?” Remy lowered his shades to take a look at her. Virgil peered behind him, unable to view Remy’s face. He could see Cindy’s face, however. Her face pinched up in confusion, frowning, before abruptly smoothening out with a wide grin stretched from ear-to-ear. She looked right at Remy, her gaze shifting entirely off of Virgil as if he no longer existed.

“Lansing, oh! Oh yes, I remember.” Cindy said, with a high-pitched laugh. Virgil shrunk further back into Remy’s shadow, squeezing Remy’s hand tightly. Something was wrong and he didn’t like it. Remy never mentioned working as a bartender—and that wasn’t quite something Remy would be quiet about. Virgil could just picture the outrageous bartending stories he’d have if that was the case.

Remy laughed along with her, light and airy.

“Good, then can ya do a fellow former co-bartender a favor and let us slip through, just this once?”

“Gurl, of course, just if you caught don’t let Gregory know I was the one that let you pass.” She leaned in conspiratorially, face twitching a bit.

“Oh don’t worry, you won’t see us again, in fact forget that you even saw us. I’d love to stay and catch up, but I bet you have things to do.”

She laughed again at that. “Yes, of course. It was nice seeing you, Lansing, but I have to go.”

Cindy hurried off, quickly dissipating through the crowd. Virgil blinked; what the fuck? What the fuck was that—

He didn’t even have time to process the encounter before Remy led them into the dimly lit back hallway of the nightclub. Whether it was a faster way out of the nightclub was debatable. For all his talk about previously working there, Remy seemed just as lost as Virgil in the winding hallway. He led them one direction, only to immediately pivot down the other way.

Remy wasn’t talking. Remy was always talking endlessly, as if speaking was as vital as oxygen to him. He was terrible at whispering too—something Logan would get on him about at the library. That was why he was usually stuck on front desk duty to speak with patrons, helping out at events or doing organizational work in the back office. For Remy to be this silent, like the brooding calm before a storm, well. Virgil’s lungs wanted to seize up right then and there.

Eventually, they made to a door that opened out to an alleyway, right where the night club kept its dumpster. The moon gleamed from her perch in the sky, nearly full but not quite. Like a cookie with a bite taken out of it. Virgil knew there was terms for the different phases of the moon. His mother loved taking him out to see the night sky. She’d point out the constellations and tell him what phase the moon that night was.

He wished he could remember, for her sake, what they were. Considering he knew actual werewolves, you’d think he pay better attention to it. But it was a topic Virgil never felt brave enough to venture and one that neither Patton nor Logan opened up much on their own about.

He stared at the moon, transfixed, that he almost forgotten the reason he was outside in the first place. Not until Remy murmured something before attempting to lead him off somewhere. The gaping dread from moments prior seized hold of him once more.

“No!” Virgil snapped, yanking his hand out of Remy’s grip. He stumbled backwards a few steps, slamming himself into a wall of the building in the process.

“Virgil?” Remy asked, frowning as he took a step forward.

“What the hell was that back there?”

“What do you mean—”

“Don’t act stupid!” Virgil demanded, taking a shaky breath, “That lady—Cindy—you did something, I—I don’t know, she was acting weird! And—and you were acting weird! So I’m asking again; What. The Hell. Was. That?”

Remy stared at him, his breath hitching, “Virgil, I was just trying to get you to a quiet place ASAP before you—”

“You’re still not answering the question.” Virgil cut in, his intestines tightening themselves into knots over it. Because maybe this was just a classic case of Virgil paranoia striking again. Maybe he really was driving himself into a panic attack over nothing. Maybe he was accusing Remy unjustly.

Yet, if that was the case why would Remy flinch if Virgil struck him physically with his words?

“Virgil,” Remy said slowly, “I need you not to panic and hear me out, ok?”

Virgil’s heartrate accelerated. Not panic, not panic?! What did Remy expect but for him to panic at those words?

“Okay.” Virgil said, definitely panicking.

“What have you’ve heard about vamps?”

“That they—you drink blood. And your reflection doesn’t show up in mirrors—and—and if you get bitten by a vampire, you’ll either turn into one or get mind controlled.”

“All technically true, well I mean—there’s a fuck-ton more to the turning process than that—” Remy cut himself off, “That’s beside the point. The point is, what you call mind-control, we call ‘enthralling.’ Enthralling is…”

“Is what?”

“Enthralling is, well. It’s a form of hypnosis. Anyone enthralled by a vampire is mostly aware of it and the least likely they are to follow a vampire’s suggestions, the more likely they are to fight against the hypnosis. And it can be activated through eye-contact which is what I did to Cindy.”

Virgil couldn’t breathe. Suddenly pieces were slotted together in mind, forming a picture Virgil never wanted to envision. That faint but visceral memory of Remy with red eyes, the natural charisma Remy held with anyone he met, how Remy managed to steal confidential information from Virgil’s employee file in the back office of Kirby’s Burgers—all of it. He thought Remy, out of anybody, was safe. Past his sassy, laidback exterior, Remy was honest, willing to speak his mind about anything and everything.

If Remy enthralled a complete stranger without blinking an eye—who’s to say he wasn’t above doing it to Virgil? Who’s to say he hadn’t enthralled Virgil into being his friend? Who’s to say Virgil wasn’t an oblivious mouse in a game of cat and mouse? Oh gods, this had just confirmed all of Virgil’s worst fears and more.

“Virgil—” Remy said, reaching out, his eyes hidden beneath his shades. He continued speaking, a mumble jumbo string of excuses probably. Virgil couldn’t stand to stay around and listen to it.

“Stop—just don’t—” Virgil stuttered, taking one step and then another towards the open sidewalk. What was just a few steps then became a few hundred until he found himself leaning against the door to the apartment, hands shaking to slot the key to unlock it.

A few more steps he was inside, the usual musty smell an unexpected comfort. He sat on the couch, seconds stretching into eternity. He half-expected Remy to have chased after him, demanding Virgil to listen, why couldn’t you just listen, you’re so stupid no wonder you’re pathetic—

Virgil blinked a few times, his eyes burning with some sort of irritation. For some reason, Remy let him go. He couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. His head ached and so did his ears for some reason.

Jerad entered the apartment a few millennia later. Virgil froze at the rattling doorknob, his hand clutching onto his phone in his pocket.

“There you are, you fucker!” Jerad drawled, stumbling over in a drunken stupor. His hand moved towards Virgil, but not with a closed fist. Instead he patted him on the back like earlier, “I can’t believe you did it! You finally got the balls to go and hook up with somebody! I guess I can’t call you Virgin, now huh?”

“Uh-huh,” Virgil murmured, not correcting him on that assumption. He sat there, a bit of tension draining from him. Jerad wasn’t mad for abandoning him. Jerad was still a jerk, but at least Virgil mostly knew what to expect of him. It wasn’t ideal, but that was life. It was better to deal with the devil you knew, then the devil you didn’t know. Virgil was stupid to have ever thought otherwise.

“My parents are being such dicks at the moment,” Jerad said, precipitously changing topics as per usual of him, “sometimes I wish I didn’t have to wait until they were dead to take my inheritance and do what I want to do, y’know?”

Virgil didn’t really know. Did his parents leave him money? They had to have had some sort of savings stashed away. A life insurance of some sort, right? It wasn’t like they were poor. He never thought about inquiring into that. Jerad accidentally slapped Virgil across the arm with a huge hand gesture, still ranting about something. Maybe it wasn’t an accidental hit.

Virgil didn’t know. His tether on reality felt weak, like a balloon close to floating away into the stratosphere. He almost wished he could float away, but the weight in his chest said otherwise. Jerad passed out not long after his rant, slumped half on the floor and half on the sofa. Virgil took this opportunity to slip into the comfort of his bedroom and turn on his cellphone once more.

Seventeen new text notifications and five missed calls from Jerad greeted him, along with one new text notification from Logan. He clicked on Logan’s and his conversation, staring at Logan’s text at the bottom of it.

Logan: Virgil, Remy wanted me to inform you that he is taking a leave of absence from work. Please let me know if you need to take a leave of absence as well or need to confide in somebody as a friend, Patton or I would be happy to listen.

Virgil stared at it some more. Then he tapped out a short response, set the phone on the stool that was his makeshift nightstand and collapsed headfirst into his mattress.

Virgil: K thanks, I’m fine

A/N: Hope everyone is doing well, if you enjoyed the chapter please consider leaving a comment--it's completely free and helps me out as a fanfic writer a ton! I'm technically not in the Sanders Sides fandom anymore, but I still have a lotta fondness for this fic and I will finish it, even if takes me ten years to do so :') -Kat

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #remy sanders #kat writes #werewolf au #long post

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ineffable-snowman · 3 years

Text

(apologies in advance to the people who followed me for Good Omens. I’m diving headfirst into a new fandom, so I’m afraid there’s going to be a lot of Sambucky in the next three weeks at least...)

I wrote a fic inspired by episode 3 of FATWS. Read it here or on AO3.

Trouble Man

“It is a masterpiece, James. Complete, comprehensive. It captures the African-American experience.”

What kind of passive-aggressive bullshit was that? It was annoying enough that Zemo insisted on calling him ‘James’ in that patronising way of his but now he tried to lecture him or rather tried to make him look stupid, uncultured and ignorant. Bucky wanted to laugh at Zemo’s comment that sounded more like he was quoting a Wikipedia article to appear sophisticated, but then Sam spoke up.

“He is out of line – but he is right.”

Fuck Zemo. Seriously, Bucky had enough reason to hate Zemo but this was on another level. This was personal. He made Bucky look stupid, uncultured and ignorant in front of Sam. And the thing was, he was mostly ignorant about Marvin Gaye. He had listened to some of the tracks from Trouble Man just because they were on Steve’s list, and had quickly decided that it was not his kind of music. Now he wished he had at least listened to the whole album so he could contribute more than a weak “I like Marvin Gaye”, which fooled absolutely no one. He had no idea how a simple conversation about music had escalated like this. It had seemed like perfectly normal banter, Sam making fun of him for being old-fashioned, and then Zemo had interfered with that comment and it was downhill from there.

For some reason Sam was very passionate about Marvin Gaye and Bucky was intent on finding out why. Also, he needed to find out how music could be “complete, comprehensive” and “capture the African-American experience.” In his experience, music was used for dancing and for fun and that’s all there was to it. He stared at the notebook. There was some really good advice in it, like Thai food or Star Wars. So far, Bucky had not seen the appeal of Marvin Gaye. But apparently Steve had. If Steve had adored the music so much, why had he just simply crossed it out in a neat line and not, for example, put an exclamation mark behind it? Bucky added two exclamation marks.

Right, how to do this? Not for the first time he regretted just getting a simple flip phone instead of one of those fancy smartphones. When the shop assistant had told him that he needed a phone for taking photos and listening to music, Bucky had almost laughed at him. Talking about stupid… He could really use Youtube or Google now.

“Do you have a computer with internet?” he asked Sharon.

She looked at him like he was stupid (it was becoming a theme) but showed him to a computer and even gave him earphones. Then he started to listen to Trouble Man and this time did not skip any tracks but listened to the whole songs. He also googled the lyrics but that did not leave him any the wiser. Doctor Raynor would probably tell him to use his goddamn mouth and just ask someone, for heaven’s sake. He would rather get frozen again than ask Zemo. But it also felt extremely wrong that Zemo, who was supposed to be one of the bad guys, seemed to know and understand Sam better than Bucky, who was supposed to be Sam’s…whatever. Were they friends? Bucky certainly considered Sam a friend (although he never would say it out oud), probably the only friend he had left. Someone who texted you and asked you how you were and invited you to lunch was a friend, right? Someone who even saved your ass and (repeatedly) broke the law for you was a very good friend. But did Sam consider someone his friend who did not text back, who repeatedly got him into trouble, kept things from him and had even tried to kill him? Bucky stared at the screen. It was a miracle Sam had not tried to kill him yet. It was even more of a miracle that he was still being nice (sometimes). He googled “Trouble Man” and “African-American experience”. To his disappointment, it was not a quote from a Wikipedia article. So Zemo knew what was going on and Bucky did not. He turned up the volume and tried to make sense of the lyrics (“Got me singin' – yeah, yeah – Hoo“).

“Finally doing some catching up on the good stuff?”

Bucky turned around so quickly that the earphones were ripped out of his ears. Sam had put up his hands in defence and was babbling something about attacking or not attacking or whatever.

“Jesus.” Bucky consciously unclenched his left fist. “Couldn’t you just knock?”

“I did. You didn’t answer.” Sam pointed at the screen where the Youtube video of Trouble Man was still running. “I knew it,” he said gleefully. “You have no idea who Marvin Gaye is.”

“I do!” Bucky protested but then trailed off because he may have heard some of Gaye’s songs but he still did not know who Marvin Gaye was.

“So.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you think? Honestly.”

Bucky looked from Sam to the screen to the dangling earphones. I like it was not an appropriate answer. Not an honest one. “I don’t get it,” he finally said.

“No appreciation for good music.” Sam sighed dramatically. “Hopeless. Stuck in the 40s forever.”

Bucky could have left it at that. They were on common ground again, bickering but not hurting each other, it felt familiar, safe. “No,” he said nevertheless. “I – how? How is this music – how does it…capture the African-American experience? Most of the songs don’t even have lyrics.”

“You don’t need lyrics for music to be meaningful.”

“How? Is it because people listen to it in certain situations or…?”

“Alright. Ready for a lesson on 20th century music? You better take notes.”

Bucky opened the notebook and took a pen. Then he noticed Sam’s grin. Right, he hadn’t meant it literally. But now Bucky had already opened the notebook and he was determined to go through with it. So he wrote down all the names Sam dropped, the musical genres and important songs. It was a lot and, as a lot of things, it confused Bucky but he just rolled with it. So some bands destroyed instruments on stage and certain music apparently had a soul? Great. Speaking of souls, this was probably the right time for some soul-gazing to show Sam that he was actively listening. (Doctor Raynor would be so proud of him.) Sam kept bringing up the soul thing several more times until finally Bucky could not keep quiet any longer.

“What’s with this soul music? Is it, like…music for funerals?”

Sam stared at him. Bucky stared back.

“Okay, scoot over.” Sam squeezed on the chair next to Bucky so Bucky almost fell over on the other side. Then he reached over Bucky to grab the mouse, opened another tab and chose a Youtube video for Bucky to listen to. “This is soul music.”

It was highly uncomfortable because the chair was not made for two people and they both weren’t exactly small but Bucky was resolved to stay on the chair, at least with one thigh. Sam chose video after video, pointed out characteristic musical features, quoted parts of the lyrics and talked about the history or the significance the songs. It was still a lot and Bucky still did not get everything but he dutifully took notes to look up some things in detail later. When he had filled the sixth page in his notebook, Sam stopped the music lesson.

“So, 40s music. Any recommendations?”

Bucky turned to face him. They were awfully close. Sam’s eyes were somehow very soft, there was the hint of a smile on his lips and he looked very huggable in that thin turtleneck – and he looked genuinely interested in Bucky’s answer. Bucky felt hot shame flooding him. Sam could be aggravating and an outright asshole but he was too kind for this world. Too kind to Bucky.

“Nah,” he mumbled. “Music in the 40s was just for dancing, for fun. Not…not important like your music.”

“Oh, you can dance just fine to my music,” Sam said in mock outrage. “Come on.” He elbowed Bucky out of the chair and chose another Youtube video, then stood up, too.

“Soul music?” Bucky guessed when the first chords of an electric guitar could be heard.

“Funk. Close enough.”

Sam started to move to the music. It should be ridiculous, the weird moves he was doing, because that certainly wasn’t proper dancing, not the dancing Bucky knew anyway – no rehearsed dancing steps, more like a spontaneous swaying to the music and some of the moves were definitely ridiculous but Sam made them look, well, smooth.

“See, that’s dance music, too,” Sam said and came to stand in front of Bucky.

Bucky had no idea why it was even called dancing but he wasn’t going to say that because he did not want to offend Sam again.

But of course Sam had to nag him. “Spit it out.”

“What?”

“I can see the cyborg gears turning. What’s wrong with dancing?”

“Nothing. Just not what I’m used to.”

“You can choose the next song. For now – get those hips moving.” He nudged Bucky, and how could Bucky say no? After Sam had spent all that time educating him and only mildly making fun of him for his ignorance, he owed it to him.

“This is ridiculous, I feel ridiculous,” Bucky complained when he tried to copy some of Sam’s moves.

“You’re doing great,” Sam said but he was grinning, clearly enjoying how Bucky was making a fool of himself. “Maybe tone down the staring a bit.”

Well, if it made Sam happy… Bucky decided to give it his all and moved wildly to the rhythm, not caring if it could be called “dancing” or not. Nonetheless, he was a little relieved when the song was over.

“Your turn.” Sam indicated the computer.

Bucky had no idea which song to pick. He tentatively typed “Billie Holiday” into the search bar.

“Seriously?” Sam came up behind him. “You know Billie Holiday and say you don’t understand how music can capture the African-American experience?”

It was like a punch in the face. A well-deserved punch probably. “I mostly saw her as the singer of love songs, for slow dancing,” he admitted. “Never really…thought much about it.”

“So what, you’re going to slow dance with me, Barnes?” It wasn’t the usual good-natured banter but sounded more like an accusation.

“Look, Sam, I…” Bucky rubbed his temples. “Let’s head downstairs to that party to…” hopefully not dance. Whatever. Get out of this situation where, he feared, he was breaking rule #2 again.

“No, let’s do this.” Sam clicked on the first link and a swing tune started to play, Me, Myself and I. “Let’s slow dance if that’s what you do.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

It was certainly the most aggressive ask for a dance he had ever received. And he had never been this stiff during a dance before. He used to be a good dancer back in the days but now he felt clumsy when he placed his hand on Sam’s back while trying to keep as much distance between them as possible.

They had not even made eight uncoordinated steps when Sam started to speak. “Would it hurt you to use that brain of yours once in a while? It’s supposed to be working properly again, isn’t it? That’s what I heard at least.”

Doctor Raynor’s words came back to him, that he was free. To do what? Certainly to do better than hurt the man who had always had his back without Bucky ever having done anything to deserve that kind of loyalty.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unconsciously tightening his grip on Sam’s back.

“What for?”

Everything. “For being…kind of… thoughtless, I guess.”

Being so close, he could actually feel Sam exhale. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

“For being a huge dick,” Bucky offered.

“Better,” Sam grumbled. “Now, was that so hard?”

Bucky took a step back to gauge Sam’s reaction. He was relieved to find no traces of hurt or betrayal in Sam’s eyes, just the usual exasperation he put on when looking at Bucky. “Yes. Physically painful,” he tentatively tested the water. It was like a dance, back and forth, seeing how far you could get.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I hate you. And please stop staring.”

Bucky shrugged and pulled Sam close again, in fact, so close that he did not have to look into Sam’s eyes anymore but was now staring at his left shoulder. Sam was visibly relaxing in Bucky’s arms and wasn’t that a miracle, that he was still in Bucky’s arms, still allowed Bucky to hold him?

“Thank you,” Bucky mumbled into Sam’s shoulder.

“What for?”

Everything. Bucky tightened his hold on Sam (and silently thanked the autoplay function that started the next song because he was in no way ready to let go of Sam yet). “I’m a mess and you don’t deserve all that shit I throw at you.”

“Mm. You’re welcome.” Sam squeezed his shoulder, like a reassurance that he would continue to put up with all of Bucky’s bullshit. Too damn kind for this world. Good thing he had Bucky on his side who was going to beat up everyone who so much as tried to exploit Sam’s kindness. (Yes, he knew he was being hypocritical and should technically start with beating up himself.)

“Sharon was wrong,” Bucky said. “I’m not obsessed with the whole stars and stripes stuff. I didn’t follow Steve because he had that shield. And I’m – well, you might’ve noticed I’m here and not following that – that asshole. Sam, I think you should take the shield but, with or without the shield, I’ll follow you. Just so you know.”

Sam was silent for quite some time, they were just swaying gently to the music, until Bucky heard close to his ear, “That a threat, Buck?” He could almost sense the smile against his cheek.

“Just a fact. And I hate you too, by the way.”

#non good omens #sambucky #my writing #fanfic

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devildogdemon · 3 years

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Why Episode 3:“The Revelation” is the Best Makorra Episode

“I personally loved Makorra, but I loved it for what it could have been, not what it wound up actually being in the show--but that’s because the love triangle was sloppy as hell and poorly handled, and it took the place of actual bonding for the krew and development of their individual friendships.”

This meta by the ever-so-cogent @firelxdykatara has resonated with me a lot ever since I read it. I don’t know how many Makorra stans feel the same way, but it seems like many of us also saw great potential in their prospective love story and how it could have greatly benefited both their characters. But no thanks to the dark abyss that is Bryke-written romance, that potential was tragically never recognized. Instead it was wasted for love-triangle drama that did not do any favors for Mako and Korra as individual characters, and greatly damaged both the foundation for Makorra and the Krew as a whole (heck, it even puts a chink in Korrasami for a lot of people).

So that begs the question, when and where did we see that untapped potential of Makorra? Obviously for everyone, it’s different. I mean, people were shipping Korra and Mako before the show even aired!

For me though, I say look no further than:

I remember quite well on my first viewing this is when I began to vociferously root for Mako and Korra to get together! While Episode 2 had me someone lukewarm on Makorra, Episode 3 got me on board gleefully and excited for more to come! 😭 And rewatching the series in 2020 hindsight (lol), I think it truly is the episode that could have been the cornerstone for Makorra to be a much stronger ship than it ended up being in canon. In my opinion, no episode highlights the wasted potential that Makorra had nearly as much as this one.

So without further adieu, here are my reasons why “The Revelation” is the best Makorra episode.

Time Devoted to Just Mako and Korra

It’s easy to say the reason why this episode is the best is because Asami, and in turn the love triangle/square, had yet to come barreling into the story on a moped.

And I do think that’s at least partially true. But only because Korra and Mako’s relationship dynamic in Episode 3 was already so compelling and well-done on its own merit. It showed that the love triangle really wasn’t needed at all, even if it had been written with any slightest bit of competence better. I’m not anti-Asami or even anti-Book 1 love triangle necessarily, but what transpired in that storyline fell quite short of the much more captivating romance arc we were promised in Episode 3.

Then there’s also the fact that Bolin is mostly out of the picture, allowing Mako and Korra to learn to connect with each other without a third wheel. I don’t think I’m alone in thinking Bolin’s crush on Korra should have been dropped after Episode 2. Mainly because it adds very little to the story/his character and only frames Mako and Korra, as well as their romance, in a pretty bad light later on. Conversely, Korra and Mako putting so much dedication into rescuing Bolin in this episode makes both of them come off much more likable and admirable.

So taking Asami and Bolin out of the picture, what is it about Korra and Mako’s relationship that works so well in this episode?

Perfect Application of the Battle Couple Trope

Mako and Korra’s relationship, in Book 1 at least, is very much jock/jock. For that reason, it makes perfect sense for their growing romance to follow the beats of the Battle Couple Trope:

This is the kind of couple where bullets figure prominently in the story of their romance. Where "war buddy" and "significant other" are synonyms. If you harm either one of them, the survivor will kill you as surely as the sun rises. Their mere presence increases the chance of a Back-to-Back Badasses scene to nearly 100%. They may also bicker or flirt in the middle of a fight, much to the confusion or consternation of their opponents.

And in “The Revelation,” that is pretty much what we get (on an abstract level at least). And the results work beautifully! Korra and Mako’s dynamic here is less that of the argumentative, drama-ridden, old married couple they would later devolve into, and more like a badass action duo with romantic hints sprinkled in here and there. Something you’d see in an action movie/mystery thriller: a romance developing organically between two people within a grander overarching plot of working together to discover a secret/rescue someone they care about. As well as learning more about each other and the world in the process.

Korra and Mako spend the episode working together as a pair of efficient, sagacious, mutually-dependent pair of sleuths. With Korra showing Mako just how competent and reliable she is, and Mako gradually getting closer to Korra and learning to stop pushing her away. All while chasing after an elusive mystery and putting the pieces of a bigger puzzle together, solidly establishing their chemistry.

They track down leads,

fight side-by-side,

solve puzzles,

and in doing so grow closer as the episode progresses.

Why I think this works so well is because Korra and Mako’s interactions here remind me a lot of some of my favorite pairings of this trope. Most notably:

Nate and Elena from Uncharted,

Steve and Natasha in Captain America: Winter Soldier,

(Yes, I know the Russo brothers said they never intended to set up a romance between Cap and Widow. But at the very least, they heavily teased it with no degree of subtlety).

And Ripley and Hicks from Aliens.

Some other examples include Diana/Steve Trevor from Wonder Woman, pretty much any Disney adventure couple, and Luke Cage/Jessica Jones in Season 1 of Jessica Jones.

Just like with all these great pairings, you get some great lighthearted banter:

Pet names:

Fortuitous sexual tension:

Using PDA as an excuse to get some of that hunk of man as a diversionary tactic:

Wishing each other well before splitting up:

And the girl saving the guy’s ass like a boss! 😎

Korra and Mako needed way more moments like this throughout their relationship and the show as a whole. Making them more of a Battle Couple rather than a teen love drama fits both their characters much better AND establishes chemistry and complementarity between them much more naturally.

Honestly, there’s times I wish with all my might the show just copied and pasted Nate and Elena’s relationship to Mako and Korra. Their romance was done so well, they even made it work throwing in a love triangle in Uncharted 2. Had the show gone that route and continued that dynamic, I’m confident Makorra would have been a fan-favorite pairing.

Korra’s Trademark Nicknames

As mentioned above, this is the episode where we get Korra’s pet names for Mako that have since become iconic among in the Makorra fandom!

I actually forgot that Korra sadly never calls Mako these terms of endearment again in the show. Despite that, there is a ton of Makorra fanmade content out there where she employs them regularly!

Clearly this episode deserves extra points for featuring such a momentous element of the Makorra fandom!

Emotional and Physical Closeness:

So we get plenty of the fun power couple dynamic, but there’s also time dedicated to having Korra and Mako connect on a deeper level. Spending more time with Mako allows Korra to dig beyond the coldhearted, distant loner façade he puts up. And spending more time with Korra allows Mako to see she is both strong and capable, but also very compassionate and understanding. This is done most effectively in the park scene, when Mako divulges to Korra his past with the Triple Threats. While Korra is initially hostile in response, she shows sympathy when she sees she has no right to judge his circumstances. Mako sees this, and not only does he eventually open up to her by telling her about his parents, but afterwards he stops directing undeserved animosity towards her.

This is how romance should be used ideally in a story: as a tool to further develop the characters and create an exclusive bond between them that only they can understand. That bond helps each to see the other as they truly are and be a better version of themselves.

This growing emotional bond is symbolized with Mako gradually getting closer to Korra as the episode progresses. And even more so later when Mako lends Korra his scarf, as @kirbyspits perceptively noted here.

Canon Zutara

Disclaimer: I apologize, non-Zutara shipping Makorra stans. I try not to compare Makorra to Zutara too much. But it’s almost impossible not to do at some point! The popular fandom theory behind Makorra has always been that it was intended to be a canon, romantic recreation of Zutara, endgame or otherwise. To my knowledge, this has never been confirmed nor denied by the creators, so its anyone‘s guess really. (I’ll do my best to keep this impartial, but if you absolutely can’t stand Zutara, feel free to skip this section.)

But let’s say just for now that yes, this was in fact Bryke’s intent while setting up Makorra in Book 1. The Makorra park scene in “The Revelation” would have to be their equivalent of the Holy Grail for Zutara shippers: Zuko and Katara’s Crystal Catacombs moments in Book 2, Episode 20: “The Crossroads of Destiny.” The scene that launched 1000 Zutara ships.

The parallels are certainly there:

Girl makes an angry (but not totally unjustified) presumption about the boy she’s stuck with,

Each boy lashes back using the exact same line of defense,

Shortly followed by the boy revealing the loss of his parent(s):

(😂 I’m so sorry! I’m going to hell. I just can never reference that line without thinking this.)

There really should have been more scenes like this between Korra and Mako. This gradual bonding and heartfelt discussions between two people who otherwise couldn’t stand each other was and still is one of the biggest appeals of the Zutara ship. It’s what Zutarians saw developed further in following episodes like “The Southern Raiders” and the series finale.

What Makorra Could Have Been

A common argument Zutara shippers make in the shipping war is that Zuko is more on Katara’s level of overall maturity than Aang. Whether or not you agree with that, a more mature take on romance would have been a strong foundation for Korra and Mako’s relationship, and also helped to differentiate it more from Kataang. Especially for a show that was trying to be ‘darker and more mature’ compared to its predecessor. Book 1 could have spent more time tapping into Mako’s trauma and checkered past, and Korra finding her place in Republic City both as the Avatar and among her circle of friends.

To steal from the excellent @magiesheartlove‘s Deviantart page

Maybe Makorra would have worked better as a slow burn instead, with more time devoted to Korra's character arc during the Equalist thing, and learning humility with Mako being the one to show her just how bad the city is from an insider's perspective. Mako's more cynical side could have been what helps Korra truly understand the real world, and her more free-spirited and outgoing ways could be what helps bring Mako out of his shell and have some fun.

A dynamic similar to Rapunzel and Flynn in a way, while at the same time understanding how it feels to have such a responsibility (being the Avatar and being the only family for a younger brother and growing up without that many friends in an environment in which things sometimes felt limited) would have brought them closer as well.

I’m always on the hunt for Makorra fanfiction where Korra and Mako have a relationship that functions more like it did in “The Revelation.” Stories like that do a way better job fleshing out Korra and Mako’s characters and building upon their romance than what we got in canon.

“The Revelation” is the best episode because it laid the groundwork for Makorra to be an entertaining, supportive, naturally-bonding, character-growing romance. It showed Korra and Mako being capable of both lighthearted small talk and deep, complex issues with each other. The following episodes should have featured more quippy banter, more use of Korra’s trademark nicknames, and most importantly, more mutual vulnerability and support exclusively between Korra and Mako.

Those are my thoughts. If you agree/disagree/have any more thoughts to add, go for it!

Thank you very much and Happy New Year, fellow Stans!

#makorra #makorra 2.0 #can't hop off this ship #lok book 1 #makorra stan

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firelxdykatara · 3 years

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i was rewatching a few parts of 7x12 to remind myself exactly how that absolutely stupid clusterfuck of a fight went, and... man it was even more ridiculous than i remember.

first of all, they were on a goddamn airship. tight quarters do not mix well with huge and/or ranged weapons if three grown ass adults decide to start fighting like fucking toddlers who never learned impulse control. especially since it either wasn’t a ship intended as a prisoner transport, or it was the stupidest prisoner transport known to man, since there was nothing separating the area apparently meant to contain the literal actual serial killer from the pilot’s seat. but that’s honestly small potatoes compared to the massive Idiot Balls everyone else on that ship was carrying.

the only one with a functioning braincell was tyrian goddamn callows. jfc

(rant below. this fight pisses me off so so so much. it is absolutely terrible writing. if you have to turn three otherwise competent and intelligent and mature adults into ABSOLUTE BUFFOONS just to make a fight happen so that you can kill one of them, learn how to write better for the love of god)

tyrian callows, known serial killer, sitting there and clearly gleefully spoiling for a fight: it’s taking too long for this show to get to the good part!

robyn hill, an allegedly intelligent woman, who already has her weapon out for some fucking reason (even though she wasn’t even on that arrest warrant and there wouldn’t have been anything stopping her from leaving as soon as the ship landed): ah, yes, this serial killer who is working for someone even worse is a voice of reason i should listen to! i’m going to fire an arrow from inside a pressurized flying metal container that is not meant to have holes punched in it, at a man who isn’t even trying to detain me much less threaten me, because this serial killer thinks it’s a good idea for a fight to start!

qrow branwen, an allegedly intelligent man, who had, up until that point, been urging robyn (who already had her weapon out for some fucking reason) to calm down, and suggesting they just go fucking talk to ironwood to figure out what the hell was going on since they had absolutely no context for anything and qrow himself certainly hadn’t done anything worthy of a warrant being issued for his arrest, so going quietly with clover would have been the intelligent move as that would allow him to talk to ironwood which was what he was asking for in the first place: well, this allegedly intelligent woman just shot at clover, who pulled out his weapon to defend himself, and since i was literally two seconds ago telling her to calm down so that we could make it back to james and i can figure out what the fuck is going on......i’m gonna jump in and attack clover, forcing him to fight to defend himself on two fronts in these very small quarters! i am then going to act surprised when the serial killer, who was sitting there the entire time and who literally egged the fight on because it was what he wanted to happen, gets free and, because he’s clinically insane and also working for salem, something i knew from the start, stings the pilot and intentionally crashes the ship. golly gee, i wish someone could possibly have foreseen this outcome other than the insane murderer i just helped set free!

now, to clover’s credit, he didn’t actually do anything wrong or idiotic on the plane. robyn shot him, and he deflected the shot because he was defending himself. then qrow jumped in, despite trying to calm her down literally three seconds earlier, and clover had to defend himself on two fronts. he had no way of stopping tyrian from getting free because the two idiots who let it happen were attacking him relentlessly, and when the serial killer sent the plane into a dive, he got the hell out of dodge. very reasonable, and even reasonably intelligent.

he tried to bring qrow in quietly, after the crash. but when qrow made it clear he was going to fight, clover obliged--and this was fair too, because he had absolutely no context as to why qrow was on that warrant, and no reason to question it. and since even after clover saying ‘i’m gonna have to take you in’ qrow was saying ‘let’s just go back to atlas so i can talk to james’, it was more than fair of him to try one more time to just end things without a fight.

(i will say, though, that their conversation makes absolutely no sense. clover trying to follow orders because he has no reason to question them, and qrow wanted to talk to ironwood anyway so that would be the easiest way to accomplish it, suddenly means that he and qrow weren’t friends? what??? and then there’s the fact that qrow could easily have shifted into a bird and flown the fuck away to figure out what the hell had gone wrong. i doubt he thought clover would leave robyn to freeze to death [not that she would have anyway, since the show completely forgot the cold was actually supposed to be a severe threat], since by that point he had a reason to arrest her too, and at least in a jail cell she’d have reasonable medical care or at least have time for her aura to recharge.)

but then tyrian joined the fray.

and all of clover’s braincells promptly keeled over and died.

because qrow, seeming to grow back at least one braincell, looked at this serial killing Salem minion and thought ‘ok, he is the greater threat’--qrow wasn’t trying to kill clover, but he knew tyrian wouldn’t hesitate to kill either of them, and if he had even an ounce of intelligence he probably figured out that this was tyrian’s plan the whole time--and switched targets, attacking the serial killer instead.

clover ‘i lost all of my braincells in the last five seconds’ ebi, rather than attacking the known serial killer who was definitely a lethal threat (whereas qrow was not likely to have murderous intent even if he planned to try knocking him out so he could get away), chose to attack qrow again instead. this left qrow initially fighting on two fronts, and incredibly vulnerable as a result.

and here’s where we get the absolute worst decision in the history of mankind.

“you and i have unfinished business.” “i agree. so what say we put the kid to bed and then finish it?”

qrow. that is a serial killer you are talking to. you fucking know that he absolutely means to kill clover, because you are not a fucking idiot. (well, ok, you are, because all your braincells fell out on that plane, but that’s beside the point.) and you’re going to willingly team up with him, signalling to clover that you do have murderous intent, and then you’re going to be surprised when clover winds up dead, to the point of blaming a man who wasn’t even there?!?!?!?!

i’m beginning to think that qrow branwen was snatched away at the beginning of the plane fight and replaced with an idiotic clone, because his writing has not improved since v8 began. but this fight is absolutely the epitome of how not to write a fight scene leading to a significant death oh my god. it’s like a masterclass in mistakes you shouldn’t make, because if you do you will make your allegedly competent, intelligent, and mature adult characters seem like violent toddlers who completely lack impulse control, and that image is going to stay with the audience when one of them continues to do things like blame a man who wasn’t even present at the fight for clover’s death. and the other one mocks the dead man as if she wasn’t the idiot who started the fight that got him killed in the first place (by letting tyrian get free so the rest of it could happen).

#rwby #rwby v7 #rwby v8 #rwby spoilers #(towards the end of the last paragraph)#qrow branwen #clover ebi #robyn hill #or as i like to call them The Three Idiot Stooges #tyrian stole all their braincells #it's tragic really #rwby critical #i hate that fight so much

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imagine-that · 4 years

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Surprise!

Words: 1,768 words

Warnings: mild swearing, fluffy I guess?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

An: I don’t usually do titles but I’m trying out new stuff on here lol. I can’t tell if this is good or if it’s word vomit so I’ll let y’all decide ��. This is for @t-holland2080 ‘s summer writing challenge, I used prompt number 24 “quit arguing and let me kiss you.”

Just as you shut your locker door at the end of the school day, your boyfriend Peter latches onto your shoulders, gently enough that it didn’t do anything to harm you but still scared you.

You let out a yelp in surprise and the surrounding student body turned to look at the two of you, only somewhat confused until they realized it was the two of you.

By then, everyone had grown used to Peters tendencies to jump behind you or sneak up on you anywhere you were. Of course, no one knew that he had his Spider-Man powers to help him with that but they were still used to it nonetheless. Everyone was. Other than you.

“Surprise?” He says into your ear, making you groan a little.

“Jesus Peter you have to stop doing that!” You groaned, making him chuckle slightly.

“Sorry.” He mutters sheepishly, pecking you on the cheek as an apology as you begin to make you way out of the building at a steady pace.

“I’m sure you are.” You say sarcastically, giggling a bit as he holds his hands up to say he’s innocent.

The two of you walk to the bus stop where Peter usually leaves you to get home and on your separate ways but this time as you go to get on with the line of others leaving, his hand gently clasps your wrist to stop you.

“Happy is picking me up today so why don’t you come along? Happy loves us it’ll be fun!” He says enthusiastically.

“Peter, I’m pretty sure Happy is actually more annoyed by us than anything.” You argue with a laugh.

“Ok but he does love you so let’s uh... let’s go!” He says with a very nervous looking grin.

He begins to charge through the crowd with your hand in his own, shocking you as you bump shoulders with several strangers and hear the grunts of irritation from your fellow classmates.

“Peter slow the hell down!” You cry, tugging on his arm to bring him to a halt.

“I would but um... Happy’s uh... waiting so we gotta go!” He rambles, starting to move again.

You cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him as he finally stops and refuses to meet your eye.

“Are you... are you coming?” He stammers, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

You eye him suspiciously, questioning in your mind for the hundredth time how he was ever able to keep the Spider-Man secret from anyone or even just sneak up on you the way he usually did when he could hardly hide whatever the hell he had planned for the two of you.

“I’ll come.” You say, arms still crossed. His face lights up like a Christmas tree when you say so. “If you tell me what’s going on.” You add, letting your arms drop back to your sides.

His face falls into a childish, puppy dog faced frown. “But y/n! It’ll ruin the surprise!” He whines.

Your y/e/c eyes become saucers as he goes silent and groans, clearly upset with himself for spoiling it.

“Peter!” You sigh, leaning on him as you walk to the car parked by the curb. “You know I hate surprises. It usually means you jumping out at me and terrifying me.” You lecture, entertwining your hands as you walk, swinging them back and forth to distract yourself.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He says with another sheepish grin. “I just like making you happy.” He adds with a smile.

“You can do that without scaring the bajeezus out of me!” You counter with a giggle as you snuggles yourself into his side for a second, letting go only to get into the car.

“Hi Happy!” Peter says, trying to get himself out of the situation. Happy grunts in acknowledgement, glancing back in the rear view mirror as he starts to drive.

“Oh hi y/n!” He says somewhat happily when he finally notices you nuzzling up to Peter,already knowing how much it would bug the boy beside you. Peters mouth drops open, looking between the two of you in shock.

“I- that hurts Happy, I thought you were in charge of me!” He cries.

“I am. But I actually like your girlfriend/boyfriend/significant other.” He responds with a shrug, smiling a bit at you while you giggle and Peter sulks.

“Don’t touch that! Or that!” Happy starts ordering about fifteen minutes later as the car pulls into the long driveway of the avengers compound and Peter reaches around like a child to press the buttons in front of him.

You palm a snicker as Peter once again pouts like a kid.

“And you wonder why he pretends not to like you.” You murmur jokingly into Peters ear, giggling even more as he scoffs in protest.

“Thanks for the ride Happy.” You say gleefully, stepping out of the back and pulling your school bag over your shoulder.

“Yep thanks.” Peter says, pretending to be bitter.

Happy rolls his eyes and drives off to go park the car, leaving you with Peter who once again grabs your hand and yanks you up the steps and into the compound.

“Where are we going?” You shout as the two of you run through the halls.

“A secret.” He says and you sigh again.

“Peter-“ you start but you’re quick to stop when you step through the doors into the lab where Tony Stark himself stands, working on one of his famous suits.

“Holy shit.” You breath, staring at him nervously.

“Uh.... Mr Stark, this is y/n my uh... my girlfriend/boyfriend/significant other. Y/n, this is Mr Stark.” Peter says nervously, waving stiffly at the man.

“Hello there y/n. Only Peter really calls me Mr Stark, call me Tony if you want.” He offers and you blink at him, not sure how to react.

“H-hi Tony.” You muster with a wave of your own, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

“I felt the same way the first time I met him. Also, surprise!” Peter whispers from behind you, causing you to jump around and realize how close he was.

“Jesus!” You mutter, a hand over your heart.

“A little jumpy?” Tony asks, lowering his sunglasses to look at Peter.

“A little would be kind of a um... an understatement mr Stark.” He responds, laughing as you turn to glare at him playfully.

“Well... what was it? Y/n, right?” Tony asks, turning to you. You nod your head rapidly, too awestruck to speak.

“You can feel free to watch me work while Underoos does whatever it is he’s planning to do for you two if you want.” He informs you, turning back to his work desk.

You snicker again at the nickname and Peters face falls in shock, blushing profusely, the tips of his ears burning a furiously bright red. He pushes you over to the desk, knowing you need a push to get up the courage.

You cautiously watch over Tony’s shoulder as he tinkers with the build of the suit, explaining a little what he’s doing as he goes.

A minute later, you find yourself suddenly swinging through the air in someone’s arms.

You scream, caught fully by surprise. “Peter!” You shriek, scared out of your mind as you quickly grab hold of him until your knuckles almost white.

“Hi.” He murmurs through his mask, clearly scared by your scream. On the ground, Tony winces at the high pitched noise.

“You know that would terrify me! You knew- oh my god we’re basically flying. Holy shit!” You cry, laughing a little to yourself.

“Yep. Pretty cool isn’t it?” Peter says, moving his mask slightly so you can see his regular toothy smile.

You giggle a little, stopping abruptly. “No! You could’ve killed me- jeeze you... you could’ve given me a heart attack!” You wail, looking at him with wide eyes.

He tries and fails not to chuckle at your dramatics, swinging himself low enough to put you safely on solid ground. He flips himself upside down, clearly showing off for you as much as he can without looking awkward.

“Just quit arguing and let me kiss you.” He says, moving his mask again so you can clearly see his deep brown eyes and his goofy grinning face. When he sees the the quirked up eyebrow on your seemingly unimpressed face, he blushes a little, his ears going red. “Please?” He adds, smiling as adorably as he can muster.

You bite your tongue, trying to hide the giggle tickling your throat but quickly burst out into a laugh, grabbing his head with a shake of your own. “You’re lucky I love you, you dork.” You say with a smile, moving forward and kissing him smack dab on the lips.

His grin widens from ear to ear. That’s when you finally fully notice his suit, a grin spreading across your own lips at the sight.

“I’m actually dating Spider-Man.” You state, looking at him with a disbelieving laugh.

“Haha... yep!” He exclaims as he uses a web to swing around you in a circle, making you squeal as he lands quietly behind you. Your eyebrows furrow as you look around for him, not sure where he could be.

“Surprise!” He shouts in your ear, making you scream again. Tony is quick to cover his ears this time, still wincing.

“You look good in that suit.” You inform him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and smiling up at him.

He blushes again, smiling awkwardly. “Thanks babe...” he stammers, avoiding eye contact. “Now come over here cause I believe I said to let ME kiss YOU.” He reminds you, and you roll your eyes, letting him bend down and place his lips on yours.

Tony groans, clearly pretending to be grossed out.

“Ok, teenage love birds. Take it out of the lab!” He orders, pointing at the door. You blush, staring at him in shock again but Peter is quick to scoop you up in his arms, swinging the both of you out the doorway and through the compound with your arms tightly around him.

Your afternoon is spent staring at the other Avengers in shock, chatting with a few of them and swinging through the air on Peters webs.

“So... good surprise?” Peter asks sheepishly when you’re finished, grinning excitedly as you laugh for the millionth time that day.

“Yes Peter, for once it was good.” You admit with a smile of your own.

Peter dances around the hallways of the compound goofily, making you fall into a fit of giggles.

You shake your head as he swings around in celebration, knowing full well how much of a handful he is and knowing it would always be worth it for him.

#imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel imagines #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagine #marvel #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #peter parker fluff #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #sammy’s summer writing challenge

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“…Bertran is explicit – nothing in his view is of more value for a man (because, of course, this is all very gender-specific) than personal, direct martial valor. “No man is worth a thing / till he has given and gotten blow on blow” is a pretty direct statement (note that it is fairly clear from the rest of Bertran’s oeuvre that this extends to a snobby disdain for peasants and non-nobles whose occupation is not fighting). Elsewhere in his songs, Bertran declares “A young man who doesn’t feed on war soon becomes fat and rotten.” This is, of course, a striking view because of how different it is from our own – we generally expect the experience of combat to harm a person, whereas Bertran sees it as wholesome; stick a pin in that for now, we’ll come back to it in a moment.

The sort of martial valor that Bertran is interested in is also fundamentally personal valor. The laying of plans, creation of stratagems, the ordering of men, the motivation of the common soldiers – exactly the sort of tasks that occupy most ancient military manuals (including not just the Mediterranean tradition, but also the Chinese one) – don’t figure in at all. Of course those sorts of concerns were part of the training and culture of the aristocracy of the period (and other period sources bring them out better, though surely not to the degree as classical literature – there is a great deal of difference in the sorts of leadership different societies expect), but they are decidedly secondary. The only leadership Bertran’s ideal lord does is to lead other aristocrats by example in being the first to charge and attacking with reckless aggression.

It is also very much a specific form of valor: that of the armored, mounted aristocratic warrior. The common soldiery – the infantry – exist in Bertran only as targets and victims, and even then not very often! This is a deceptive pattern in medieval European literature: despite the continued presence (and indeed, often importance) of common infantry, the aristocrats who write to us tend to focus on the valor of the cavalrymen (which is to say, the valor of themselves) to the exclusion of the foot soldiers (a pattern which tend leads to atrophy in the infantry arm in many cases, for an overview see Lee, Waging War, ch. 5). For a sense of exactly what that battle experience might be like, I think Hergrim’s battle vignette on Reddit is quite good.

But inside of that specific framework, Bertran is quite clear: he thinks war is good, both that it improves a man, but also that it is simply a positive experience. How much of this is bravado? Some of it might be – it is politically and socially useful for Bertran to advertise his own attachment to war. Both because this is a way for him to drive a strong case in rallying his fellow aristocrats to go to war, but also because he lives in a society where martial valor is a source of uncomplicated positive social value. By advertising his devotion to war, Bertran is also essentially saying ‘I am unafraid, the meanest fellow in the room’ in company that very much values strength and fearlessness. But that stance only works if Bertran’s audience agrees on the first principle that the experience of war improves a person.

Now, you might be asking ‘how can Bertran think that?’ And, given that battle is supposed to be the formative experience for all of these aristocratic young men, how are there any left? Bertran cannot be in ignorance, after all, and we’ve already discussed why it is unlikely that he is simply painting a false portrait of a reality both he and his audience know far better than we do. And therein lies a number of our answers.

Let’s start with the second question – how are there any aristocrats left? By the 12th century, it isn’t because of massive promotion from outside; the ranks of the aristocracy are in the process of ossifying, with new entrants becoming rarer and rarer in much of Europe. Rather, what seems to be the case is that, for people like Bertran, the chance of dying in all of that war remained relatively low. In the first case, the style of warfare of the 12th century, oriented around raids and sieges, with relatively few large set-battles and relatively smaller armies – tended towards lower casualties in comparison to the warfare of other eras. See

...At the same time, it seems fairly clear that most of the dying that was happening wasn’t generally being done by the mounted aristocracy. It is easy to miss because the big exceptions like Courtrai (1302), Crecy (1346) or Agincourt (1415) stick so firmly in the mind, but these are both later than Bertran (during a period of significant military change that made such upsets more likely) but also notably by their exceptional nature. Looking at the lives of medieval aristocrats, it is hard not to notice that – compared to say, the Lost Generation – they tend to live a fairly long time despite their constant warfare.

Bertran himself, despite fighting almost continuously throughout his adult life survived to retire to a monastery in 1196 (probably in his fifties, age-wise). Now, to a degree, this may well be survivors bias – the aristocratic young men who weren’t very good at it and thus died in early adulthood do not cut memorable figures in our history. But the 12th century Occitan aristocracy was not limitless in size – this was a period where the European military aristocracies were increasingly closed to new entrants (and that aristocracy was never very large in absolute terms). And the degree to which high casualty events among the aristocracy remained shocking aberrations (events on a scale that would have been normal and unremarkable for antiquity or the early modern period) suggest that casualty rates among the mounted aristocrats probably did remain relatively low.

And it’s not hard to imagine why: these men were the best trained fellows on the battlefield, but more to the point, they were the best armored and also the most able to retreat if the battle went badly. Not only because they were on horses (but also because of that), but also because, for the men in the upper aristocracy, they had retinues of their own (less noble) fighting men arrayed around them. If the battle went badly, chances are the fellows being butchered in the retreat are the ones on foot. While infantry was written out from not only Bertran’s poems, but much of the literature of his day, it was still the infantry that did most of the dying in war.

Consequently, the idea that ‘war builds character’ is a lot easier to sustain if the sort of warfare a society (or in this case, a class within a society) engages in produces relatively low casualty rates over time. Now, I want to be clear that the word ‘relatively’ is carrying a lot of water in that sentence: these wars, while relatively lower casualty affairs are by no means bloodless, even for the aristocrats, armored on their equine-escape-pods. But the experience is radically different from WWI – which I keep returning to because it shapes our current discourse on the effects of war so strongly – where France saw 16% of its total deployed manpower killed (and another c. 50% wounded) in a four year period.

So while Bertran’s song is an expression of the values of his class, those values are in turn shaped by what the experience of war was like for that class. One imagines the commoners whose villages and towns were about to be plundered had different songs; agricultural raiding and devastation was a key part of the sort of warfare Bertran participated in (it shows up at points in his songs – in Miez sirventes vueilh far dels reis amdos he sings gleefully that once war begins, “never a mule-driver will travel the roads in safety, nor a burgher without fear, nor a merchant coming from France”).”

- Bret Devereaux, “A Trip Through Bertran de Born (Martial Values in the 12th Century Occitan Nobility).”

#bret devereaux #writing #history #medieval #high middle ages #warfare #medieval literature

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suf-lives-rent-free · 3 years

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Fragments

Everything below is just my opinion; I am in no way trying to say that how I feel about this is the one correct take or whatever.

I know a lot of people like this episode and what happens in it, but I don’t. I totally understand that some people just don’t want to see any negativity, period, but negativity is not inherently bad or wrong.

Negative opinions, even about something you enjoy, can be valid too - regardless of whether you happen to agree with them or not.

Also I get very salty near the end of this, and that might be entertaining to people who stan this episode?

I am aware that a lot of people – the majority, I’m pretty sure – think that the episode is a masterpiece. And on some level, I see where they’re coming from with that assessment.

The episode is boarded beautifully, the backgrounds – especially during the training montage – are stunning as always. The music is fantastic, and the performances are great too. In these respects, Fragments is a stand-out episode; I agree.

(Like look at this. Gorgeous.)

However, something that’s bothered me since I saw the episode is the writers’ decision to write it into the story that Steven shatters Jasper.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: I just don’t get it. I’m purposefully misinterpreting the story to say it’s bad. Steven brings her back to life; and it’s not like he meant to do it in the first place. I just don’t have the capacity to understand the sublime nature of the show’s storytelling. I’m an SU crit and all I want to do is make the real fans feel about themselves for liking it.

Uhhhh... no. Nah. That ain’t it chief.

It’s true; I am not a writer. I’m just a passive consumer of media. However, I do not agree with the viewpoint that in order to properly understand or critique a thing you need to have the expertise and/or experience in order to make something similar.

For example, if I were to put something I drew when I was 10 years old next to something I drew yesterday, it shouldn’t take a person who has had an education in fine art to tell you that the latter drawing is better-looking than the former.

That’s how I approach media consumption and criticism; when I criticise a writing decision, I am doing so as a consumer. I’m not saying I could write it better, or even that my opinion is objectively correct and the writer is wrong or bad. I’m just saying that I didn’t like a thing. Which, I would hope, is allowed?

Okay, defensive hedging over, back to the point; I don’t like that they had Steven shatter Jasper.

[I get markedly saltier from this point on, fyi]

Full admission of bias here: one of the things I really cherish about the original show is how they wrote Steven’s character; he’s a boy with interests that don’t rigidly conform to gender stereotypes. He likes ‘boyish’ things and ‘girly’ things, and that’s okay; thats just him. In cartoons when I was growing up, characters like Steven would be the butt of jokes about being ‘girly’ or thinly-veiled homophobia. I find him very relatable, and I want to acknowledge that yes, that is probably a significant part of why I have such an issue with this episode’s twist.

I am not trying to say that he’s a perfect baby angel or whatever; Steven regularly gets frustrated and angry. He does some pretty manipulative and dickish things to people around him (stop trying to make Larsadie happen, Steven. It’s not going to happen). He is a flawed character who fucks up sometimes. And he’s not 100% peaceful either; he acts violently when he defends himself against corrupted Gems and Homeworld Gems (and Crystal Gems on occasion *cough*Bismuth*cough*).

However, he has a pacifistic temperament; whenever it’s possible, he prefers that problems be solved without needless violence or hurt. And I like that; in most media, it’s rare to have a male protagonist who wants to solve their problems without jumping straight to punching things.

When he accidentally frees Centipeedle, he convinces the Gems to step off and allow him to try and rehabilitate her peacefully; he even notices that the Gems’ weapons are a trigger for her, and make them put them away. He frees Lapis against the Gems’ wishes because he recognizes that keeping her prisoner is wrong, and when she steals the ocean, he talks it out and heals her so she can leave Earth peacefully.

He tries to aid Jasper when she starts corrupting, fixes Eyeball’s gemstone when she’s cracked and tries talking Bismuth down when she attacks him with the breaking point. In all of these situations, his words and help are ignored or rejected; he’s forced to resort to violence. And it traumatises him.

We get an entire episode dedicated to the fact that he’s been struggling with processing these awful things that happened.

Even in Future, Steven shows hesitation about engaging in unncecessary violence; he gives into Jasper’s goading for a fight after what’s implied to be dozens of failed tries at making her come to Little Homeschool, and he spends an entire episode trying to keep Lapis from squashing the two rogue Lapis Lazulis.

The only time he hops into a fight willingly is after Eyeball and Aquamarine hold Greg hostage, and even then they pose a clear threat to his and Greg’s safety and have made it clear that they want to hurt him emotionally and physically. Even at that, he stops and switches tactics to talking them down as soon as they lose their focus and start bickering with each other.

(I mean, he fails. But it’s the thought that counts.)

I personally find it really jarring that the writers found it appropriate to write it into the series that this same character – over the course of three (3) days – goes from disliking mindless violence for mindless violence’s sake to happily engaging in the destruction of plants and animals* and has done a total 180 on his willingness to spar with Jasper, to the point that he instigates their rematch.

*(You best believe plenty of small mammals and birds – y’know, like the nest Steven saved in the first episode – died as he and Jasper felled tree after tree, not to mention all of those displaced by the destruction of their habitats, and the potential loss of food sources from some of those trees.)

You’re telling me that it’s a reasonable character beat for this boy to gleefully laugh like an anime supervillain at his sudden new-found joy in fighting, then pin Jasper in place, taunt her for helping him get so strong, and hit her so hard that she breaks into pieces and dies?

You’re telling me that that’s an in-character thing for Steven Quartz Diamond Cutie-Pie DeMayo Universe do to another character?

(And yes I am purposefully dancing around talking about the mental health stuff because if I did that I’d have to go on a whole other tangent about Growing Pains and fuck I just don’t feel like it right now lmao)

Going back to Mindful Education, another big thing we see Steven struggle with is the idea that his mother shattered Pink Diamond. This knowledge sits heavily with him; it makes him sympathetic to the Diamonds, even under the circumstances in which he sees them (escaping from the Human Zoo, and being on trial for said murder).

He sees their grief, and he feels awful. He questions who Rose Quartz even was. He knows, based on what Garnet said, that Rose had to do it; there was no other way to free Earth. But he still feels awful seeing the pain that Pink’s loss has caused Blue and Yellow Diamond.

In Steven Universe, shattering is clearly equated with execution/death multiple times. When Pearl and Garnet fret over the crack in Amethyst’s gemstone worsening. When Blue Diamond threatens to break Ruby. When Bismuth introduces the breaking point, and Steven recoils at the sight of what it does. If you want to take the fact that Gem shards are sentient and desperate to become whole again into account, you could even argue that it’s a fate worse than death. This particular act of violence is treated very, very seriously.

When we find out that Rose shattered Pink Diamond, there is a season and a half long arc unpacking the implications and consequences of this one action, and how this knowledge forever alters Steven’s mental image of his mother. And she didn’t even kill anyone. It was a lie!

In Steven Universe Future, Steven shatters Jasper 4 episodes before the end of the series. And it’s only brought up twice; once for a big *gasp* moment during his breakdown in Everything’s Fine, and in I Am My Monster by Pearl, when she has to fill-in Bismuth, Lapis and Peridot. Notably, it is never discussed around or by Jasper. Y’know. The person who actually died.

No indication of how (or even if) what Steven did is affecting his own self-image after his initial breakdown, how Jasper feels about what she went through beyond falling back into the Era 1 and 2 mindset. No inkling of how the knowledge that Steven killed somebody has affected how anyone in his life thinks or feels about him; when Pearl brings it up in I Am My Monster, she seems to not even really believe it’s true.

If there are any consequences or talks about this incident, they’re skipped over between I Am My Monster and The Future, and we’re expected to assume that Steven and his therapist are dealing with it, I guess?

And yes. It was an accident. He did bring her back to life. But it still happened. If you hit someone over the head and they stop breathing, just because the paramedics are able to resusitate and stabilize them afterwards doesn’t mean you never hit them.

But here, it’s shoved aside because dwelling on it would take far too much time, and risks framing Steven in an unsympathetic way when he’s meant to be on the cusp of a breakdown.

It just feels like careless writing to me. They really, really wanted their big action scene with Steven and Jasper, but didn’t think (or maybe weren’t interested in thinking) about the seriousness or consequences of what Steven shattering someone would entail.

In my opinion, Steven shattering Jasper is one of the cheapest, laziest things they could have ever done with his character (and hers, for that matter). To me, the entire thing feels entirely out of character. It’s pure shock value; nothing more.

So yeah. That particular writing decision just does not work for me. And if you disagree... well that’s fine? It’s fine. We can agree to disagree? I’ve read a lot of defense/praise for this episode, and honestly even after processing all of those opinions and all the time my thoughts about this plotline have been stewing in my brain, I still feel the same way.

#steven universe #steven universe future #negativity #cw death

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falleninlove-archive · 3 years

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(does a funky little dance) OFFICIAL! LEAN ON ME! TIMELINE! HERE WE GO

1986 - carly, the oldest of the ruro siblings is born and months later adopted by grace (a former broadway actress and manager of a small local cafe) and arthur ruro (a former guitarist who now owns a local music shop), a couple living in the tiny town of misky, arizona who can’t have bio kids but want a large family regardless

1987 - cameron, the second oldest of the ruro siblings, is born and months later adopted into the family

1989 - kayleigh and mary, fraternal twins, are born and adopted at two days old

general childhood information, spanning about 1990 thru 2000 - all of the girls receive musical education and are pretty much constantly surrounded by music, whether it be around the house thru their parents always having some kind of vinyl record on or helping out at their dad’s music shop

all the girls love it but kayleigh takes to it like a fish to water and starts learning violin at just age 4, and her mother begins giving her vocal training soon after

the girls discover alternative music and subculture through the magic of the fledgling internet, and carly, kayleigh, and cameron pretty much all become baby punks at like, 10-15 years old

2001 - kayleigh is invited to a music competition for Prodigious Youth at 12 years old. she is paired with Blue Scott, a shy, lanky kid from chicago who is also a massive music nerd like her. they win the competition and over the course of the week that they are working, they become best friends

over the course of the following years, they are constant pen pals, and see each other 2-3 times a year in person

2002 - when carly and cameron are teenagers, they decide to start a punk band, except in order to use all of their parents music equipment their parents FORCE them to include their younger sisters (kayleigh and mary). there is much griping and groaning about this

2003 - hey wait, that band is actually pretty good despite kayleigh and mary being only 15. they play their first show that isn’t at their local community centre without the knowledge of their parents and officially christen the band poison pop

carly graduates much to the chagrin of her parents, she gleefully declares she is not going to college

2005 - cameron, against her own better judgement, takes a gap year because the band starts recording their first album at home with their own equipment, and also starts playing more and more shows. at this point their parents know but are trusting cameron and carly to keep 16 year old kayleigh and mary in line and safe

blue introduces the girls to his friend ryka, a teenager a year younger than kayleigh and mary, who is shockingly good at guitar. she takes up kayleigh’s guitarist spot and leaves her free to do vocals only

they get lucky and happen to play a show at a large alt rock festival in phoenix, catching the attention of rising chicago-based label dissociation records who immediately offer them a record deal. they take it on the spot and dissociation flies them out to chicago a month later to sign the paperwork

2006 - they drop their first professionally recorded single, poison killed the prom queen. it shoots to the top of the charts, making poison pop one of the biggest bands in the nation overnight

they release their album of the same name that year as well, and with their continued success with the other singles, they cement themselves as the first truly household name in emo

2007 - they tour with another emo band called watch the skies, who quickly rocket in popularity, and immediately begin work on their next album. meanwhile, the girls are dealing with their first tastes of fame and they’re not dealing with it well <3

kayleigh and blue start fake dating to get the press off kayleigh’s ass about her love life. this..................is going to go exactly how you think it’s going to go. they move to LA together <3

2008 - batwings and crowbeaks drops to another massive success, and they continue touring. dissociation records, by this time, have taken almost complete control of their image and discography, so despite the record itself being quite good, it is nothing like what poison pop originally tried to make, and they’re starting to get fed up with it

not to mention dissociation has them on a near-constant work schedule, and they can’t take any significant breaks, abandoning their family and friends and almost any social lives they mightve had outside the music world

the only good thing to happen this year is mary getting married to her highschool sweetheart, mark. it is a nice wedding and probably the last time the girls will be happy together for a long time.

2009 - kayleigh and blue “break up” and stop talking to eachother completely. six months later, as they’re working on their third announced studio album bruises, the band (except kayleigh) decides to break up. upon hearing about this decision, kayleigh has a minor mental breakdown and cuts off contact with the entire band

bruises is never released, and the band is officially broken up by the end of the year, breaking out of their contract with dissociation through a legal loophole

2010 - kayleigh begins to find a life outside the band, and starts doing songwriting work with what remains of her connections in the industry, which she’s really good at and she really enjoys.

she finally fucking gets mental health help. jesus christ my gal. im so glad u are finally getting better

2011 - kayleigh makes up with pretty much everybody, including blue, but it’s a slow process. they spend their first christmas together as a family in 2 years

kayleigh and ryka discuss the fact that they still yearn for the stage, and an idea begins to form

2012 - ryka forms sparrow records, her own record label, and its first signee becomes half-dead, a two piece band consisting of kayleigh and her.

ryka moves to LA with her boyfriend rowan, and invites kayleigh to room with her. kayleigh, who knows blue is looking to move to LA and properly start his music career, invites him to room with them.

this is an idea that absolutely won’t backfire or dredge up any old feelings i’m sure

(just kidding. they’re dating by christmas <3)

2013 - half-dead releases its first album, at which point i have to admit i do not know anything abt half-dead’s release schedule fJSDKFHSDF.

what i do know is that they tour that year with long shot for speedy as their opening act and they instantly become band moms to them despite literally only being five and six years older than them at most. they just have that energy having been in the music industry for much, much longer than they have

2014 - blue releases his first album, wallflower, to shocking success!

2016 - half-dead is relatively successful, but kayleigh and ryka are not going to make the same mistakes this time round and they take a break in 2016. ryka n rowan move back to chicago, and kayleigh and blue buy their first house together!

2017 - the girls all get together on new year’s day and talk about poison pop. this discussion leads them to decide to finally bring back the band.

2018 - jetlag life, poison pop’s first album in over a decade, drops that summer, and they begin touring immediately afterwards with watch the skies!

2019 - blue proposes to kayleigh after 18 years of knowing each other and 7 years of dating. <3

2020 - blue and kayleigh FINALLY get married and nothing bad happens because this is my timeline

also poison pop, around the end of year, start dropping hints at another album.... 👀

#dakota originals #lean on me #WHAM BAM THANK YOU MAAM #IT ONLY TOOK ME NEARLY AN HOUR #honestly that's a record for poison pop timeline infodumps #there's so much that happened that i didnt even mention #carly has a girlfriend #cameron gets married at some point #mary has a baby #there's so much #SO MUCH #but i focused on kayleigh and the bands for this one #this thing is 1.3k words #it's full fic length #i go so fucking feral when i infodump lean on me man

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warsofasoiaf · 4 years

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Have you been playing the Last Of Us II?

I have not, but I have been following the story. Given how recent the release of the game is, I’m throwing a cut here. There are spoilers for the game, as well as for the finale of Honest Hearts from Fallout: New Vegas, Red Dead Redemption 2, and Spec Ops: The Line.

The idea of the cycle of revenge is a good one, there’s a lot of dramatic heft and human experience to discover there. The idea that revenge hollows out a person, costs them much, particularly their humanity, is another good idea. My problem is, it’s not done well.

The struggle to let go of such a primal desire to focus upon building something worthwhile (in the game’s case, family and a worthwhile life as seen in the farm scenes with JJ). And in the end, we see it does cost Ellie a significant amount. She loses her family, and the last scene shows us that she can’t play Joel’s song on her guitar because she lost her fingers, literally losing a piece of Joel’s legacy. In the scenes beforehand, she says “I want to teach you how to play guitar,” so the guitar really sums up everything she’s lost: Dina, JJ, and the worthwhile life that they could have had together.

However, this game handled this core with incredibly clumsiness. Similar to what I discussed in the ending of the Honest Hearts DLC, the game has an unusual fixation where only the named characters have any sort of meaning to the plot. The other people who Ellie kills on her journey, who have their friends cry out their name, can still be a part of this cycle of violence. This was emphasized in Joel’s death scene. Abby is the daughter of one of the surgeons at the Firefly camp that you kill in the first game, you never see her but her presence shows that even nameless characters like this faceless surgeon have loved ones that feel true loss when you kill them, but this same care is not extended to the other human characters within the story. Abby matters because she has a name and a lost parent, but what about these others guys in the Washington Liberation Front? They’re still just mooks that you kill as part of the gameplay, their losses aren’t explored, the only relevance they have is through named character Abby. This cheapens and hollows out the theme because the entire plot hinges on the effects of your actions toward a nameless enemy in the first game.

The game also didn’t handle the idea that you playing the game is a bad thing; that your character is bad for doing the things in the game well. This is a modern thing that games have started to enjoy reflection on as they grow in maturity and processing power, but it has to be done right, and this game failed. The Last of Us Part 2 is a linear experience, you can’t put down the controller and end the cycle that way because the game simply doesn’t continue, the story beats remain unresolved and Ellie learns nothing until you reach the climatic scene where she does. Red Dead Redemption 2, by contrast, gave the player’s redemptive arc real meaning because you had such control over your character’s conduct. Arthur still died, that much was a given, but the depth of how you played the character gives his actions in Chapter Six weight. Getting the members of the gang to a safe landing with the imminent collapse is reason to keep going. John Marston, Abigail, Mary-Beth, the flamboyant Mr. Trelawney, the players has grown to love these characters the way Arthur does. You have to play through to help them out as you can, such as helping Sadie rescue Abigail, being happy that Tilly was able to take Jack to safety, the loss as Bill and Javier chooses Dutch over you. If Arthur finds redemption, he forsakes the stash box in order to help John Marston escape, if he doesn’t, Micah gleefully murders Arthur and says that you’re no better than he is. When Charles and John discuss Arthur, they say he had changed, and it’s significant because Arthur and the player were the ones who did it; it’s an acknowledgment of your action. We don’t see that here. If you say that Ellie shouldn’t lose her family, you cannot stay at the farmhouse and explore that, the game demands that you follow Abby and choose the cycle of revenge until Ellie doesn’t.

The trick of pulling off a player examination narrative is a delicate art. A developer must recognize that ultimately, the game is something that the buyer purchased to experience. The Last of Us is a story-focused title, the characters sold the world and the themes within it. It was not a third-person action/survival horror despite that being the core element of gameplay, but rather a character examination piece in a fictional post-apocalypse. You have to play the game to experience the character arc. The ultimate goal of Ellie ending the cycle of revenge is her growth as a character, so the game really can’t shame you for playing the game to reach that conclusion. If the game says “what you’re doing is wrong,” that falls flat because the entire point is that the character has to recognize what she is doing is wrong and you can only do that by playing the game to its conclusion. To show an example where this succeeded, Spec Ops: The Line did this instead by playing on the power fantasy of the military shooter genre, and constantly referenced it as such by having Konrad mock the player by saying “do you feel like a hero yet?” and other related matters. Such meta elements aren’t in play here, because the entire selling point of The Last of Us is the human drama, not a shallow power fantasy.

So, while there was good elements of writing, I’d say that this game had key points of writing failure. I can celebrate that Naughty Dog tried to make something serious, but I think it flopped due to a lack of conscientiousness in applying the themes the whole way through.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#the last of us part 2 #writing #video game reviews

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voltage-vixen · 4 years

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Having a snowball fight---KBTBB

Christmas Countdown--- Day 19

“You’ll never catch me old man!” Ota taunted, while sticking his tongue out at Baba.

“Ota! There’s no need to be cruel,” Baba replied with a pout.

The two troublemakers were returning from lunch and were nearly in front of the Tres Spades, when Ota thought it would be funny to pelt Baba with a snowball. Baba retaliated by quickly forming his own balls of snow and tossing them back at the artist. Distracted by snowballs flying back and forth in the air, Baba and Ota didn’t even notice that Mamoru had been discussing something with Hayami in front of the grand hotel. Mamoru noticed the pair and rolled his eyes while saying goodbye to Hayami.

“What a pain in the ass,” Mamoru sighed, as he trudged over to reluctantly join them. “Stop causing so much trouble. Eisuke is not going to be happy with all the commotion this close to his hotel.”

Still focusing on the snowball fight and ignoring the heed to Mamoru’s warning, they shrugged nonchalantly, and each continued with their quest for victory over the other. Coincidentally, an elongated black limo was now driving up and parked right at the entrance of the Tres Spades.

“Honestly Ichinomiya, I never thought the day would come when I would see you ask me for a favor,” Shuichi smirked, climbing out of the limo after Eisuke.

They were returning from a summit meeting at the embassy, and much to Shuichi’s surprise, Eisuke asked if he could join him in attendance. Eisuke shook his head and scowled while folding his arms over his chest.

“I figured it was time for you to prove how profitable you could be to our operation,” Eisuke remonstrated, “My intuition about turned about to be correct, considering you hold more significance as an ambassador than I had originally anticipated.”

After a lengthy meeting, Eisuke was in desperate need of a coffee. He was about to page MC, when the rambunctious sight of his colleagues tossing snow around like children, forced him to stomp over and put an end to the humiliating scene.

“Your friends always seem to put on quite the performance,” Shuichi chuckled in amusement.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” Eisuke snapped, while neglecting Shuichi’s comment. “I order you to-!”

SMACK!

Eisuke never managed to finish delivering his ultimatum, because a stray snowball landed smack dab in the middle of his face. Everything and everyone seemed to pause at the scene, as Ota and Baba wore matching looks of horror on their faces. A deadly silence hung over the air, until Shuichi burst out into an obnoxious laughter, and swiftly snapped a picture with his phone.

“Hahahahaha, this day may not turn out to be so mundane after all,” the ambassador wheezed in delight.

Meanwhile a regretful Baba tiptoed carefully closer to the billionaire, and Ota hung back, mainly because he was petrified of Eisuke’s reaction.

“Boss,” Baba began to apologize, “It was an honest mistake……there’s no need to do anything rash now.”

After what seemed like a tortures time to wait, Eisuke gradually pulled out his few, and started to make a call.

“Outside. Get here now,” Eisuke barked, before hanging up the phone.

Eisuke wiped the melted snow from his face, and soon Soryu emerged from the Tres Spades, with Ryosuke and Samejima closely in tow. Soryu arrived on scene and used his deductive skills to piece together what happened.

“Eisuke, I would prefer not to make too much of a scene by taking them out in public,” the mobster muttered.

“Soryu, you can’t do that!” Ota pleaded desperately. “We didn’t mean to hit Eisuke! Please, don’t kill us!”

Eisuke had been on the phone during this exchange, and was now making his own snowball, before shooting Ota and Baba an evil grin

“Remember, that revenge is a dish best served cold.”

WHACK!

Ota roared with hilarity, and the thief immediately prepared for battle. Soryu groaned in annoyance but followed suit and commenced a defense strategy.

“Inui, go cover Eisuke!” Soryu barked and turned to Mamoru who had been quietly watching. “Make yourself useful and come help us.”

“I ain’t getting involved,” Mamoru grumbled, “I got to get to work.”

Still, Mamoru made no effort to leave, and instead lit up a cigarette to enjoy the show.

“Ugh, smoking is bad for your health,” Shuichi lectured. He turned to suddenly see Luke and Rhion appear from the hotel and joined the two standing on the sidelines.

“Eisuke called and asked that I come out here,” Luke explained to the others, “Rhion and I were enjoying a cup of tea together, so I invited him along.”

Rhion shyly offered a wave, and his eyes widened at the sight of the snowballs being thrown back and forth between the groups of friends.

“There’s nothing more preposterous than a bunch of grown men, volunteering to act like uncivilized barbarians,” Shuichi complained.

Luke and Rhion had gone off to make their own snow creations, and the battle was beginning to intensify.

“You’re going down Sor!” Baba gleefully taunted, before his throw was cancelled out by Eisuke’s.

“Is that all you got?” Eisuke mocked. “Pathetic.

Ryosuke ran back to gather more snow, when he saw Hikaru and MC stepping outside their workplace. Frantically, Ryosuke ran back trying to warn the others of MC’s prompt arrival.

“Boss! Mr. Ichinomiya! The princess is on her way!”

Everyone’s attention snapped at the sight of their favorite maid, and with a quick glance around at each other, they mutually agreed their snowball fight was over.

“What’s everyone doing out here? It’s unusual for you all to be hanging outside of the penthouse lounge together,” MC curiously questioned the group.

A few of the bidders stared down at the ground, while Baba cleared his throat to offer an explanation.

“Well you see princess, we were fitting in a training session,” he smoothly attempted to rewrite history.

MC didn’t seem to be buying Baba’s explanation, because she tilted her head in confusion.

“Um, did you guys join some sort of team without telling me or something?”

Luke, who was still playing in the snow nearby with Rhion, decided that now would be a great time to rejoin the conversation.

“There was no training happening,” the spacey doctor confronted, “You guys were in the middle of a snowball fight.”

MC’s eyes widened at Luke’s declaration. She paused for a few moments and bit her lip to hold in her laughter. Eisuke saw MC trying to contain her delight and interjected in hopes of misleading her.

At least, that’s what Eisuke was planning on doing. That is until Hikaru pulled out his phone and showed MC something that did eventually cause her to start giggling.

“Shu sent me a video of today’s escapades,” Hikaru smoothly affirmed.

Now that there was undeniable evidence of their actions, the group of men involved in the activities turned a deep shade of red, and MC appreciated the rare sight of seeing the bidders flustered. The men each awkwardly made excuses to leave, and they soon dispersed their separate ways.

MC shook her head, as she watched everyone else return to the Tres Spades. These guys were a handful, but they were her handfuls.

Her pager buzzed in her jacket pocket, and MC saw Eisuke’s message demanding she make them coffee. Breaking off into a brisk trot, MC rushed back to meet the five-minute deadline, and for once was eager to take her turn on the teasing side of things.

L365 Masterlist

@agustd54

#kissed by the baddest bidder #christmas countdown #voltage fanfic #kbtbb fanfic #eisuke ichinomiya #soryu oh #mitsunari baba #ota kisaki #mamoru kishi #hikaru aihara #luke foster #rhion hatter #shuichi hishikura #ryosuke inui #voltage inc #love 365 find your story #voltage fandom #day 19

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duskowithapen · 4 years

Text

Day Five: Soulmates

Fandom: Sherlock

Pairing: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes (Kinda ambiguous)

You’ll Be With Me (Like a Handprint on my Heart)

Sherlock never quite believed in soul mates – in feeling that elusive tug in his soul mark and finding his ‘other half’ – but if he had to chose someone to be bound with, John Watson would be his first and only choice. If only life was that easy. Writer’s Month 202 Day Five: Soulmates

Sherlock never truly believed in soulmates.

That isn’t to say that he doesn’t believe in their existence – a metaphysical bond between two individuals, manifesting as a colourful handprint placed somewhere of significance to their relationship – as it had been well documented and the subject of thousands of research projects and papers over the centuries.

Unfortunately, it had also been the main plot point of various novels, movies and television shows. A soul mark became a marketable product, promoting true love and happily ever after and second halves. Sherlock’s first exposure to this was within the fairy tale of Cinderella – where her glass slippers revealed the handprint around her heel, and how the prince went made searching for the girl who made his heart beat again. Such things were hogwash.

Approximately 42% of marriages end in divorce. Over half of these are between soulmates. Of the other half, almost a third of them are caused by on person in the relationship finding their soulmate. Almost 60% of men cheat on their wife, and an undocumented amount of them involved soulmates on one side of the equation or the other.

Not exactly the perfect love story.

Soulmates, as Sherlock explained to his mother at the tender age of nine, are a waste of time. This proclamation came after his brother left – after Redbeard died – after he learned that sentiment is weakness.

And what bigger sentiment than soulmates?

You’ll change your mind when you meet your soulmate, his mother explained with an expression of long-suffering (one she often wore around him). She had one hand around his leg, just above the bright red handprint that ringed his ankle. They’re going to be a passionate one, she gushed. They’re going to have to bet if they want to keep up with you!

Her own soul mark was a deep blue, cupping the left side of her face. His father liked to cover it with his own hand at any opportunity. Mother would then wrap an arm around his waist, where a deep gold soul mark rested just above Father’s hip. Sherlock had never seen it, but Mother had described it so often that it resided in his mind palace, pride of place in his father’s room.

(Sherlock had never seen Mycroft’s soul mark. He had asked about it once, when he was five. He’d never asked again.)

His soul mark didn’t become an issue till he went to university. There, everyone wanted to know where his soul mark was – what colour was it – had he met his soul mate yet? After giving scathing and painfully true deductions about their sexual preferences, habits and feelings about their soul mate (whether they’d found them or not), the question’s stopped. After all…

Who would want Sherlock Holmes as a soulmate?

Well it seems, Sherlock thought slowly, John Watson might.

They were laughing at a crime scene – something John was swatting at him for, telling him off, no giggling near dead bodies Sherlock – when one of Scotland Yard’s ‘finest’ walked past with a sneer.

“Wish Lestrade would keep Holmes and his soulmate away from our fuckin’ cases.”

Sherlock immediately sobered. John, always attentive to his mood, met his eyes before turning away.

“Oi!”

The hapless uniform turned around and immediately regretted it.

“I don’t give two shits about what you think of me but leave Sherlock alone. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have found this body, let alone had the chance to catch the bloody bastard who did it. If keeping your mouth closed is too difficult, try to not aim it at us.” John was standing with both feet planted, arms crossed and angled slightly towards Sherlock, like he was ready to jump in and physically protect him.

When he didn’t get a response soon enough, John barked, “Understand?”

The officer nodded, saluted, and scrambled.

John huffed. “Hate bastards like that. Don’t know how you put up with it Sherlock.”

Sherlock opened his mouth – to thank John, ask him if it was true, if John was his soul mate, he wasn’t sure yet – but Sally got in first.

“So you are his soulmate? The whole precinct’s been wondering.”

“That’s none of your business Sergeant Donovan,” John said in his ‘Captain’ voice. “You have about as much right to details of my relationship with Sherlock as I do to your relationship with Anderson.” As Sally began to squawk, John turned to him. “Are you ready to leave?”

Sherlock nodded wordlessly and went to hail a cab.

Was John his soul mate?

Later on, after the end of a successful case, Sherlock sat in his chair while John dozed across from him. In his mind palace, he reviewed every piece of information he had on soul mates.

No guarantee that soul mates will meet… Soul marks colour and placement are of significance to the relationship shared… Once meeting one’s soul mate, a person can have a variety of reactions… A soul bond will be created upon meeting, although the intensity and depth of development can vary… some people have reported suddenly feeling their soul mates’ emotions… others reported a tingling in their mark… a pulling sensation within their soul mark has been described by some, often in fantastical terms such as ‘it was like our marks were magnets, trying to pull us together’, ‘a red strong of fate kind of think’, and ‘I can always find my soul mate now, I just need to follow that pull’…

Sherlock moved to John’s section of his mind palace to review their first meeting. There had been interest, curiosity about this person who so clearly was suffering from a psychosomatic limp, the cautious hope of something to help abate the boredom… but none of those correlated with evidence of a soul bond.

Yet why else would John stay?

Now that the prospect had been drawn to his attention, it would not leave. Sherlock would watch as John seemed to anticipate his needs, accurately judge his temper to determine whether to divert Anderson away from the scene or not, and most telling of all – no matter how many times Sherlock played the violin at 2 am, no matter how many body parts were left in the fridge, no matter how many times he’d interrupted dates for Johns’ (not completely necessary) assistance with a case, John didn’t leave.

And yet, Sherlock felt nothing.

No tingling.

No emotions outside his own.

No pull.

Could it be that John was his soulmate, but Sherlock wasn’t his? Or was he just too freakish, too damaged to register a soul bond. Maybe he was incapable of making one at all.

At least, that’s what he thought till he met Jim from IT. When Jim crossed behind him and bumped the dish, Sherlock felt a strong tug, like someone had grabbed his ankle and pulled. For a moment, he thought that Jim had ‘accidently’ twisted his feet to hit Sherlocks’, but he wasn’t close enough. Not to mention, after further examination, the sensation was less of a tug and more of a draw, like his ankle was a metal filling being drawn to a magnet.

The feeling didn’t leave until Jim did.

Sherlock was very careful to hide his revelation from John, and he put it in the back of his mind palace to be examined later. The likelihood of him meeting Jim from IT again was minimal – especially if Molly ended their relationship.

And then there was that tugging sensation again. At the pool. As John stood with ten pounds of Semtex strapped to his chest.

“Did I make such a fleeting impression Sherlock dear?” Moriarty said gleefully. “I thought you felt that tug too – pulling us together. But I suppose you did the smart thing and ignored it.” As Sherlock lifted the gun, a cluster of red dots appeared over John’s heart. “Don’t be silly Sherlock, someone else is holding the rifle. I’m not a fan of getting my hands dirty.

“I’ve given you a glimpse,” Moriarty said dramatically, pacing back and forth. “Just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big, bad world. You see, I’m a specialist… just. Like. You.” A grin spread across his face. “Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me, to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear into South America? I’m just like you Sherlock – the opposite side of your coin.”

“A consulting criminal.” Sherlock said flatly. “Brilliant.” He wished that it wasn’t. He wished in a way he hadn’t wished since he was a child, to stop feeling that damning tug against his ankle.

“Isn’t it? No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will.” Moriarty looked unbearably smug.

“I did.”

Something dangerous flashed in Moriarty’s face – the closest thing to a true emotion he’d seen on the other man’s face. “You’ve come the closest… But now you’re in my way. And being my soul mate isn’t going to change that.” He held up his hand, the one that had stayed in his pocket the entire time. Flashing back to ‘Jim from IT’, he noticed that his hand had very much stayed out of sight then too.

And for good reason.

A mottled grey and black handprint sat along the grooves and lines of Moriarty’s own fingers. They wiggled. “Like it, Sherlock? I tell everyone that it’s because my soul mate died – pretty sure Johnny boy here can tell you how that feels.”

And indeed, John’s face fell, and his hands twitched. One shoulder ducked for a moment, as if to protect it.

“But no, I was just saving it for you. Know what black and grey means Sherlock? Death and decay. That’s what our relationship is. I am willing to kill anyone and everyone in my way – I cut loose all those people, threw in thirty million quid, just to get you to play with me. So here’s a friendly warning, darling… Back off. Although I’ve adored this little game of ours, playing the friendly IT guy for the lovely Molly, I’ve got bigger and better things to do.”

“People have died for your game!” The words slipped out of Sherlock’s mouth. He was off balance – he needed to calm himself. Otherwise John might not be getting out of this alive.

“That’s what people do!” There was something derivative in Moriarty’s face, in the crinkle of his nose and curl of his lips. “They live and they die and they never amount to anything but momentary distractions.”

“I will stop you.”

Moriarty almost looked surprised. “No you won’t. Two sides of a coin remember – we’re destined to challenge each other forever. You should be excited! I can make sure you’re never bored again Sherlock.” He stepped closer and leaned over John’s shoulder. Sherlock stiffened at the proximity. “You’re awfully quiet Johnny boy. Go on, speak!”

Sherlock spared John a glance. “You alright?” His response was a nod. Sherlock flicked the flash drive in Moriarty’s direction. “Take it.”

He caught it with frustrating ease. “Oh, those! The missile plans!” He pressed the drive to his lips – possibly in an attempt to look coy, but it just turned Sherlock’s stomach – and flicked it back. “I could have gotten them from anywhere.”

It was only chance that had Sherlock locking eyes with John. That’s the only reason he wasn’t surprised by him catching Moriarty in a reverse bear hug the man looked all too prepared for.

“If your sniper pulls the trigger Jim, then we both go up.” John snarled. In that moment, Sherlock could see what war had made him.

“Awww, isn’t that sweet! I see why you keep him around darling. No wonder people think such a boorish person is your soulmate! Such loyalty can be touching, but… you’ve shown your hand Johnny boy.”

From the way John’s face grew tight with concern and anger, Sherlock could deduce that a sniper beam was aimed at him too. John let go and stepped back. There was a glint in his eye. This wasn’t surrender, but a tactical retreat.

Moriarty dusted himself off fastidiously. “Do you know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t leave me alone Sherlock?”

He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you’ll kill me?”

“Kill you? Don’t be so predictable. I mean, it’s a given that one day, I’ll be responsible for your demise, but that will be a special occasion. Not something to be rushed. No, if you don’t stop prying into my business… I’ll burn you.” Moriarty’s face went dark as he snarled, “I will burn the heart out of you.”

“I have been reliably informed,” Sherlock said with pseudo-calmness, “That I don’t have one.”

Moriarty huffed and looked deliberately at John. “We both know that’s not quite true. How much did it hurt, Sherlock, to find out that you’re not John Watson’s soulmate?” He didn’t give Sherlock a chance to answer before waving a hand. “I’d better be off. It was so nice to have a proper chat with my soulmate.”

Sherlock’s finger twitched on the trigger. “What if I was to shoot you, right now.”

“Hmmm… you could cherish the look of surprise on my face,” Moriarty said with an overly dramatic face – all raised eyebrows and rounded mouth. “Because it would be a surprise Sherlock, and perhaps a disappointment. Not to mention that fact that you wouldn’t be cherishing it for very long. Do you really think you can kill your soul mate? Kill your other half. I’ve heard that it can cause excruciating pain – huh Johnny boy?” With a finger on his chin, he thought for a moment. “It would be interesting to experience I suppose, but that’s a thought for another time.”

Moriarty flicked two fingers in a salute. “Ciao, Sherlock Holmes!” He disappeared around a corner.

As soon as he was out of sight, Sherlock scrambled to pull the coat and explosives off John. “Are you okay? Alright?” As he tugged at the sleeves, he couldn’t help but glance John over. No obvious wounds…

“I’m okay Sherlock, I’m fine!” At a particularly harsh tugged, John yelled over his shoulder, “Sherlock!”

He flung the now loose coat away, catching John’s collapse in the corner of his eye. He was panting. “Are you,” He huffed between breaths, “… okay?”

“Me? I’m fine.” Sherlock took a few steps closer. “That – that thing – that you did…” Words didn’t seem to want to come out of his mouth, “That thing you did – offered to do – that was good.”

“I’m glad no one saw that.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur.

John huffed out a breath of laughter. “You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.”

Something lightened in his chest at the smile John sent him. He got the message – we’re okay. “They do little else,” He said, for lack of a better response.

Then the lights returned to John’s chest, and that damnable tug at Sherlock’s ankle nearly pulled him off balance.

Moriarty!

************

After they dug themselves out of the wreckage, after the paramedics gave them a relatively clean bill of health, after Lestrade confirmed his presence for the next day regarding Moriarty, John and Sherlock returned to Baker Street.

Flopping into his armchair, Sherlock watched as John made up two cups of tea. His hands were steady as he handed one over, his movements measured as he sat down and took a sip.

“So,” He began slowly. “I take it you weren’t aware of having a psychopathic soul mate?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John’s uncharacteristic bluntness regarding the situation before responding in kind. “Aside from a tug at my soul mark when we met in the hospital, I was under the impression that I didn’t have a soul mate.”

“And… that thing about you not being my soul mate…?”

He stiffened. “Moriarty was trying to get a rise out of me.” He was loath to confess that it worked.

There was silence for a moment. Sherlock itched to get out his violin, create the most chaotic melodies, the harshest tunes to try and release the turmoil in his chest.

“I never bought into the whole soul mate thing,” John said as he looked up. “My parents were soul mates, but that didn’t stop them from getting into rows loud enough to shake the house. Harry found her soul mate in Clara, but her drinking problem stopped them from creating a deeper bond.” He took a deep breath. “In the army, you try not to think of your soul mates. Some guys I knew deliberately avoided anyone who they thought might be their soul mate – anyone who made their mark tingle even slightly, anyone with a similar coloured mark – because they knew what would happen if they died in combat.

“I was one of the lucky ones – or unlucky ones, depending on who you asked. I met my soul mate on my first tour in Afghanistan, and we managed to serve together for years. We weren’t lovers,” He said in response to Sherlock’s unanswered question. “That’s something else I’ve always hated about the soul mate thing – everyone assumes that once you meet, you immediately shag. Arthur and I weren’t ever like that. We were close – closer than anyone else – we could just about read each other’s minds and saved each other’s arse a dozen times over.”

John slowly began to unbutton his shirt. “I know you’ve been curious about my bullet wound.” Sherlock almost didn’t want to look. John spread the fabric out, pulling the sleeve of his under shirt down and away. The entry wound was at the front – something that surprised him, given that John wasn’t one to run away – and something must have shown on his face, because John smiled ruefully.

“Arthur had gone down. Damn insurgents got in a lucky shot to his leg. I was stabilising him when I was sniped. If it wasn’t for Arthur pulling my sideways, I wouldn’t be here today.” He paused for a moment and breathed deep. “It was a through and through shot – and when Arthur pulled, he – it –”

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. He could imagine the bullet exiting John’s body and hitting the person beneath.

“If you look closely – actually, come here for a second…” John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pulled him off the chair. His vision whited out for a moment – that warmth against his skin, so hot compared to his own cooler temperature, shocked him. He came back to the feeling of a strong beat under his fingers. He spread them unconsciously and felt the pitted skin. John moved his hand a little, waited, and shifted it another way. “Can you feel it?”

He could. Underneath the exit wound was another wound. It was irregularly shaped, four streaks coming from a larger area that covered the ball of John’s shoulder, before another streak went towards his shoulder blade… his hand stilled. “Is this….?”

John nodded. “Yeah. When your soulmate dies, all the colour leaves your mark like it’s been burned away. It causes a lot of pain, which is why older soul mate couples tend to pass on at the same time – the strain is too much for their hearts to handle.”

I’ll burn the heart out of you!

Sherlock’s hand gripped tighter. “John…”

A hand covered his. Another slipped under his arm and around his shoulders. He was tugged forward to collapse against John’s chest. His heartbeat was so loud.

“I never denied being your soul mate Sherlock,” John whispered, “Because I don’t believe that a person has one soul mate in their life. I don’t believe that you need a mark to tell you how important you are to a person – you don’t need a mark to love them.” When Sherlock shuddered, John held on tighter. “Just because your mark pulls you to Moriarty, doesn’t mean that you’re anything like him. He is a deranged psychopath, and you are going to catch him. You’re going to beat him. And I’m going to be right there with you.”

“Why?” Sherlock breathed. “You’ve already been hurt because of me – you were kidnapped –”

“Because you’re Sherlock. You’re this beautiful, impossible man who saw a broken soldier and showed him that there was more to life than dingy bedsits and flu season. You saw me Sherlock, and I’d like to think that I see you.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed. Slowly, his arm wrapped around John’s waist, and he shifted to sit more comfortably in the other man’s lap. His head lifted enough to sit on John’s shoulder, and John tilted his head to press his lips into dirty curls.

“Just rest Sherlock. We can deal with everything else in the morning.”

“Thank you… John…”

Sherlock Holmes didn’t believe in soulmates. But he believed in John Watson. And that was kinda the same thing

#WritersMonth2020 #day five soulmates #sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #james moriarty #sorry not sorry #title from wicked the musical #all credit to the creators for the pool scene #kinda asexual sherlock #i may be projecting

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