#as sherlock is. it really helps you relate to him and his own lack of closure/certainty | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leighsartworks216 · 2 years ago

Text

Biological Malfunctions

Data x AFAB!reader

I rewrote this and then did not proofread it so have fun!!

Warnings: THIS IS A PERIOD FIC. THERE IS TALK ABOUT MENSTRUATION. PLEASE DON'T READ IF THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. Reader is described as having a uterus, but no other explicit descriptions of their gender is made. Can be read as platonic or romantic (like, the beginnings of a crush)

Word Count: 2003

Masterlist

Tag List Form

Data entered his room as he had over a thousand times before. He stepped in, making sure Spot was not by the door waiting to rush out and scamper down the hallways, and- He stopped in the middle of the room, hardly two steps in the door. Something was different. The lights were dimmed.

Data only changed the light setting in his room during Alpha shift, a ship-wide nighttime when he was usually put in charge of the Bridge, as he did not require sleep like the others. By doing so, he simulated a day/night cycle for his beloved feline friend. However, Alpha shift would not start until approximately 2 hours, 37 minutes, and 15 seconds. Also unusual, the lights were dimmed to 20%, a setting he himself never used.

Now the question was why?

Truth be told, he was momentarily titillated by this mystery. He considered, briefly, donning his Sherlock Holmes outfit to investigate. Alas, the mystery did not last long enough for a costume change.

“Data?” a voice called from the bed-area of his quarters. “Are you back?”

The android followed the voice, as did Spot, to a figure curled under his Starfleet regulation blankets. The fabric shifted, and a face peeked out from the edge, squinting up at him. He recognized the voice, but seeing the face it belonged to absolutely confirmed it.

“Lieutenant Y/N, I did not expect to find you in my quarters.”

“Sorry,” you yawned. The blankets were warm, and clean from lack of use. They drew you in deeper, coaxing you into curling further within the cascades of fabric, warm and safe. Spot climbed on top of you and began lovingly making biscuits into your side. Data was briefly fascinated by the strange exhibition of behavior. “I needed to see Spot,” you admitted. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Your presence was unexpected, but you are always welcome here.” He met your tired little smile with a sort of grin of his own. “May I ask why you needed to see Spot? Has she done something wrong?”

You chuckled airily at the question. “No, she’s a good kitty.”

Data nodded, agreeing without hesitation, as the cat in question snuggled into a ball atop you and began purring contently.

In a softer, less comfortable tone than before, you murmured, “I needed the comfort.”

“Comfort?”

“Mhm. I’m…” A deep-rooted tree of shame ached in your chest at the thought of confessing your problems. You couldn’t help it, really. All your life since middle school, the biological issues - whether physical, mental, or emotional - you faced were heavily enforced as your problems. Even further, the most enforced rule of all was to never disclose them to men.

You would think, in the 24th century, these silly little laws of society would die.

When you did not respond after a moment (approximately 37 seconds), he understood that you may not wish to tell him. A prolonged silence in humans often reflected a sense of unease or discomfort, especially relating to conversation topics they were uncomfortable with. Your voice stopped him before he could retreat back to his computer.

The branch squeezing around your heart, pumping guilt through every channel of your body, won out over all.

“I’m going through some, uh, biological malfunctions.”

Data’s eyebrows raised, surprised by this new information. He kneeled down, positioning himself in a better position to speak with you face-to-face. “If you are feeling unwell, I suggest going to sickbay for an examination. Doctor Crusher is well-suited to a wide variety of biological issues. If you would prefer, I could ask her to visit you here.”

You nearly startled at the suggestion, speaking in a rush. “No, no, no, no. Really, Data, I’m okay. I just have to wait it out. I’ll be fine by the time you go back on shift, and then I’ll be out of your hair, promise.”

Confusion replaced his surprise. You seemed to panic at the subject of Doctor Crusher, yet you have shown no previous signs of anxiety relating to anything medical. Not to mention your strange phrase. “Lieutenant, you are not in my hair.” You found yourself relaxing once again as he rambled on about the logistics of being in his hair, a small smile finding your face once more. “A single hair is roughly 80,000 to 100,000 nanometers wide, while the average adult male is approximately 2 billion nanometers tall. To fit in my hair, you would need to shrink down to 25 times the size you are now. Alternatively, you would need to increase the size of a hair by 25 times in order to fit inside it at the height you currently stand.”

His sweet naivety reminded you of how you so easily fell into a friendship with the android. You could discuss niche topics in varying detail for hours on end and never get tired. He helped you feel like you belonged when you were just an ensign, fresh from the Academy and unsure in every step. Even now, without even trying, he grounded you and gently pushed away all of your anxieties.

Only once he was finished did you speak. “It’s an expression, Data. It just means that I won’t be in your space, or causing you any problems.”

His head tilted, cataloging the new phrase within an ever-growing list of human figures of speech. “Ah, I see. You are not ‘in my hair’, Lieutenant. If you would like, you are welcome to stay once I leave for Alpha shift. I do not mind.”

“I appreciate it.” You breathed in deeply, closing your eyes to revel in the dim light, surrounded by your best friend and his cat. The quiet sound of machinery beeping and Spot purring made it feel like home. This was not your room. “But I really should get back.”

“Would you like me to escort you to your quarters?”

You hummed, considering. “Maybe.” Data’s bed was unused, soft, and clean. It was much nicer than yours, which had a pronounced divot in the mattress after sleeping in it so long. But, you reminded yourself, you had barged into his room and made yourself comfortable in his bed, without any form of permission to be had. You were trespassing, despite Data’s all-too-welcoming attitude. Still… He was giving you a chance to stay for a bit longer. “I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality,” you opened your eyes to study his pale face, “but I don’t really want to leave right now.”

“No advantage taken. I even find your presence quite…” he paused to ensure he had the right word, “enjoyable.”

You smiled gratefully at the android. Now, more at ease than ever, your eyes slid shut and you welcomed the exhaustion that tickled the back of your mind. You pulled the blankets slightly to tuck them snugly under your chin, and even curled the blanket around your feet, effectively trapping in the warm air and sealing out the colder air beyond your cocoon.

Data watched your actions with interest. He wasn’t exactly privy to how humans slept, nor did he find the topic as fascinating as sneezing or hiccuping. The act of sleeping itself, that it. Dreams were another topic entirely. Now, though, as he watched you curl into a fetal ball, nuzzling your nose into his pillow, he wondered why he had not been interested before. For a brief moment, you curled in tighter, holding your breath. A grimace twisted your features. And then you breathed out slowly, uncurling a little.

“Lieutenant,” he pried, continuing even when you did not look at him, “your actions suggest you are in some form of discomfort. If you tell me what your symptoms are, I can look up methods to ease them.”

The branch of guilt and shame coiled like a snack around your heart once more. It was illogical to be ashamed, especially when you were talking to Data who would never be offended by anything as natural as bodily functions. The years and years of having your femininity shamed only brought you anxiety and a vague feeling of nausea. He wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t be disgusted.

“I’m menstruating.” For such a small admission, you wanted to crawl within yourself and die surrounded by your shame. You kept your eyes firmly shut, pressing your face into the pillow, in hopes that, perhaps, this was all just a dream. “I’m just having really bad cramps right now.”

His head tilted, though you refused to open your eyes and see it. “Am I correct in thinking that you are uncomfortable with this topic?”

You huffed a strained laugh. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Menstruation is a natural occurrence among biologically female humans. I do not understand your discomfort.”

“It’s just… not really something humans are comfortable talking about, especially in mixed company.” Before he could ask your meaning, you added, “With males. Biological functions make people uncomfortable.”

His eyes lit up. “Fascinating.” He opened his mouth, ready to ask more questions about why, but stopped himself as you curled up tight once more. Right, he said he would help with your symptoms.

“There are a wide variety of methods said to reduce menstrual cramping. Methods include holding a heat compress to your lower abdomen, taking a hot bath, eating anti-inflammatory foods such as berries, tomatoes, pineapple, almonds, walnuts and salmon, or holistic treatments such as acupuncture or acupressure. Other methods such as exercise or abdominal massages are also said to relieve discomfort.”

You huffed out a frustrated breath, body curling in on itself as a second wave of pain ripped through your body. You curled in as tight as you possibly could, and yet the pain stayed. Your constant movement disturbed Spot, who finally had enough of laying on top of you, and jumped down. Data followed her movements as she found another, solitary, surface to sleep on.

As the wave ebbed away, it left behind aggravation and irritated tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t want food, you didn’t want to move, and you definitely didn’t want to get poked or prodded. You just wanted the pain to end. Spot had been acting as a sort of heated compress before, one that purred and had soft fur. Now, though, you had nothing to help.

Unless…

“Are you doing anything important right now?”

Data was confused by the odd question. It was entirely subjective. “I am kneeling here, talking to you. Is that not important?”

You may have been touched by the simple sweetness of his words, in the naivety he carried to find something as simple as talking to you important in the over-simplified, highly-literal way he saw the world, if you weren’t busy scrubbing the wetness from your eyes and gathering every ounce of dignity you had left. “Will you cuddle with me?”

“Inquiry: ‘cuddle’?”

“Just… lay with me and hold me?”

Data, confused but willing, nodded. As he got up from the floor, you scooted to make more room for him on the bed, while at the same time opening up your cocoon for him. In smooth, albeit unsure, motions, he joined you in the bed. Laying on his back, you threw the covers over him and helped to guide him in a rough lesson to cuddling. With no resistance, you were able to pick up his arm and wrap it around you as you settled down into the nook it created. He watched as you pressed yourself against his side and rested your cheek on his chest. You were close enough to hear the soft whirring of his inner mechanisms.

“Is this cuddling?”

Your cheek shifted against his uniform as you nodded. You appeared more at ease now. He… enjoyed seeing you like this.

“Yes, Data, this is cuddling.” After a brief moment of hesitation, you found his hand resting loosely behind you and guided it to rest over your waist. And as everything stilled, you were finally at peace.

350 notes · View notes

zodiyack · 4 years ago

Text

Stubborn

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, tEnSiOn, not proofreading (see tags maybe idk)

Words: 1,086

Summary: Y/n helps around with Enola and her mother, considered a family friend rather than teacher. Sherlock has fancied her since she first began with Enola, and she fancies him just as much. Not that she’d ever admit it though.

Note: My effort was purely in the ending, so I don’t expect the beginning to be that great aka, I’m lacking in confidence

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @thewarriorprincessxo, @maan24

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

Sherlock watched from the home, fixated on the h/c-haired woman pushing the swing his sister sat in. Enola was old enough to lack the requirement of a nanny or caretaker who wasn’t their mother. However, the woman pushing the swing was not considered the teacher she was hired to be.

Y/n L/n was indeed Enola’s teacher, for many years, but over time, the Holmes had grown to know her not as Miss Y/n, but just Y/n. She was moved into the family’s home when she first began her job and though Enola didn’t need her anymore, they insisted she stayed.

Especially Sherlock.

He watched with a smile, Y/n clueless to his loving gaze. However, Mycroft was more than aware. He knew of Sherlock’s feelings, and he laughed at them. “Why must you waste your life, Sherlock?”

“Pardon?” The presence of Mycroft was acknowledged by Sherlock’s head turning in confusion.

“Oh, don’t let me keep you from stalking the teacher. She’s bad enough at her job as it is. Our sister should be a proper girl, instead, she’s going around playing mystery with that woman.”

Sherlock turned back to the females. His expression turned from awe to disapproval, his brother’s words daggers and his own a shield. “She’s still a child. She’s having fun. As for Y/n, she’s done her job, and she’s damn good at it. Enola knows how to read, how to write, stuff we learned when we were her age.”

“We are men. She is a girl. Women do not do what men do.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Besides. Even if the teacher did well, when are you going to face reality?”

“And what might you mean by that, Mycroft?”

“The teacher. You continue to pursue her day after day, year after year. And day after day, year after year, she continues to turn you down.” Mycroft laughed mockingly. “It’s pathetic, really.”

“Thing what you’d like, brother.” He shrugged before dropping the conversation as he ran over to Y/n and Enola, who were now sitting and chatting in the grass.

Enola’s eyes lit up when she saw her brother, the smile on her face enlarging. Y/n reacted as well; the genuine smile turning to a kind, faked, greeting before sliding from her lips as she found new interest in the grass she sat atop. Enola ran back to the house, Sherlock having asked her for some time with Y/n after he hugged her.

“Are you disappointed to see me, Y/n?”

“No. Just...not in the mood for company.”

“You were just talking with my sister.”

“She’s gone now, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” It’d been like this for years. Ever since she first moved into the Holmes house, Sherlock had confessed only to face her stubbornness. Every single rejection filled the air with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Yet, Sherlock never gave up. “I’d like to ask you something-”

“Not now, Sherlock.” She knew the words he wanted to say, hearing the same every confession over the years, both losing count of the number of times he’d spoken them.

“Please, just give me a chance-”

“I can’t.” Y/n stood up and began to pace back to the house. Sherlock jumped up and grabbed her hand. “Sherlock. Let go of me.” She yanked her hand away, speeding from a walk to hurried steps, few pushes away from jogging.

Sherlock followed behind her, matching her speed. They ran into the house, the same words exchanged over and over. Until, finally, Sherlock changed things up.

“Oh come on, Y/n. You like me too, and you know it!” He chased her up the stairs frantically. She continued to ignore him as she ran. Sherlock decided to give into his urges, using tactic against her speed. He stopped running and speed-walked to the exit of another room the halls Y/n ran through would eventually lead to.

After a minute, she did as he thought she would. He moved forward, body colliding with hers and trapping her against the wall.

“Move, Sherlock!” She shoved him harshly yet her actions made no affect on him.

“Admit it.”

He stood his ground, lifting his palms beside her to spots that would guarantee her a lack of escape. Y/n tired of her fighting with a sigh. “Sherlock...I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m your sister’s teacher-” Y/n scoffed, expecting him to have known by now.

“No, you’re helping her.”

“Your mother still hired me as a teacher.”

“That was years ago. Now, you’ve become a part of our family. A part of my family, Y/n.” She avoided his eyes. Sherlock couldn’t just see the sadness in her eyes, he could feel it coming off her. “Hey, hey,” one of his hands lifted from the wall to lift her chin, “I’m sorry.”

She met his eyes and slowly brought her hand up to his. Her other hand cupped his cheek as her e/c orbs moved from his to search and observe his face. She’d never been this close to him, never been able to see how beautiful he was from directly in front of his face.

Then again, she’d never bothered to try. To stubborn, she almost lost the chance she so desperately wanted but believed to be off-limits. For so many years, Y/n was drawn to Sherlock, just as he was to her, but as Enola’s teacher, she feared it would be considered an inappropriate relationship. All it took was the chance to grow tired of being avoided and shove itself into her hands, quite literally at that.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

Sherlock paused, taken aback not only by her sudden response but the words that left her mouth. “I- um...” As he processed her comment, he began to chuckle softly. It brought a warm feeling to her stomach, not new but not familiar. She’d ignored it for years but despite her ignorance, the feeling was always there; when she was around him, when she heard him laugh, when he smiled at her, it stemmed from him. “No, actually. I don’t believe you’ve ever said anything related to compliments aside from your opinion on my work.”

“And I still stand by what I said. You’re a talented and fantastic detective. The world could use more men like you.”

“Just as the world could use more women like you.”

“A little less stubborn, perhaps.”

His smile grew with his chuckle, the hearty noises eliciting giggles just as heartful from Y/n. “Perhaps. I personally love the stubborn woman despite her stubbornness.”

3K notes · View notes

mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years ago

Text

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Five)

Word Count- 3921

Morning had come around a lot quicker than you had hoped it would, the sunlight peeking through the curtains and birds singing outside making drifting back off an impossible task. Though you felt well rested, you simply just didn't want to move anywhere any time soon. Last night had begun with Mycroft shyly placing his hand on your hip as your back pressed close to his chest, but this morning had ended with Mycroft on his back and you with your head resting between his chest and shoulder, hand crossing over with fingers hooked over the pyjama's pocket. You'd never expected to be the type to wake up earlier than Mycroft Holmes, particularly not two days on the bounce, but you wouldn't complain. He looked so peaceful as he slept, the sunlight turning his auburn hair far more ginger, his freckles on his nose matching. You slowly reached one arm backwards, blindly feeling around for your phone on the bedside table and reading through your messages. You grinned seeing a text from Greg and had to fight the small laugh that threatened to escape you.

'Hey, just thought I'd check in on you both and see how you're getting on. I hate to feel pushy but we do really need to start that paperwork, today ideally. Figured I'd pop round later if it's alright- I need a sodding nap first though. Spent the majority of last night receiving phone calls about mysterious activity around St James', load of dodgy cars sending people away, loads of papers.. don't suppose you saw any of that down your way did you, makes life easier?"

Your fingers typed a response- 'Uhh..guilty as charged.. Myc was in jeans and a Who top, daren't be seen by the public..I'll get him to fix it when he's up x'- a grin playing on your face. Yeah okay you felt a little bad, but Greg had dealt with worse. After pressing send, you scrolled further through your notifications, spotting one from John. Nothing major, just checking in and inviting you both over for late lunch, mentioning briefly how it'll do Sherlock some good seeing his brother, even if he doesn't believe it himself- evidently also receiving a message from Greg as he also explained how it would make Lestrade have to do one less visit for paperwork if you popped over a little earlier. Before you could type an answer, you felt Mycroft shift beneath you, stretching out the arm that wasn't trapped beneath your body.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty." You teased, turning your head and placing a small kiss on the Holmes' chin. Mycroft blinked, rubbing his eyes and offering you a 'good morning' in response as he eyed up you typing on your phone.

"Needed to be whisked away to catch a criminal mastermind already?" He asked, sitting up a little as you moved to give him a little more space, his arm still loosely tucked behind your back, though his torso now free.

"Your deductions in the morning are lacking.. though close. Mastermind, but not criminal. John and Sherlock have invited us to late lunch, Greg's popping over to start the first part of paperwork handling, only the basic stuff this time round, so figured it would make it easier on him only having to go to one home before we left." Mycroft breathed deeply, fingers raising to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I think I'd have rathered the criminal." He spoke, already mentally planning the afternoon, the conversations he would likely have, the way Sherlock would behave. What if he still hadn't forgiven him? It was surprising enough that you had let him off so easily, but Sherlock was different. Sherlock was a Holmes, and someone of whom already had feudal tendencies with Mycroft, it was bound to end terribly. As though you had read his mind, you moved your hand to take his from his face as you noticed his fingertips whitening as he pinched harder.

"Hey, it'll be fine. He doesn't blame you, he's been far too silent for that to be the case. From the way John sounded, it actually seemed more like he was worried about you, though you know he'd never admit that." Mycroft hummed in response, not being able to find the right words to say before reaching over and grabbing his own mobile. "World ending yet?"

"Not yet. Though with any luck, quarrels could happen before lunch." He mused, one side of his mouth raising slightly in a playful smirk.

"Mycroft you can't wish for conflicts amongst empires to get out of a meal with your brother."

"Can't I?" He raised a brow.

"Anthea wouldn't allow it anyway. We're on strict instruction to not go into work for the next couple of weeks, nations be damned. Lunch sounds far more appealing too." You slid yourself out of bed and grabbed one of the bags from Anthea that you brought upstairs last night, taking a handful of clothing items and tucking them under your arm.

"But it isn't lunch, is it? It's LATE Lunch, settled approximately around 3pm, too late for lunch, too early for dinner. It's impractical by any means; you starve yourself at real lunch so you do not ruin your appetite, and then by dinner time you're hungry once again. And if you eat at both of those times as well as the late lunch, your feeding schedules become on par with a bloody Hobbit." You rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom. "Though you may be more accustomed to such choices given the height similarity between yourself and Mr Brandybuck."

"Cheeky sod, not all of us have glorious Holmesian legs. I'm sure you'll survive a few hours.. Oh, you also owe Greg an apology." You chuckled, opening the message back up and tossing your phone in the general direction of Mycroft's lap before going to get dressed. After reading the message, you heard Mycroft let out a laugh from the other room, the rare kind that you knew made the sides of his eyes crease and his head tip back slightly in amusement; you were sorry you missed it.

Leaving the bathroom, you couldn't help but notice the silk pyjama clad man standing mindlessly in front of his open wardrobe, glancing over each individual item of clothing. Wandering behind him, you moved up on your tiptoes and peered over his shoulder at the rows of suits. You were still dressed relatively comfortably in a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt, which you felt was appropriate for the later meal that would likely be somewhere like Angelo's- but you equally knew that Mycroft's idea of 'comfort' lay within his three pieces, pocket squares and oxfords.

"Don't panic, I'm not going to begrudge you of your precious suits today. You deserve it after actually going through with my wardrobe choice for you.. I didn't actually expect you to do it." You laughed, squeezing his shoulder fondly. "We slept in late again, there's barely any morning left." You commented, glancing over at the clock that read 10:53am. "Can I tempt you in Elevenses, Mr Baggins?" You grinned, your Lord of the Rings reference not being missed by Mycroft. He cast you a playful glare, fighting the urge to childishly poke his two fingers up at you. "What? Not judging my bedside manner this time?"

"It is useless to meet revenge with revenge; it solves nothing." He quoted Frodo without hesitation, bastard probably already planned that you'd quip back with something smart and already armed himself with Shire related comebacks. You, in contrast to Mycroft, did have the tendencies to become childish and did opt for the two fingered response, an adoring smile unnaturally paired.

Not many people got to know of Mycroft's little nerdy side, and you took pride in being one of the few that did, though you took more pride in him for being able to easily reel off the quotes. Though he had told you before that The Lord of the Rings trilogy had been his favourite of everything you made him watch, then when he read the books? You wouldn't hear from him for hours at a time while he binge read through them for the tenth time round, and of course you had noticed the varying editions of the three books on his bookshelf in his personal office, rather than lining the shelves in his small library room. If anything, it just made him more endearing.

Though it was nothing compared with his love of Doctor Who. Bless his heart, you had taken him to watch David Tennant's Richard II a few years ago for his birthday and he was insistent on waiting behind after the performance to catch David leaving and got him to sign his special edition box set of his DW seasons. He even had a photo taken with him, his expression being easily comparable to the likes of a child who just got a puppy for Christmas- and, much to his dismay, the photograph had had a prime place on your desk at NSY since the event.

You made your way downstairs, calling out something about making omelettes and leaving Mycroft alone to get ready. His fingers skimmed across the expensive fabrics, tugging out an olive green suit and red tie and pocket square to match. The smell of the food you were preparing began to fill his nose, making his stomach growl as he rushed to the bathroom to get dressed. After removing his pyjama top, Mycroft caught a glance of himself in the mirror, prodding at the pudge of his stomach that settled just over his pyjama bottoms, before sucking in flat and looking again. Maybe he should forego the omelette and just wait until later.. another growl.. okay maybe just a little, just so he didn't raise suspicion. He sighed, stomach relaxing back to its natural state before finishing his morning routine, tugging his trousers up a little higher than usual to tuck away the offending belly fat.

Mycroft had always suffered with his weight, he knew that. He also knew of his past, how he would skip meals, or spend hours upon hours on his treadmill, or the time he was under Doctor Chinnery for just shy of three years following his habits of completing his meals with his fingers down the back of his throat over the toilet just after his job promotions exceeded and he found himself in much higher rankings- public appearance being far more important than any personal preference. Though his eating disorder had improved, the years of therapy didn't miraculously improve his self-confidence. It was one of the many reasons he preferred inviting others for dinners, or at the very least having his days to himself when he knew he would be going out later in the evening. Spontaneous meals out like the one he would be attending in a few hours, or having somebody at home with him while he waited for said meals threw him off balance completely- his usual routine of fasting beforehand as to not appear rude or raise suspicions when he ate in public being disturbed significantly. You knew of his past, deduced it, actually, and had been nothing but supportive, trying your best to convince him for years that he was perfectly healthy and encouraging him to eat better, to actually consume meals. He was thankful, of course he was, but it didn't help his insecurities around you, no matter how welcoming you had been or however many compliments you gave him. His body was covered in stretch marks and areas of loose skin from his weight loss over the years, his chest hair, though scarce, was a coppery ginger and his body was covered in so many freckles he looked like an explosion at a dot to dot factory. It led him to remember the other reason why he had never previously attempted to pursue a relationship with you; if he was disgusted and horrified at the appearance of his nude body then what on earth would you think when that time eventually came around? He daren't even try to imagine your face. You'd worked with Sherlock long enough to have seen him wander around naked and Mycroft had to admit that his brother at least had a body worth parading about in the nude, then there was Gregory who, despite not having an exactly chiseled body, still had the rugged good looks and toned chest- a physique that clearly represented the physical aspects of his occupation- there was no doubt you'd compare him to them and he would come up short every time.

"Myc? You gonna be long? Yours is going to be freezing!" Your voice had knocked him out of his thoughts and he quickly shrugged on the rest of his clothes, straightening his tie in the mirror and plastering on a small smile as he headed downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Apologies.. the cufflinks failed in succession to cooperate at first." You had eyed him suspiciously, knowing that Mycroft had worn enough suits in his lifetime that he could probably find a way to put one on to completion in 5 minutes in the dark with oven mitts on.

"I know I've been so against the suits, but I have to admit that you look incredible.. I think that one's my new favourite." You commented casually, placing a quick kiss to his temple as he sat at the table. "That colour is lovely." He quirked a brow.

"New favourite? You've had old ones?"

"Obviously." Imitating Sherlock. "Charcoal pinstripe with that light blue shirt- brings your eyes out wonderfully... and your bum." You winked, positively enjoying the pink that dusted the man's cheeks, and the way he would open his mouth to speak and then close it before any words came out. In his defence, he was really not used to receiving such compliments. And in your defence, you weren't particularly used to giving them, not like that anyway. You'd blame Greg, he was a terrible influence and an incredible flirt- using his charm to at the very least try and make you laugh when you had shitty days.

You lay his plate in front of him, a coffee to its side, before beginning to tuck into your own meal. You had learned early on that if you didn't wait until Mycroft was able to eat then he likely wouldn't eat at all. While drinking his coffee fairly happily, you hadn't missed that the vast majority of Mycroft's breakfast was still on the plate, cut in smaller pieces and rearranged to appear as though he had eaten more than he truly had. Frowning, you didn't press- knowing better than to point out his behaviour and just being thankful he had eaten anything at all (about a third of the omelette and half a slice of toast if your judgements were correct) but had elected to keep an eye on him. You finished your own food in silence before crossing the cutlery over on your plate and beginning to speak.

"I figured if we left now we could have a bit of time for you to go through the first set of paperwork, Greg should be getting there in the next 10 minutes or so, and then by the time we finish and have a cup of tea it'll be time to go out." You suggested, taking Mycroft's plate to clear away after he had sent a nod to show he was finished. He made a small groan at the need to go at all, but soon acquiesced, sent a text for a car and stood to go to the front door. Tugging on a hoodie, you opened the door and took a step back, the wind shooting in your face and making you scowl. Mycroft made an amused sound and offered you the scarf of his that you had worn last night. Rather than taking the garment, you stood and waited for him to wrap it the same expert way that he had the night before. "I also text Greg to run by my flat and grab my coat so I'll be able to stop stealing your expensive scarves soon.. though this one feels so lovely I may text him again to leave it on the tube." You laughed, stepping back outside once again and walking with Mycroft to the end of the road where a car was waiting. Mycroft had wanted to respond, to make a comment about how he didn't mind letting you wear his things, how he actually quite liked it. But he stayed silent, offering a small smile instead and a soft hand at the small of your back. Mycroft opened the door for you, climbing in after and settling against the plush seats of the lavish car.

As the car began to move you tensed a little, a thought popping into your head.

"Myc.. does Sherlock know yet? About us? I might have hinted at it a little when I spoke to Lestrade earlier but I didn't press.. I just.. I didn't know if you were telling people." You asked awkwardly. Christ it made it sound like you were in some forbidden relationship. Mycroft's jaw clenched a little.

"I wasn't aware it was secret knowledge, if that's what you are asking Y/N. In response to your question, no. I haven't spoken to Sherlock at all since.." He trailed. "And I am not the sort of man to walk into a room and actively announce that kind of thing. But you should know that he will likely deduce it the moment we walk through the door being as you are wearing my clothing, your hair smells like my shampoo and your skin still has traces of the scent of my soap. So if you didn't want anybody to know, then I strongly suggest we rearrange our plans for this afternoon." Who was he kidding? Of course you didn't want people to know that you were actually together now- you would look ridiculous being such a pretty young woman with a man like Mycroft in tow. You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off. "If you are going to say you could argue the soaps then it would simply be futile, he knows I have your regular brand at your disposal; he'd know you used mine in the form of... sentiment." The last word felt wrong on his tongue now, knowing you had hoped to keep your.. relationship.. behind closed doors. Mycroft Holmes was a very private man, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want knowledge of your relationship to be at least semi-public, having felt a little giddy when you'd chosen to cross that line with him.

"What? No, I wasn't going to talk about the sodding shampoo." You grinned, reaching a hand over to place on his knee. "Jesus Myc, I asked because I didn't know if YOU were comfortable with people knowing. I'm pretty sure everyone inside that flat knew I fancied you the last few years, I'd proudly walk in and show that my pining eventually paid off. I just know you have appearances to keep up and I didn't want to ruin that, or embarrass you in front of Sherlock." For what seemed like the millionth time in the last few days, your words surprised Mycroft. He felt his jaw loosen and he took a breath, moving only to briefly place his hand over yours for a small squeeze and moving back again. You didn't expect him to say much, he was Mycroft Holmes, not Romeo Montague, but the small smile you sent back his way let him know that you understood his thoughts. The drive to Baker Street was only 10 or so minutes from Mycroft's home so you soon arrived in no time at all, the slick black car smoothly pulling up outside number 221.

"I can only hope my dear brother deduces our relationship correctly and doesn't make a vast attempt to embarrass me in front of his peers.. again." Mycroft knocked on the door, his words casting you back to a Christmas you had all shared a couple years ago.

It was a small gathering, consisting of the pair of you, the Baker Street boys, Greg and Mrs Hudson, and a few weeks beforehand, after multiple arguments of whether or not presents should be shared, Mrs Hudson had come up with the wonderful (terrible) idea of secret Santa which, incase you wasn't aware, isn't a fun game when played with two Holmes' that knew everybody's present and Secret Santa before the packages were opened. You had pulled Mrs Hudson and couldn't have been more thrilled, neither could she when she opened her new tea set- a simple floral design decorated its sides, but she was thankful no matter the pattern, the last teapot having been found at the hands of Sherlock housing human eyes. Conveniently enough, Mycroft had pulled your name and elected to subtly buy you a personalised travel mug for work. After you had opened it, Sherlock had scoffed, muttering something along the lines of "Mycroft isn't that shit at buying presents. He bought you a necklace at first but felt too embarrassed to give it to you in such a public setting and panic bought that cup." Continuing on about how Mycroft had put a lot of thought into your original gift and how it was unusual and how it "obviously" meant he favoured you and was attracted to you. Mycroft had left shortly after that, not making eye contact with any of the silent people in the room and climbed into the back of his car, but you had followed suit and clambered in after him- easing the tension by ignoring Sherlock's allegations and giving him the envelope that you had in your pocket. You had told him you had bought him something special anyway, even though he wasn't who you were supposed to buy for, because you cared for and appreciated him- he had opened the envelope slowly and his eyes widened, that rare smile appearing on his face when he was presented with the Richard II tickets. After your exchange Mycroft had given you the necklace anyway, spouting derogatives about his brother's deductions as he did so. It was a small silver chain necklace with a sparkling silver pendant that, upon closer inspection, you had noticed was a police badge.

You smiled fondly at the memory and instinctively placed your hand above your sternum, feeling the small piece of metal beneath your clothing that you hadn't taken off in two years. You turned to face the man beside you a little more, placing a hand on his shoulder and reaching up on your tiptoes to place a lingering kiss on his lips, moving back only when you heard the latch unlock in front of you, and noticing the ever so slight pink tinge to Mycroft's bottom lip from the lip balm you had put on earlier. "That should make it easier to get it right." You commented, fighting the small grin from your face as you noticed Mycroft standing in the same way, lips parted slightly from where your own had been moments ago, a matching pink dusting his cheekbones. The door opened revealing a smug looking Sherlock.

"Be careful Mycroft, you'll catch flies like that if you aren't cautious enough."

178 notes · View notes

makeste · 4 years ago

Note

About Deku: a criticism that i had seen used againts him is that he never morally struggle about his decisions and that he always does the right think, do you think that this is a flaw of the story, or just people having different personal tastes regarding the main characther.

for me, I definitely wouldn’t call it a flaw, if only because it’s completely intentional. the main character always saving the day in the end and never wavering from their convictions (which are almost always admirable) is a part of the genre. pick just about any other mc in shounen -- Luffy, Naruto, Goku, etc. -- and you’ll find the same.

now, that’s not to say that the criticism isn’t valid. but the thing is, to me it’s like criticizing horror for being too scary, or criticizing comedy for not taking things seriously enough. shounen mcs are supposed to have those idealistic convictions. they’re supposed to have strong morals. it’s a part of the genre. it’s a feature of the genre, in fact. it’s one of the reasons why people gravitate to these stories, because it’s comforting and dependable.

these mcs aren’t perfect, of course, but they almost always have strong, incorruptible moral cores, even if that sometimes makes them a bit less relatable. because the thing is, they don’t necessarily need to be relatable to everyone, but what they do need is to be someone that the average person will root for to succeed. not necessarily role models, but someone who the average person will side with and support. hence why the strong moral backbone is so important. shounen mcs are supposed to reflect all of those shounen virtues like hope and courage and determination and justice and empathy and compassion. all that heroic shit. they have to embody that. it kind of comes with the territory.

and it’s fine to dislike that, because a lot of people see it as overly preachy and unrealistic and boring to a degree, and that’s understandable. it is predictable, and that predictability can be a double-edged sword. it’s familiar and reassuring, but it can also be dull and lacking in suspense, and there isn’t always a way around that. and this does mean that the mc won��t always necessarily be the most complex or interesting character in the series. they tend to be characters you look up to and admire, as opposed to characters you relate to personally. which is fine of course, but it’s a big reason why mcs often rank second or third in popularity polls, because the characters that are the most popular tend to have a bit more moral complexity. but again, that’s just part of the genre though. it’s not the mc’s job to be relatable; their job is simply to be someone that we can root for.

so to get back to your question, as I said, I don’t think this is a flaw of the story, because to me that would imply a mistake in the writing, which this isn’t. it’s very deliberate, and anyone who’s read or watched enough shounen knows that this is par for the course. so while you might disagree about whether or not it should be, imo that becomes more of a general argument against the genre itself than against BnHA or Deku’s character in particular.

and for what it’s worth, while I do understand the criticisms against him, for me at least, Deku is a very interesting character. like, just speaking from a strictly personal and totally subjective standpoint, I like him. I find him interesting. I find his personality, character, and story interesting. I find his struggles interesting. and he does have them, even if they’re not always of the “right vs wrong” variety. just because you know the right thing to do doesn’t mean it’s always easy. just because you ultimately wind up making the best decision doesn’t mean that the struggle is meaningless or boring, at least not to me. Deku often finds himself in situations where there is no easy way out. that’s interesting!! even if he does figure out a solution in the end, that doesn’t make the conflict any less interesting while it is going on. it’s just that it’s more of a “how is he gonna manage to get out of this one” suspense than a “will he make it out” suspense. that to me is the interesting part. when you’re reading about Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot solving a mystery, there’s never any doubt of whether they’ll solve it, because that’s not the focus of the story. the story is about how they will solve it. you’re not supposed to doubt whether the mc in shounen will succeed in the end, because it’s never been about that. the question isn’t will they. the question is how.

and I personally find the how of Deku’s story to be fascinating. this is a young boy who’s had heroic ambitions all his life, but who sometimes questions his own worthiness to fulfill them. he has a power that might be the world’s best hope against the strongest evil the world has ever known, but he’s inexperienced and has trouble controlling that power. he has an admirable need to save and protect others, but that same need makes him reckless, and occasionally puts him at great risk. he has a tendency to be short-sighted, and to make decisions that save others in the short term, but make things more difficult in the long term (take the current status of his arms, for instance -- using them against Tomura was a gamble that didn’t pay off, and in doing so he may have damaged them beyond repair).

and even though it’s the job of a shounen mc to bring all of the other characters together, this is the one thing he still hasn’t personally grasped yet, as he’s still stuck in the “I can’t put anyone else at risk so I’ll just have to do it all alone” stage of his development, and is going to need help in order to finally progress to the “everyone else is aware of the risks and prepared to make those sacrifices just like me, so I’m going to have to trust them and let them help me because it will take all of us in order to succeed” final, Enlightened stage. this is shaping up to perhaps be his greatest personal challenge, and it’s something that for my part I find very compelling. all of these flaws are compelling to me, actually. I don’t know if they count as “real” flaws to everyone or not, but frankly I don’t care. they’re interesting to me, and I could read about that shit all day.

and so for me personally, it doesn’t matter as much whether he’s morally conflicted or suffers too much from What A Good Person syndrome or whatever lol. because so far at least, that hasn’t affected my fondness for him at all. there are plenty of other things I find relatable about him, and the struggles he does go through have plenty of weight to me. ymmv! but to me he is extremely likable, and I enjoy reading about him, and I’m invested in his story and want him to succeed. and those are all of the character metrics I care about. I think that objectively, he’s a good shounen mc, and subjectively, he’s interesting and I like him. and I don’t really have a good, clever/punchy way to end this meta lol, so I guess I’ll just leave it at that.

#midoriya izuku #bnha meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks #long post

228 notes · View notes

teawaffles · 3 years ago

Text

The Adventures of John: Chapter 4, Part 2

TW // Mention of abuse

Also, a note for language.

Without even an opportunity for Laura to resist, Sherlock pulled his hand out — and revealed a gorgeous necklace. It wasn’t as if John could remember that necklace itself, but from its elegant sparkle, he judged that it’d been one of the items from their flat.

The despair on Laura’s face only deepened. Beside her, the detective spoke.

“This was stolen from my flat. Since the jewellery was in such a mess, you probably thought it wouldn’t look amiss if just one piece went missing — but that was naive of you,” he said. “Because I have a full grasp of everything that was put there.”

When Laura arrived at their flat, Sherlock had made a show of being indifferent to her request, while making sure that she had taken one of the stolen goods.

To have fully comprehended that chaos — John marvelled at the strength of Sherlock’s memory. During the conversation in the flat, he had persisted in looking out the window, away from Laura: that must’ve been to create a deliberate opening, and test if the girl would help herself to the pile.

Laura had stolen a piece of jewellery from their apartment. Moreover, she’d made up the request to find Dolly. Inevitably, from the two points above, it followed that her goal from the start had been to steal the jewellery. Hence, it formed definite proof that she was one of the thieves’ accomplices.

Confronted by that irreversible reality, Laura was stunned. As for the man, his eyes went bloodshot from anger.

“Y-You’ve gotta be kidding me, you good-for-nothing……. I told you to do it without exposing us—”

Hearing that, Sherlock piped up in a cool voice.

“Shall I take that as a confession? Though, there is still the argument that this kid Laura here is just another one of you vagrants, and you guys have nothing to do with the ring of thieves.”

The man spat on the ground.

“Hmph, I’ve no interest flogging that argument anymore. ——Let’s settle this the fast way.”

Saying that, he drew a small revolver from his pocket, and levelled it at Sherlock. Following suit, a few men among the group also whipped out knives and guns. The remaining crowd cried out softly in fear.

“If we dispatch the both of you right here, the truth’ll remain buried, eh?”

At that unsettling line, his armed accomplices also broke into twisted smiles.

But despite being held at gunpoint, Sherlock seemed particularly unmoved. He observed their actions, and narrated his own view.

“From the looks of it, you lot are the ringleaders, while the rest seem to have been threatened into compliance.”

“Yeah: with just a little bit of a beating, they’ll do anything we ask,” the man smirked.

But Sherlock was calm as he replied.

“From that, I gather not all of you are friends. And seeing how you resort to violence to settle things right away: you’re probably a hoodlum accustomed to crime, aren’t ya?”

“Hoodlum? You’re not wrong, but call us a group of clever thieves if you can. After all, I’ve skilfully manipulated these scum and carried out some brilliant thefts.”

Drunk on his own accomplishments, the man threw a glance at Laura. She hadn’t budged from where she stood; protecting her head, she cowered on the ground in sheer terror. From that, one could easily imagine what maltreatment she and the others had suffered at the hands of these thugs.

His heart filled with rage, John glared at the man.

“That means you forced them to commit crimes, didn’t you?”

“Call it making effective use of them, Doctor Watson,” he drawled. “These people all live on a pittance of a daily income. No one would care if they’re gone. I’ve given them a rather fine job until now, but this time, she just had to screw up. ——As I thought, brats are useless after all!”

“……I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

He shouted at Laura, and she repeated that apology over and over as she sobbed.

“You……”

“John, you’re right to be angry, but please calm down.”

At the unforgivable sight before him, the detective’s assistant had balled his hands into fists, but Sherlock persuaded him to keep his cool.

“Ah…… Sorry to get back to the topic, but let me give you some clarity on this case.”

“Huh?”

As before, Sherlock’s demeanour lacked any sort of tension, and his opponent frowned. But the detective paid no heed to that as he continued.

“To sum up the story thus far: the bunch of louts brandishing their weapons here are the ringleaders behind the thefts, and the other vagrants and street merchants were forcibly…… ‘used’, if I were to borrow your words?”

“Yeah, that’s right. You could say that they’re all expendables to be exploited as I please. To have so skilfully manipulated them — I bet my abilities rival those of that rumoured ‘Lord of Crime’ or something.”

“……Well.”

At that name, Sherlock’s eye twitched. But he showed no further reaction than that as he replied.

“In other words, to you guys, their names and faces aren’t even worth remembering?”

“That’s an odd way to put it, but exactly. They’re all disposable — do you really think I can remember all of them? ……That said, how long are you gonna keep prattling on like that? I don’t know if you’re just trying to buy time, but it’s time for you to die.”

Running out of patience, the man broke off their conversation, and moved to pull the trigger: fully intending to shoot the detective and his assistant.

However, Sherlock’s smile remained bold as ever.

“——That’s it then. I’ve gotten your word.”

That instant, John couldn’t believe his eyes.

Among the crowd of vagrants, the ones who were shrouded in hoods — separate from the ringleaders — were now aiming guns at the criminals.

“……Huh?”

“——Don’t move.”

One of the mysterious figures commanded sternly, keeping his gun trained on the lead criminal. Stunned by this sudden development, the man complied; and with his other hand, the figure slowly drew back his hood.

“……Inspector Lestrade?”

Out of sheer astonishment, John murmured the person's name.

The man in the hood, was Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. Facing the lead criminal, he spoke in a determined voice.

“From the conversation earlier, it’s clear that you have threatened the poor and coerced them into crime. I’ll hear the details at the station. Don’t even think about resisting.”

Then, the other figures removed their hoods and revealed their faces. One after the other, they confiscated the weapons from the stunned hoodlums. Though they weren’t wearing uniforms, from their practised actions, it was clear that they were police officers.

“W-What the devil is going on……?”

Tonight had been a night of many surprises for this detective. John was yet unable to wrap his head around the situation, and once again, he asked himself a question he’d thought about countless times today.

“Everything’s exactly as you’ve witnessed, John. When I identified this place, I contacted Lestrade at the same time, then got the officers to disguise themselves as tramps and hide among the crowd.”

“But why?”

“If I’d just called in the Yard as usual, we wouldn’t have been able to identify the ringleaders among this large a crowd.”

Sherlock stated that conclusion in brief, then began to explain.

“As I thought about the thieves’ actions, I judged that there was probably a mastermind separate from the ones committing the actual crimes, who was controlling them from behind the scenes. Hence, there was a need to identify this mastermind; but even if the Yard were to round up the entire group of vagrants, like what that ruffian told me earlier, they could just say that they had no relation to the ring of thieves — and that would be the end of it. Moreover, it still wasn’t clear who the ringleaders were, and the ring members who were being threatened would’ve likely been warned not to blab. So, in order to smoke out the ringleaders and elicit a confession, I added a bit of an act.”

Then, the detective looked at Lestrade, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“——Well, about the disguises: I’d thought about where the police squad could hide themselves, and decided it would be better for them to mingle with the crowd, so they wouldn’t have to sneak about all weirdly.”

“W-Wha— What a stupid……”

Upon hearing the truth, the man’s earlier triumphant attitude had devolved into a disgraceful, incredulous one. This time, Sherlock laughed out loud.

“Sure, you can make people follow you, but you’ll also have to keep tabs on them properly. In the first place, when this location was discovered, didn’t it occur to you that I would call in the Yard? You can pretend to be a mastermind, but with your lack of foresight, even the Lord of Crime would laugh.”

“S……Shite.”

“Oi, watch what you say from here on. It’ll be used as evidence against you in court.”

Lestrade warned the man as he clapped him in irons; accepting his defeat, he hung his head bitterly. For a villain who’d exploited people in poverty, and boasted of rivalling the Lord of Crime: it was a downright dreadful ending.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“I’ll always be in your debt, Holmes. And the same goes for you, Dr Watson.”

As he watched the arrested criminals being taken away, Lestrade thanked the detective duo.

However, in contrast to the inspector’s earnest attitude, Sherlock put a hand over his mouth as he tried to suppress his laughter.

“Lestrade. Sorry for saying this when you’re being so serious, but…… you looked surprisingly good as a tramp.”

“H-Hey! That’s rude, Sherlock!”

“By Jove, Sherlock……”

John chided the detective, and Lestrade let out an astonished sigh.

“……Anyway, I’m grateful for your help in resolving this case.”

“Yeah, let me know when you have another interesting mystery next time.”

After that simple exchange, the inspector left to join the other police officers.

Then, Laura — the central figure from today — and an old woman from among the vagrants walked over to them.

“——U-Um, Dr Watson.”

The girl stood right before John. She bit her lip, and sank into a deep bow.

“I’m so sorry for tricking you!”

Laura blurted that out in a loud voice. Then, the old woman also bowed solemnly.

Met with their sincere apologies, John spoke up in a kind voice.

“It’s alright. You had no choice — all of you were being threatened.”

“B-But…… I……”

“Don’t worry about it. In any case, won’t it be tough for you all from here on?”

With a start, Laura realised what he meant, and dropped her gaze. Though they had been coerced into thievery, it was still a fact that they had broken the law. Hence, in order to furnish the details to the Yard, all of them would be taken in for questioning.

The atmosphere turned slightly gloomy, and Sherlock piped up.

“You don’t have to be so serious about it, y’know. Seeing as all of you had been forced into those crimes, the Yard’ll treat you more leniently.”

“Y-You’re right.”

John knew that Sherlock was deliberately being optimistic, in an effort not to worry them both. Hence, though it was a little awkward, John agreed with him.

Perhaps the matter wasn’t as simple as Sherlock had described, but the events from now on would be out of their hands entirely. Hoping that Lestrade would speak well in their defence, John changed the topic somewhat forcibly.

“……By the way, is this lady a relative of yours?”

Hearing that, Laura brightened up, and introduced the old woman.

“Yes, she’s my grandmother; we’ve been making a living together selling food.”

“Truly, please accept my sincere apologies for what happened.”

Hearing the old woman’s husky voice, John finally understood the awkward exchange he had witnessed between them at the park. Seeing as they were family, it was only natural for Laura to be more relaxed around her; moreover, the old woman’s faltering tone had surely been due to her guilt at deceiving him.

John nodded in understanding. Then, Laura took out a small pouch.

“That and this…… Here’s the full amount we’ve taken from you, Dr Watson. Please accept it.”

“Ah, I see. I’d forgotten all about the money. Thank you.”

John was about to reach for the pouch, when all of a sudden, a thought struck him — and he stopped.

“……Um, is something the matter?”

Seeing him freeze up, Laura tilted her head. Then, John withdrew his hand, and instead held up the bag full of items he’d bought from the street merchants.

“‘Taken’? What’re you saying? I bought these of my own accord. I can’t see any issues with them, so I’ve no intention of getting a refund.”

“……Eh?”

“Isn’t that right? I negotiated properly with the merchants in the parks, and bought these items as a customer. There was no trickery at all.”

John asserted that proudly, and beside him, he heard Sherlock chuckle.

Of course, what John said was by no means a show of bravado that he hadn’t been tricked. Laura had been moved by his kindness throughout the day; in an instant, she sensed the emotions imbued in his words. But even so, she knitted her brows, looking troubled.

“Still, I really should return this to you.”

She then offered him the pouch again, but John gently pushed it away.

“Laura, in all honesty, the walnuts your grandmother sold me were delicious. For products that good, it’s only right that I pay a fair price for them.”

His smile was full of warmth as he continued.

“If I happen to see your stall again, I’ll be sure to buy from you.”

“Dr Watson……”

This time, Laura did not press the matter.

She held the pouch as if it were a treasure, and her face brimmed with smiles.

“——Alright. When we see each other again, I’ll be sure to prepare lots of walnuts for you.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to that.”

Then, John bade goodbye to Laura and her grandmother; and with his “loot” in hand, he left the scene with Sherlock.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

53 notes · View notes

deductioniis · 4 years ago

Text

John Watson character analysis, or what is going on in John's head in tst to make him do what he did in TLD

A few premises:

What i say here below might have been mentioned already by others in the past

It's my interpretation of facts, so I might be wrong!

It contains TW // suicidal thoughts, alchololism, PTSD, grief, self-loathing, gaslighting

Before going right into the topic, it's better if we go back to the beginning of the show, so to analyse where John comes from. The show opens with shots from Afghanistan, a nightmare that wakes up John, leaving him sweaty and panicking. Then we see him in a therapy session, Ella telling him about his trust issues. We never know what caused these issues, but I believe that it is a cause of the war PTSD or of the sexual repression going on inside of him if we think of him coming from a conservative and homophobe family. No one really understands him, he has no one to relate to and to talk about his trauma, hence he is no longer bothered to open up to others if all he gets is nothing.

Even if we consider John as the more empathetic and extrovert compared to Sherlock, we are reminded constantly of his struggles in relating to people and showing emotions. John is as much lost and damaged as Sherlock: he was probably dealing with past traumatic experiences, he came back from a war that left him with PTSD and he is now suicidal with nothing to look forward to.

"You are not haunted by the war, Dr Watson, you miss it." That doesn’t really make sense if we think of John’s nightmares. But if we consider the 'war' as his inner turmoil, then it makes sense. John was literally on the point of ending it, until the moment he met Sherlock. From the nothingness, to something happening, going back to life. Though life requires feelings, John's weak point.

I think it is also important to talk about John’s strong attachment with male figures, in particular Sherlock and Sholto. Compared to them, John is the one who is looking at them as a guide, probably because of the lack of a strong bond with his own father, thus resulting in the commonly known daddy issues. Some examples can be seen in TSoT, where Sholto is presented as John’s ex (army commander). If we think of their relationship in a romantic way, reinforced by Mary’s ‘neither of us were the first’, then we get John’s strong attachment to him: he is concerned about him, advises him to go to therapy to deal with the trauma and probably John himself has been in some sort of distress when he knew about Sholto’s accident.

John never mentions Sholto to Sherlock, the other male person he is strongly attached to, probably because he is scared to lose him, preferring then to bottle up his emotions. This bad habit of John is recurrent: when Sherlock fakes his suicide, John at first bottles up his emotions, he doesn't even talk to Mrs Hudson because, as mentioned before, he doesn't really know if she would fully understand him. We see then at how he copes with it in Many Happy Returns. His tare héreditaire makes him find peace in drinking alcohol, probably abusing it as a way of escape from feelings. He is repressing them so much at the point of blaming himself of feeling them, adding up the sense of grief and probably guilt of not having been enough for Sherlock after all they have experienced together. But when Sherlock comes back, John finds that the only way to express what goes on in his head is by actions, attacking Sherlock for having been so careless of not even thinking about him when he fell from the rooftop. Here John is one of the many considering suicide as something selfish, where the one who leaves doesn't think of the void they'll leave inside others. This, though, is discussed and later contradicted by Sherlock himself in tld 'your life is not your own, keep your hands off it'.

Time to flashforward to TST now, whose final scenes really require John all the strength to fight the feelings he has always repressed. Grief is a tough process that we all get to face in life and that might cause different emotions. For the second time in his screen-time life, John once again decides to retreat, hiding from the world and not giving his best friend a chance to help. We know that he gives Sherlock a letter, but its content is a mystery. As he struggles himself with a direct confrontation with Sherlock, he might have written down his thoughts, probably harsher than he intended, as we later see Sherlock high and John coping in an unhealthy way with trauma.

He is self-blaming himself for letting Rosie down, he is stuck into a dimension of things that is bigger than he is and really doesn’t know how to deal with it. As he speaks with the (fake) therapist, he is passive-aggressive, once more he is getting defensive about his own point of view. He doesn’t understand his own feelings, he doesn’t want them to be normal and ordinary during a process of grieving. He is desperately craving someone to agree with him and not going against him, making him feel even more misunderstood. He is ‘holding himself to an unreasonable standard’. He wants to be someone else, not committing the same mistakes that probably most of the important figures in his life have done. In tld, we see John who is desperately clinging to his past, his only place of comfort. But clinging to it is never good, it doesn’t really solve anything.

He is distressed, grieving, not understanding the emotions he is feeling. For once, he wants others to return the care he is constantly giving but yet again, the trust issues come in.

His session is interrupted by Sherlock, one of John’s weak points. Sherlock’s addiction is now coming over into John’s problems. Once at the hospital all the emotions he is keeping inside to holding up to his unhealthy standards are on the point of bursting.

He is once again trying to keep up with the ‘quicker’ minds of Culverton and Sherlock and his trust for the detective is at stake. Sherlock’s high, how can he trust him? The person he trusted the most, is letting him down, and he needs to be the one in command. Cultverton is keeping playing with John’s insecurities, playing with his trust issues and weaknesses so to make him burst. Messing up with his head and manipulating him to the point so he can get what he wants: Sherlock in his hospital room. When John is questioning his role as a doctor, he feels guilty, for not having looked after Sherlock, for not being able to deal with his grief. All these emotions bottling up to a point of no-return…

#bbc #sherlock #john watson #sherlock meta #character analysis #martin freeman #bbc sherlock #the six thatchers #the lying detective #a study in pink #the reichenbach fall #character analyses

149 notes · View notes

mediaevalmusereads · 3 years ago

Text

The Alienist. By Caleb Carr. New York: Random House, 1994.

Rating: 4/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction, mystery, suspense

Part of a Series? Yes, The Kreizler Series #1

Summary: The year is 1896. The city is New York. Newspaper reporter John Schuyler Moore is summoned by his friend Dr. Laszlo Kreizler—a psychologist, or “alienist”—to view the horribly mutilated body of an adolescent boy abandoned on the unfinished Williamsburg Bridge. From there the two embark on a revolutionary effort in criminology: creating a psychological profile of the perpetrator based on the details of his crimes. Their dangerous quest takes them into the tortured past and twisted mind of a murderer who will kill again before their hunt is over.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: ableism, homophobia/transphobia, racism (including slurs), sexism, rape, abuse, child abuse and sexual assault, child prostitution, animal cruelty, blood, gore, violence

Overview: This book has been on my TBR list for a while, so I figured I’d finally get around to reading it. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but I was actually surprised by how much I enjoyed the reading experience. Carr writes in a way that pretty closely imitates 19th century detective fiction, and while such a style might not be for everyone, I thought it went a long way in creating atmosphere. My criticisms have mostly to do with pace and the creative decisions that probably didn’t have to be made (such as depictions of child sexual assault, use of slurs, etc), but even with those faults, I have to give Carr’s craft and research a lot of credit, so this book gets 4 stars from me.

Writing: As I mentioned above, this book mimics detective fiction of the 19th century. If you’ve read any of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, you might get the idea: first person, characters displaying almost whimsical behavior, stuffed with contextual details that may or may not be relevant. At first, I thought the reading experience was going to be a slog, but once I realized what Carr was trying to do, I readjusted my expectations and found the prose to be quite engaging. If you like 19th century literature, you might appreciate what Carr does, but if you find older lit to be a challenge, this book might not be the thriller you’re hoping for.

That being said, I do think there were some areas where Carr could have picked up the pace or even cut some of the contextual details. It’s obvious that Carr did a lot of research before writing this book, and it’s understandable that he would want to show off some of that research, but there were times where I felt like it was a little much.

I also think there are a lot of things in this book that will offend modern sensibilities. I recall at least one use of the N-word (which is spoken by a racist minor character) as well as remarks that make it clear that characters think same-sex intimacy is “deviant” or abhorrent. I can understand why Carr put them in his book; if we’re trying to evoke an atmosphere and make the story feel like it’s set in the 19th century, it’s not realistic to expect everyone to be accepting of gay sex or treat POC with respect. But also, I think it’s on Carr to bear the responsibility of creating plot points and characters that have those attitudes in the first place. The character who uses the N-word could have easily not done so, and characters could have been more clear that their revulsion was at child prostitution rather than same-sex relationships.

Still, I was able to follow the plot with no problem and the sentences flowed in a way that made the reading experience feel quick (no 10-line sentences, thank god). So while there may be some things I would have liked to see adjusted to fit my own tastes, I think Carr did a wonderful job of making me feel like I was reading an older work.

Plot: The plot of this book follows a group of investigators as they try to use psychology to catch a serial killer. As far as being an “original” or unique thriller, this book doesn’t necessarily deliver a plot we haven’t seen before; but what made it so interesting (at least to me) was that it was less interested in the thrill of catching the killer and more interested in thinking through the “whys.” Why did the killer do X? Why did he do Y and Z when he could have done A or B? In this sense, the suspense doesn’t come from the action or the “chase,” but from the building of ideas and a foggy picture becoming more and more clear.

If I can fault Carr for anything, it’s that I think he crafted his mystery around some subjects that are... touchy (for lack of a better word). Most of the murder victims are children - specifically child prostitutes - and a lot of the killer’s motivations are rooted in some combination of racism and exposure to abuse. If you’re looking for a book which handles these issues with sensitivity, I think you’ll be disappointed. But I have to give Carr some credit for not overly sensationalizing these things; for example, while he did include characters who were racist towards Native Americans, he also included characters who were sympathetic and who insisted on not judging tribes for their defensive violence. Not everything is perfect, and there were some moments that made me uncomfortable, but I felt like Carr painted a complex picture of 19th century America, so I was able to keep going.

Characters: The plot of this book is told from the perspective of John Schuyler Moore - a newspaper reporter who teams up with his friend, eminent psychologist Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, to catch a serial killer. As a protagonist, Moore isn’t overly compelling - he’s more like a neutral, blank slate that the reader can project themselves onto. He serves much of the same function as Watson in the Sherlock Holmes stories: to be a witness to other characters’ brilliance while occasionally making some helpful insights. Still, I didn’t outright hate Moore - he was kind and loyal, and I admired how he went out of his way to try to help people.

Kreizler, the psychologist (or “alienist” as they were called in those days), is somewhat of a Sherlockian character in that he’s eccentric, confident, and had abilities that stun the people around him. For the most part, Kreizler was fun to follow. I think the only times I got truly frustrated with him were when he would allude to some knowledge and then leave Moore in the dark - like “aha! This thing is obvious!” “What thing?” “No time to explain! I’ll tell you at dinner!” Those moments were a little irritating.

Sarah, the most prominent female character, was more complex than I expected her to be. She has clear career aspirations and doesn’t let anyone hold her back, and I liked that she was presented as this kick-ass woman who still felt human. She struggles when faced with the horrors of the murder, but she doesn’t let the horror put her off of her task. She’s confident and never seems to have a moment of self-doubt (which is refreshing). She notices interpersonal things without being boxed in as “the woman who notices emotions.” Granted, Sarah does serve some token function - she’s brought on in order to provide a “female perspective,” which was a little frustrating, but she held her own so well that my annoyance melted away.

Marcus and Lucius, the two brothers who work for the police department, are also quite charming characters. I loved how they brought technical expertise to the group by being knowledgeable about anatomy, fingerprints, photography, and the like, and I especially enjoyed the way they bickered with one another. Their presence immediately made scenes feel lighter, and they brought something of a family aspect to the whole band.

Supporting characters were well-crafted in that no two felt quite the same. Teddy Roosevelt (yes, that one) was cheerful and warm while still demanding absolute cooperation and loyalty from his men. Cyrus and Stevie - two of Kreizler’s employees - were charming, though I wish Cyrus had gotten to do more than just kind of silently stand by awaiting orders. Mary - Kreizler’s maid - was a lovely character, and I appreciated the positive disability representation we got with her, though I do not like how her character arc ended and how it related to the main plot. The crime bosses were intimidating without feeling too much like stock characters, the thugs did their job. I don’t think there was a character that was poorly written, just characters who served purposes that may or may not have been needed.

As for the murderer... we don’t get to see him very much, but I felt like I got to know him because so much of the book was focused on mapping out his life and psychology. It worked much better than books where the antagonist is looming off to the side, acting as a vaguely threatening force but not really a character, and one that doesn’t even show up until the last quarter of the book. When the killer finally does appear on page, I felt like he had been involved in the story, even without being physically present, so I was able to accept him as an active force on the narrative, not just a surprise twist at the end.

TL;DR: The Alienist is a well-crafted mystery that uses atmosphere and psychology to create an engaging mystery. While some readers may struggle with the period-like prose or the more disturbing aspects of the story, Carr creates a compelling narrative by focusing on understanding and knowledge over spectacle and action, and by using well-developed characters.

8 notes · View notes

fantastic-rambles · 4 years ago

Text

Your Move [1]

Fandom: Yuukoku no Moriarty

Summary: I just wanted William to play chess with Sherlock because I’m a nerd. Starts shortly before the events of “Scandal in the British Empire” and will loosely follow the manga (hopefully). A real game is played throughout the story. [NOTE: Given the time period, there’s an argument to be made that they should be using descriptive notation, which was far more common in England at the time. But I personally believe that William would opt to use the more elegant algebraic notation. I also wanted to confuse John initially, not that that’s hard. Lol.]

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, William James Moriarty, John Watson, Louis James Moriarty, Sebastian Moran, Fred Porlock, Albert James Moriarty (mentioned)

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2.5k

"Holmes! Hey, Holmes! Message for you!"

John and Sherlock looked up at the cheeky call, watching Wiggins run up to them while waving an envelope. It was about the size of a calling card, and after Sherlock accepted it and turned it over, they both saw that the front was blank.

"I've got orders to wait for your reply," Wiggins informed Sherlock with a grin, a shilling flashing briefly between his fingers before it disappeared. Curious, John peered over Sherlock's shoulder as he opened the envelope, pulling out a small card with a cryptic message written in a neat script.

1. e4 Your move, Mr. Detective.

But Sherlock seemed to have understood it immediately, given the way his face had lit up. Usually, he only looked that excited when he was solving an interesting case or talking about the mysterious Lord of Crime.

"John, give me a pen," Sherlock said, holding a hand out expectantly as he flipped the card over to the other side. Even though he was still confused, John obeyed, unclipping the pen from his pocket and handing it over. Grinning, the master detective scrawled "e6" onto the back before stuffing it back in the envelope and handing it to Wiggins, who immediately dashed off.

"What was that about, Sherlock?" John asked as he tucked his pen away again. "Something related to the Lord of Crime?"

"Nah, it was Liam. He must be in London today!" Sherlock's stride lengthened as he made as if to follow the urchin, and John had to hurry to catch up to his sudden energy. He'd only really seen William James Moriarty in passing, when he had been arrested on the train and subsequently exonerated, but Lestrade had told him afterwards about the young noble who had proved himself to be as intelligent as Sherlock. John found it hard to believe that there could be anyone who could compete with his flatmate, but he did feel a sense of gratitude to Moriarty for his contributions to securing his freedom.

Still, seeing how Sherlock could behave like a child… or rather, a child looking forward to playing with a friend (since he behaved like a child most of the time), John felt that he could believe Lestrade. Just talking to anyone else seemed to bore Sherlock since it was incredibly difficult--if not impossible--to keep up with him, so for him to actively seek out someone else suggested that, at the very least, he sincerely found them to be fascinating. John couldn't help feeling bad for William, though; Sherlock was difficult enough to deal with when he had no personal interest in someone. To be an object of his obsession seemed like it would be positively exhausting.

"Wait, Sherlock. Wiggins went that way," John pointed out as they crossed an intersection where he'd seen the boy turn left, but Sherlock shook his head.

"Do you really think I'm going to chase after a child? As long as I can figure out where Liam is, that's what's important. Taxi!"

John sighed, but he followed Sherlock into the hansom cab, listening to his friend give instructions to the driver. Their route brought them to the outskirts of London, depositing them outside a large manor, and John had a sinking feeling that he knew just who the owner was. Sherlock didn't hesitate to step inside the gates and walk up the broad walkway framed by carefully manicured gardens, while John followed more hesitantly.

"Sherlock, there's etiquette that should be observed when you're calling on someone," he whispered. If the card had really come from the second son of the Moriarty family, then wouldn't he be in town, rather than at home? John simply couldn't fathom how Sherlock had come to the conclusion that the man was here, and he hoped that his friend wouldn't make too much of a fuss when he was told otherwise.

"Don't be such a bore, John. Knowing Liam, he's probably expecting me." He rapped smartly on the door before John could reply. Bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation, John glanced around the grounds. There seemed to be a surprising lack of servants: John had only spotted one young-looking gardener kneeling by some rose bushes. He had looked up briefly as the two men passed by before returning to his work, and John wondered if the other workers were just taking a break. It hardly seemed likely that such a well-tended estate could be managed by just one worker.

When the door opened, a rather rough-looking butler looked out at the two of them, and John tried to look apologetic, but Sherlock didn't seem put off at all, speaking up before the other man could even inquire about their visit.

"Is Liam in?" Sherlock asked.

The man seemed to contemplate them for a little longer before turning around and calling, "Oi, Will, there's two blokes here to see you! I think one of them's that famous detective!"

His lack of propriety shocked John. Were the Moriartys some sort of eccentric family? Their servants certainly gave him that impression. Or maybe they had hired them out of noblesse oblige, giving them an opportunity to earn a living and learn how to work, so that they could find employment in other houses afterwards, as some other families did. After all, they had adopted and cared for two orphan children, one of whom had died in a fire, but the other one still lived with them. If so, that was rather admirable, though still odd, as there didn't appear to be any upper servants who would normally be given the role of training new workers. But before he could contemplate the situation further, a familiar face appeared in the doorway of another room.

"Mr. Holmes? And Dr. Watson?"

The young aristocrat approached the two of them, his expression curious, but not surprised.

"We were just about to have tea," William informed them. "Would you like to join us?"

"Thanks for the invitation!" Sherlock replied enthusiastically, stepping inside without any reservations. John followed more slowly, letting the butler close the door behind them. All three of them followed William through the room that he had appeared from, stepping out onto a low patio that looked out over the garden. William's adopted brother--Louis, if John remembered correctly--was standing by a table already set for afternoon tea, meticulously polishing one of the knives before setting it down. Four places had been set, which surprised John. It seemed that Sherlock had been right: William had been expecting them.

"Please, sit." William gestured to the chairs, and Sherlock and Louis immediately claimed the seats closest to him, leaving John to gingerly take his own seat across from William. Louis poured out the tea with a deft hand as Sherlock leaned towards William, his eyes glittering with excitement.

"So, Liam, what brings you to London? Another plot by the Lord of Crime?" he asked, plucking a scone off the platter and shoving it whole into his mouth. John, who had just begun to sip on his tea, choked. Seizing a napkin, he began to cough vigorously into it, his eyes huge. Was Sherlock really suggesting that William was a murderer, or at least working with one? His coughing fit prevented him from hearing most of the answer, but judging from William's face, he hadn't taken any offense at the accusation.

"... just helping Albert out," William was saying airily when John finally managed to get himself back under control. Taking a deep breath, he managed another sip of tea without incident before helping himself to a madeleine.

"Albert is your elder brother, right? And he's in the military?"

"He was, but he's been discharged. Currently, he's setting up a company to invest in trading companies or factories in England. After all, it would be beneficial to our society to support progress and provide people with opportunities to break free of the traditional system in which the poor are bound to the land they are born on, with no choice but to work for the gentry, don't you think?"

"Aaaah, that sort of stuff doesn't concern me," Sherlock replied, waving his hand dismissively, and John winced. Of course, he knew that Sherlock was the kind of person who completely ignored anything that didn't interest him, but for him to continue behaving in such a way when they were guests was deeply insulting to the host. "You're probably right, though, Liam. Anyways, it seems that my reply hasn't arrived yet? e6."

William arched an eyebrow, then leaned back and beckoned the butler over, murmuring something to him before turning back to Sherlock. "d4."

"d5."

They spat strange codes at each other, and John glanced at Louis, who looked irritated as he stared at Sherlock. John couldn't blame him: if William was half as obnoxious as Sherlock when it came to flaunting his intellect, then the other man must have also gone through a lot. Feeling as though the two of them had been left out of whatever was happening, John leaned towards the other man.

"The tea is very nice," he said awkwardly, but at least it caught Louis' attention.

"Thank you," Louis replied with some stiffness.

"Do you know what they're doing?"

Just as Louis was about to reply, William and Sherlock's next exchange answered the question for him, though it seemed that they were using some sort of system that John was unfamiliar with.

"Knight to c3."

"Bishop to b4."

"e5."

"c5."

By then, the butler had reappeared with a chess board, placing it down between Sherlock and William. As William reached out to move a piece, Sherlock chuckled.

"You can't expect me to believe that you need that, Liam. Come on, let's keep going."

But William just smiled as he continued to rearrange the board.

"There's a certain charm in moving the pieces yourself, Mr. Holmes. It's easy to just use words to command others, but if you distance yourself from the feeling of having their lives in your hands, it's very easy to forget what's important. A game of chess is ultimately a game of war, and even the pieces that fall to the wayside or are sacrificed should have their value remembered. Don't you agree, Dr. Watson?"

"Excuse me?" John blinked, surprised to be suddenly addressed, and William picked up a bishop, toying idly with the carved birch piece.

"As an army doctor, you would have a better insight into this discussion, wouldn't you?" William asked, staring at him intently. John was reminded of the unwavering stare of a viper, coiled in the trenches and ready to strike at any man unwary enough to walk about without checking if there was anything underfoot. "To you, are the men you treated, or those who died on the operating table, just numbers? Or did they have names and families, reasons to travel so far from home to die in a distant land?"

"Well..." John shifted uncomfortably, his mind shying away from those memories, so he was relieved when Sherlock suddenly reached out and grabbed William's hand.

"Oi, Liam, it's just a game. Make your move already."

William blinked, and the intense pressure that John was feeling faded. "Ah. I apologize if my questions upset you, Dr. Watson. Excessive curiosity is not a very attractive trait, I'm afraid, but it is one of my flaws."

He contemplated the board briefly before placing down the piece in his hand. "Bishop to d2."

"Brother," Louis interrupted softly. "We're supposed to meet Albert soon."

"Is it that time already?" William pulled out a pocket watch, opening it to examine the dial. Then, he snapped it closed again, getting to his feet and straightening his clothing. "I do apologize, gentlemen, but we have a prior engagement. If you'll just wait a short while, Mr. Moran will call you a cab."

"Eh, don't be such a killjoy, Liam. You're heading into town, right? You could give us a ride," Sherlock protested, but William shook his head, smiling enigmatically.

"Unfortunately, I would not be good company. There are several documents that I was planning to go over this afternoon, so I'll need to catch up on them in the carriage instead. But it was worth it, as this was far more enjoyable. Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson." He inclined his head slightly in a clear farewell, leaving the patio with his brother trailing behind him.

"Liam! Knight to e7!" Sherlock called after him before slumping back in his chair. He reached out to nudge his knight forward before sighing and tilting his head back to stare at the sky. John recognized the signs for the start of one of his flatmate's dark moods, but fortunately, the butler came to fetch them before Sherlock tried to do anything extreme. Again, John was struck by how unprofessional the man seemed as he ushered them out the door and into the waiting carriage.

"Sherlock, what do you think of the butler? Mr. Moran?" John asked in an attempt to distract his friend as the horses clopped through the gate. Sherlock was digging around in his pockets, eventually pulling out his cigarette case and taking one out.

"Match," he ordered brusquely, and John handed him the requested match, waiting for him to light his cigarette and take a long drag. Only after that did Sherlock deign to answer his question.

"He isn't a butler by trade. He was a soldier before--an officer, most likely, since he seems to come from a noble family. He probably saw a lot of men that he cared about die while he was abroad, but unlike you, he seems to be mostly over it now. Perhaps you should ask him for a referral to his therapist."

John frowned. "What's a man like that doing as a butler?"

"What's an army doctor doing as an assistant to the world's only consulting detective?" Sherlock retorted. "People have their own circumstances, and their decisions don't always make sense to others. What?"

John was gaping at his friend as though he'd suddenly grown another head.

"What?" Sherlock repeated, and John shook off his surprise slowly.

"I didn't expect you to actually show consideration towards someone else," he replied, his eyebrows still raised.

"What are you talking about? What about Hope?" Sherlock pointed out, sounding mildly irritated, as he usually did whenever John pointed out something patently obvious--at least to Sherlock. But before John could respond, the carriage stopped, and their driver announced, "221 Baker Street!"

They exited the cab, and as they were crossing the threshold of 221B, John suddenly remembered another, more pressing issue.

"And what was that about? Accusing William of being the Lord of Crime? Even as a joke, that was incredibly rude of you!" he reprimanded Sherlock, only to be taken aback when the other man actually laughed out loud. The suddenness of it even prompted Miss Hudson to poke her head around the corner to see what was happening.

"He's brilliant, isn't he? But you don't need to worry about that, John. He's just playing along, like he did on the train. God, if he really was the Lord, it would be perfect!"

Still laughing, he headed upstairs. John exchanged an exasperated look with Miss Hudson's confused one, then headed up himself.

[Part 2]

#yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #yuumori #ynm #fanfic #fan fic #sherlock holmes #william james moriarty #john watson #louis james moriarty #sebastian moran #fred porlock #albert james moriarty #mine #fun trivia: if the card was treated as an actual calling/visiting card then sherlock was rude as fuck #because receiving the card in an envelope means please don't visit me #and the extra settings were actually supposed to be for moran and fred lol

25 notes · View notes

stardustryewriting · 4 years ago

Text

A Learning Process (6)

This is the final part

AO3: here

Part 1 2 3 4 5

Combinational Learning

Bakugou hated crying. With a burning passion. His lungs and eyes burned and trying to take a breath seemed impossible. Tears spilling over, out of his eyes and down his cheeks, like a river escaping a dam. It was always, always accompanied by heavy breathing, an inability to draw in breath properly, making it near impossible to talk or even produce sounds resembling words. It always turned into ugly sobbing, him having to clutch something to ground himself.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to stop.

Kirishima had walked out on him - thinking Bakugou hated his guts, no less - and there was nothing he could do. He just watched helplessly, frozen in place, unable to do anything. He finally fucked up for good. The worst thing was, he’d seen it coming from the start. He always knew he wouldn’t be able to make it work, eventually he’d destroy even the simplest thing. His friendship with Kirishima. He just wished he could let him know why it was broken now. Not that it mattered anymore.

It shattered easily like glass, and there was a little intrusive thought that had made itself at home in Bakugou’s head, telling him it was always meant that way. As if someone as good as Kirishima really wanted to spend their entire life at Bakugou’s side, friend or otherwise. He knew it was wrong - doomed from the start - the moment he realized what exactly his feelings for Kirishima were. It could have never worked out.

He wasn’t boyfriend material. He wasn’t even someone you wanted to date, his impulsiveness and general lack at expressing himself more than made sure of that. People usually avoided approaching him unless strictly necessary. Who could possibly want to date him? He wouldn’t have been a boyfriend. He would have been a project. And Kirishima deserved way better than a project. He should have the world. Not a guy with anger issues.

__________________

The first thing Kirishima had done, after he got safely into his room and locked the door behind him, was block Bakugou on every social media on his device. Which now seemed irrational - surely there were better ways to cope - but back then it was the first thing his mind had provided for him. Create as much distance as possible. Easily said, but they lived next door in the dorms, there was only so much distance to be had.

The next thing Kirishima did was crawl into his bed, vanish completely under his covers and decide to let his emotions take the reign. He would take whatever his head offered him and then deal with the aftermath later. Unfortunately his head let him have nothing. No crying, no anger, not even the tiny taunting voice telling him that of course, he couldn’t possibly be good enough and he should stop fooling himself. Just emptiness.

A few stray tears escaped his eyes every now and then and he felt the pressure of more behind his eyes, but for some reason they refused to fall. As if he had been bled empty from all emotions. He just lay there, under his covers staring at his wall - the one he shared with Bakugou, because of course his bed was on that side of the room - and tried to will himself to work through at least something. He came up empty-handed.

He went to Recovery Girl the next day, because despite feeling and thinking nothing, he stayed awake the entire night and he didn’t feel like school. Their resident healer took one look at him and told him to stay ‘home’ and that she would excuse him from school. He took the paper slip to the teacher lounge and handed it to Present Mic, because Aizawa wasn’t there yet, who told him he would hand it over, and wished him a speedy recovery.

Kirishima felt like scoffing then - as if he had any chance to ever recover from that - but he lacked any and all energy to do more than politely thanking him. Even that sounded toneless and drained to his ears. Judging from Present Mic’s flinch, it sounded even worse for other people.

He went back to the dorms afterwards, careful to avoid the others, who would start getting ready for their day any minute and collapsed onto his bed again. He stared at his ceiling, distantly wondering, if emptiness was a side-effect of heartbreak. This time he scoffed at his own mind, because naming it heartbreak was a stretch. There was never anything that would warrant this being called a heartbreak. Only his own unjustified hopes, that he should have squashed as soon as they came up for the first time.

He knew he never stood a chance.

Because what could Bakugou Katsuki possibly want with him? Bakugou was always in the top three of their class academically and in hero-related exercises. Kirishima was somewhere in the lower half academically and got periodically scolded for rushing into situations without thinking them through. Bakugou had a strong, flashy quirk that would make him the number one eventually. Kirishima would be lucky to not be forgotten, with a quirk as useless as his. Bakugou had the fierce determination to achieve anything he wanted. Kirishima wasn’t even sure he actually belonged in the hero course.

There was nothing Bakugou could want from him. The realisation should hurt, Kirishima had fully expected it to hurt. He felt nothing instead, like he had the entire day and he wondered if he’d feel nothing forever.

He wondered if he deserved it, for foolishly getting his hopes up in the first place.

__________________

Bakugou was keenly aware that he hadn’t seen Kirishima all week. When Kaminari had asked - on Monday ten minutes into the homeroom lesson - Aizawa had waved him off, declaring that Kirishima was sick. He left it at that, continuing his lesson on something Bakugou couldn’t remember. Like he couldn’t remember most things that happened that week.

He did remember Aizawa pulling him out of one of the training exercises, deciding he was too distracted to continue like the others. Despite being wrapped up in his teacher's capture weapon and basically held on display, Bakugou didn’t argue. He could admit when someone was right. He also remembered Jirou giving him the stink eye, and sometimes even the finger, whenever she thought she could get away with it. She got away with it surprisingly often, Iida only lectured her two times the entire week.

Kaminari, Mina and Sero also kept a careful distance and while normally, being alone didn’t bother him. this time, it made him seriously uneasy. Because it could only mean one thing. They knew what was up. Even worse, he couldn’t be sure how much they knew. Did they talk to Kirishima? Did they figure it out on their own? Was there any way he could get the idiots to spill? Probably not. But while normally, it would make him angry to no end, now he didn’t even have the energy to scream at them. He tried angry glares, but judging from their reactions, they weren’t half as good as he hoped.

This was starting to be a problem.

It became a real problem on Thursday, when he sat alone on his table, trying to eat his lunch in peace, while avoiding everyone’s stares. He heard more than he saw, the two chairs in front of him being pulled back and someone sitting on them. Usually, he would tell whoever it was to get lost, he wasn’t interested in sharing the table, but he didn’t think he could find the energy for that. So instead, he just gave them a stink eye and hoped that would be enough. It wasn’t.

In front of him, smiling like he was the embodiment of innocence himself, sat Deku. Next to him, face carefully neutral and his eyes not betraying a single emotion, sat his boyfriend. Bakugou felt like he was in hell already. The two chatted quietly between themselves, throwing glances at him occasionally and Bakugou considered just leaving the table. Or asking where the rest of their bunch was, because surely they would be better company than him. Surprisingly, Todoroki beat him to the punch.

“I told him”, he said, sounding apologetic and Bakugou needed a second to realise what he meant. Their talk. Their fucking talk about fucking feelings that he swore to take to the grave with him and now Deku was in the know. Could his life possibly get any worse than it already was? (The answer was yes, and he wished he never asked the question.)

“Yeah, he did”, Deku confirmed, unnecessarily, because Todoroki may have been a social airhead, but he’d never been a liar. You could trust that much, at least. “You see, Shoto isn’t exactly great with feelings, for reasons”, and Deku managed to say ‘reasons’ in a way that made it clear he would not discuss said ‘reasons’ further, “so I fear he may have accidentally made it worse.”

“No shit, Sherlock. That might have been the most frustrating talk I’ve ever had”, Bakugou spat, familiar anger settling in his chest again. At least that was something. He could deal with anger, he always had.

“Sorry”, Todoroki said shortly, actually looking a little sheepish.

“Anyways”, Deku interrupted, before either of the two could discuss that any further, “I’m here to offer help. The talk was about Kirishima-kun, wasn’t it?”

That felt like a slap to his face. How did Deku know it was about Kirishima? He never said it, he specifically made sure to never mention a name or even a gender in front of Todoroki. How had Deku figured it out? Was it that obvious? Were the others able to see it as well? Did Kirishima know?

That was a truly frightful thought. What if Kirishima knew, but feigned ignorance as a way of letting him down easy? What if the reason Bakugou hadn’t seen Kirishima in almost a week was not because he hurt Kirishima, but because Kirishima didn’t want to hurt him. Would that be better or worse than their current mess? He honestly didn’t know. He hated it, all the same.

“How?”, he said, throwing Deku his best angry look, and it really spoke for his current state, that Deku didn’t even flinch. If he couldn’t even intimidate Deku, he must have really lost his stuff. Somehow that didn’t come as a surprise.

“How do I know?”, Deku asked, but didn’t wait for an answer, “I’ve known you since kindergarten. I know you like to pretend to hate me, but we’ve been friends once. I know you better than you like to admit. And I see the way you act around him. You don’t act like that with just anyone.”

Bakugou wasn’t even upset, he realised, to his surprise. Because Deku was right, Kirishima had been special from the start. Not intimidated by him during the USJ, offering himself as an unwavering horse during the sports festival, coming to his rescue after he was kidnapped. Kirishima was always there, always so reliable, it made Bakugou wonder when he actually fell in love. Because it’s been way before the mall incident, that was for sure.

It only made the entire thing worse.

“So what?”, he grumbled, not giving Deku the satisfaction of telling him he was right. He was sure Deku knew anyway. “Even if that were true, how could you possibly help?”

“Like I said”, Deku continued, with the patience of a saint, while also completely skipping over the part where Bakugou attempted to deny his feelings once more, “I know you. And I know Kirishima-kun. Not as good as you do, I’m sure, but good enough.”

“Good enough for what?”, Bakugou inquired, unsure where Deku was going with this, but Todoroki had a self-satisfied smirk on his face that told Bakugou to be cautious. Too bad caution had never been his strong suit.

“Good enough to know that something went terribly wrong between you two”, Deku answered carefully, gauging Bakugou’s reaction before continuing, “And I wanna help.”

“Bullshit!”, Bakugou yelled, knowing fully well, that he had the attention of the entire cafeteria on him now, “As if I need your damn help!” He stormed off then, not bothering to listen to whatever Deku yelled after him. He wouldn’t even bother with his afternoon classes, he decided, after he made his way halfway over the school grounds. He could deal with missing half a day of classes.

He really needed a break.

__________________

Kirishima wasn’t sure how all of them had ended up inside his room. He just knew that Kaminari currently shared his bed with him with half an arm-length of distance between them. While he sat properly with his back to the wall and his legs folded over each other, Kaminari had assumed a position halfway to laying down, seemingly comfortable. Sero sat on the floor, with his back to the bed and his head lying on it, right between Kirishima’s legs and Kaminari’s stomach. Jirou sat on the desk chair, back against one armrest and legs swung over the other. Mina had propped herself up on Kirishima’s desk, arguing with Kaminari over the snacks they brought with them.

It was almost normal. Too normal. It felt like a movie night, like they were just waiting for Bakugou and only the absence of some drama while trying to agree on a movie gave away that it wasn’t actually a movie night and that Bakugou wouldn’t just walk through the door, taking their enthusiasm at being able to start with a disgruntled look and some vague passive-aggressive comment.

Because Bakugou didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

Even after days, it still stung and while Kirishima had avoided any and all talk about their little ‘falling out’ (Kaminari’s words, not his), he got the feeling that his time was up. The gang was there to talk with him and they wouldn’t go until they were satisfied Kirishima was alright. Somehow, he wasn’t happy about that.

“So...”, Kaminari drawled, after he finally threw the snacks to Mina and everyone else went rigid, when he started talking. Good thing that wasn’t concerning at all. Kirishima was sure he could feel the irony, if he felt anything but numb. “You and Bakugou had a falling out. Care to share?”

Kirishima was sure that Kaminari would look proud of himself, if the situation was any less serious. He thought he saw a bit of pride glimmer through the carefully maintained serious front, but that might have been his imagination. God knows, it played the worst tricks on him, recently.

But, more importantly, did he care to share, as Kaminari phrased it? Or rather, was there anything he had left to lose? He didn’t think so. At least, no one would treat it like some sort of joke on his expense, in this situation. (Kaminari still might, but Kirishima was strangely okay with that.)

So he took a deep breath, tried to straighten his shoulders as much as possible in his sitting position and mentally prepared himself, to say something out loud, that he swore he would only ever say if he actually got over it. He was anything but over it.

“I have a crush on Bakugou”, he admitted, feeling unexpectedly light like a weight lifting off his chest, “and I think he found out and is disgusted.”

There. That’s it. That’s what has been bothering him all week, even longer than that. And now it was out in the open, all of his friends knew and at the very least it didn’t loom over him in that sense anymore. It still loomed over him in a worse sense, but that was a hurdle for another day. (Or never, if things went Kirishima’s way. But when did things ever go Kirishima’s way?)

“Shit”, Mina declared, which promptly became the general consensus in their little round. Even Kirishima silently agreed, that this entire situation was just shit.

“What an asshole thing to do!”, Jirou said, looking seriously pissed off and Kaminari agreed with her immediately. Kirishima would have argued that Bakugou had a right not to like him, but he could feel the conversation getting out of control already. So, he resorted to damage control.

“Well, yeah. But I’m fine or I will be. I got though skin, after all”, he joked and at least Kaminari appreciated it, with a little snort and a thumbs up. Sero also chuckled a little, shoulders shaking lightly and Kirishima considered it a win. He would take what he could get.

“Still! If a girl were into him, I bet it would give him an ego boost”, Jirou argued lamely, trailing off at the end. Kirishima tried not to think too much about the implication of that. He was sure Jirou wasn’t trying to imply anything and it would be unfair to her to have his thoughts run wild with her words. She was trying to help him, not hurt him further.

"Also, seriously, Bakugou? You have the worst taste in men!", Jirou declared, pointing an accusing finger at him. Kirishima would have liked to argue that Jirou didn’t get to judge his taste in men, because she wasn’t even attracted to their gender, but Sero beat him to the punch.

“Can you really judge that? No offense, but you aren’t attracted to men.”

“I’m not attracted to guitars either, but I know a pretty one when I see it”, Jirou argued, effectively shutting down Sero. Kaminari next to him chuckled like he was watching some good show and Kirishima was sure he would enjoy this talk, if he were to enjoy anything. At least they tried cheering him up.

"Well, at least he's nice to look at", Mina shrugged and Kirishima feared the abyss in which this conversation seemed to drift. That was some dangerous territory they were currently trespassing. He didn’t want to go there, not right now.

“Okay, guys, stay with us!”, Kaminari snapped his fingers for what Kirishima guessed was supposed to be a dramatic effect. If so, it surely wasn’t working. It did get their attention away from considering Bakugou’s general hotness level - off the charts, Kirishima thought and immediately hated himself for it - and to Kaminari, which was a good thing. “What do we do for heartbreak?”

The silence that followed was deafening. So, he wasn’t the only one absolutely out of his depth, which did little to calm him down. Sero looked at Jirou and then at Mina as if he was expecting them to come up with something. Jirou looked around at all of them, clear panic in her eyes. Mina looked way too deep in thought for anything good to come out of this and Kaminari seemed to deeply regret his question. Kirishima honestly didn’t know what to do.

“Hide stinky cheese in his room”, Sero suggested first, not entirely serious. At least Kirishima hoped he wasn’t.

“Make a new playlist”, Jirou provided reluctantly and Kirishima could see how that would be a comfort for her.

“Scream into a pillow until everything is better”, Kaminari proposed, seeming unsure, but so far it was the only thing Kirishima was willing to try.

“Movie night and way more snacks than we could reasonably justify in front of Iida!”, Mina put forth brightly. If he were honest, distraction and food coma sounded like actual heaven to Kirishima in that moment. It was quickly agreed upon and three out of the five of them made their way downstairs to horde anything edible they could find.

“Don’t tell the others”, Jirou whispered, mockingly serious, after the door closed behind them, “but I’m willing to do the cheese thing with you, if you want.” Kirishima smiled, because he didn’t think he could laugh, even if he tried. For the first time in days, he felt something resembling happiness.

Maybe he could be okay.

__________________

Bakugou was absolutely miserable. He mulled over potential ideas, about how he could approach Kirishima, in his head, for hours now. He needed to talk to him again, he knew. Just one last talk, to clarify everything that went wrong the last time - which was everything really - and at least then he’d have some semblance of peace knowing, that that was the only possible outcome. No matter how Kirishima reacted to his feelings, he would take it. Still, he was miserable.

Because no matter how he looked at it, Deku was right. He would need help. And no matter how often he thought it over in his head, Deku was the best possible help he could get. So, even if every fibre of his being refused to cooperate, Bakugou made his way to Deku’s room, knocking on his door.

Deku opened, without hesitation, Todoroki in the background looked curiously at him. Great, just great. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself to do something he could never possibly live down. Then, he said the hardest words he ever had to say.

“I need help.”

__________________

Bakugou wasn’t sure what Deku had told Kirishima. Only that Deku promised him he would bring Kirishima outside their dorms, to place out of view for most people. Bakugou knew the place from his morning runs and he was sure Deku knew it from his training with All Might. It was perfect for an undisturbed talk. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of it himself.

Standing under a tree, next to a bench, Bakugou felt himself shiver. It was fairly cold, as spring nights tended to get, but he knew that wasn’t it. He was actually nervous, because he didn’t know how to talk to Kirishima.

He could hear someone chatter, knew they were coming closer by their voices growing steadily louder and recognized Deku word-vomiting like he tended to do, when he was nervous. He took one last deep breath, before Kirishima and Deku came into view. Kirishima froze up when he saw him, and Deku rushed out an apology, before he quickly stormed off. Bakugou took a few experimenting steps closer, gauging Kirishima’s reaction carefully. Don’t make him feel trapped, Deku advice echoed in his ears.

“I’m sorry”, Kirishima said tonelessly, awkwardly raising one hand to gesture, “I didn’t realize you’d be here. I’m gonna go.” He was turning, slowly, eyes constantly on Bakugou, without ever making eye-contact, as if he was some wild animal, that would jump him. Bakugou repressed the scoff forming in his throat in favor of actually saying something this time.

“Don’t be stupid”, came out of his mouth, before he could stop himself, and he was sure he flinched worse than Kirishima did. He cleared his throat and tried once more. “I actually wanted to talk.” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look Kirishima in the eyes while saying this, so he looked to the bench he gestured to instead, praying Kirishima would understand him.

He did. Kirishima always had. And Bakugou almost threw it all away.

Kirishima slowly made his way to the bench, still eyeing Bakugou warily. He sat down carefully, like he expected some sort of prank or maybe a joke at his expense and Bakugou’s chest tightened painfully, reminding Kirishima had never looked at him like that before. Never that distrustful. Bakugou took his own seat on the other end of the bench, feeling like he didn’t deserve being too close to Kirishima. Like he never deserved it.

“Okay”, Kirishima said, stretching out the little word for all his worth and Bakugou realized that Kirishima had about as much clue about this situation as he had. This was doomed to fail. “You being so weird this past week, that was my fault, wasn’t it?”

Bakugou didn’t know how to answer that. No felt as much like a lie as yes did.

“I’m an idiot”, Bakugou said instead, because he figured it wouldn’t hurt. And it would help filling the silence until he found a way to say what he actually wanted to say. Kirishima didn’t even crack a smile, he just sighed heavily, like he had an even bigger weight on his shoulder than Bakugou did.

“You know”, he breathed, like he had no energy to actually say it out loud, “usually I’d disagree and defend you, when someone said something like that. But recently, I don’t feel like disagreeing.” It was accompanied by a heavy sigh that made something in Bakugou’s chest ache. He wanted to reach out, but he knew he didn’t deserve to.

“You shouldn’t”, Bakugou said, as a way of trying to take something off of Kirishima’s shoulders but the other just shrugged, facial expression unchanged. “Shit, this is hard”, he cursed under his breath, but Kirishima heard anyway. And now, he was facing him, too.

“You don’t have to apologize, if you don’t want to”, he said, steadily holding Bakugou’s gaze and Bakugou knew he couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried. Had Kirishima’s eyes always been that breathtaking? That was the worst timing for such thoughts. “I don’t care what the others say, you have a right not to be my friend.”

“I liked being your friend”, he answered, dumbly, not knowing what else to say. Why was Kirishima defending him, if he hurt him that badly? He should be furious, Bakugou knew he’d be furious, if their roles were reversed. He’d be screaming at Kirishima if the other had the audacity to talk to him like that, after everything that happened. Kirishima always had an exceptionally high tolerance for Bakugou’s bullshit. (It made him hope they could work.)

“It sure didn’t seem like it.” Nothing, not a single emotion laced Kirishima’s tone, like he never heard before. That was worse. Bakugou would rather take screaming, would love to have Kirishima scream at him right now. At least that would give him something to work with. It would feel less like Kirishima gave up, already.

“I suck with words”, he offered, as a way of explanation.

“You do”, Kirishima agreed easily, “but there is really no other way to possibly understand that.” His tone was still utterly devoid of anything, but Bakugou saw some light reflecting from his cheeks. It took him a while to realize that it was a tear reflecting, that Kirishima had started crying. Kirishima was crying. and he was to blame.

“There is”, he said, voice heavy with something he couldn’t put his finger on. His hand came up to wipe at his face. It came back wet. He was crying, too, he realized, seconds later.

“Really”, Kirishima questioned, turning towards him. He was taken aback for a second, Bakugou could only suppose it was the tears. They would have startled him, too. Kirishima composed himself quickly and Bakugou mourned the lost empathy for only a second. He hadn’t deserved it. “What other way is there?”

“I’m -”, Bakugou tried to say, caught off guard by the lump in his throat. He tried to swallow around it, but it only seemed to grow bigger. He could feel his breathing growing heavier, felt himself losing the last of his composure. His pride warned him, to end it now, before he completely lost face. He ignored it.

“I’m in love with you. And I had a hard time coming to terms with that.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything, despite his mouth being opened wide. His eyes were blown wide, too, but he was completely still, like he was frozen. It may have been due to the tears leaking out of Bakugou’s eyes uncontrollably now. Or maybe it was the ragged breathing turning into sobs, that he couldn’t keep in for the life of him. Or the confession was really just that absurd to Kirishima.

“I’m sorry”, Kirishima answered eventually, and that was so absurd, that Bakugou was sure he stopped crying for a second to process it. Like his body needed it’s full capacity to work through all the implications the simple statement from Kirishima held. He wasn’t sure what implications it held.

“What?”, he said, like an idiot.

__________________

“I’m sorry you’re in love with me”, Kirishima said again, trembling under the weight of emotions he desperately tried to hold back, “I’m sorry it’s me. I’m sorry I’m not what you wanted.” He wasn’t even sure what Bakugou had meant, originally, when he said it was hard to come to terms with his feelings. But he was sure it was his fault. It must have been.

“You’re better”, Bakugou breathed eventually, still crying. Kirishima was sure he misheard. Bakugou couldn’t possibly have referred to Kirishima as something good.

“What?”, he said now, not knowing what else to do.

“You’re better”, Bakugou insisted, something like determination making its way into Bakugou’s eyes. Kirishima knew he would melt at the spot, if the situation were any less dire.

“You just said you had problems coming to terms with your feelings. Why would you have those, if I were any good?”, he insisted, trying not to look at Bakugou, in case he was right. He couldn't handle a second heartbreak in a single week. He had barely handled the first one.

“No”, Bakugou yelled, sounding exasperated. Not that Kirishima could blame him. He’d rather not deal with himself either, but unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice. Bakugou could walk away. Kirishima wouldn’t blame him.

“No, they weren’t problems related to you. I’m the problem”, Bakugou argued, but it sounded hollow to Kirishima.

“You almost killed Monoma because he called me your boyfriend jokingly”, he argued, because that was an overreaction, no matter how you looked at it. And it still hurt, somewhere deep inside, that wasn’t actually that deep. Kirishima had tough skin and nothing else. Nothing at all.

“That bastard”, Bakugou grunted, looking angry for just a second, before he went back to looking … defeated? Sad? Kirishima wasn’t sure. “He taunted me, and I hadn’t even admitted to myself that I had feelings for you then. He just made it worse.”

“Still”, Kirishima said, just feeling heavier, “That is fucked.”

“No shit”, Bakugou answered, sounding resigned and leaning his head back against the headrest of the bench, looking up at the sky. At times like these, Kirishima always regretted living in such a big city, where you never saw stars in the night sky. They wouldn’t help, not at all, but he’d still like them.

“Even worse. When I first realized I had feelings, I went and consulted the internet. Big mistake. Then, I went to Todoroki, which was even worse.”

“You went to Todoroki for feelings talk?”, Kirishima asked, angling his head so he could see Bakugou nod, “That sounds horrible.”

“It was”, Bakugou snorted and Kirishima registered faintly that both of them stopped crying like they were bled dry, “He thought he was going to get a shovel talk. I also know more about his feelings for Deku than I ever wanted.” Kirishima couldn’t suppress the little laugh bubbling up at that. He just couldn’t stop imaging Bakugou and Todoroki awkwardly talking about butterflies in their stomachs and warm feelings in their chests. He saw Bakugou looking at him from the side, eyes big and full of something Kirishima didn’t dare name.

“What gave you the clue?”, he asked instead, avoiding looking at Bakugou for fear that what he saw was just his imagination playing tricks on him. He couldn’t make it through that.

“Aizawa”, Bakugou shrugged.

“Aizawa?”, Kirishima echoed, propelling himself forward on the bench out of sheer shock. Bakugou also lifted his head again, looking at him, one corner of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah. He gave pretty good advice too. I came to the conclusion I liked you. I also came to the conclusion it wouldn’t work out. He said a lot of things about what the right person should be like”, Bakugou confessed, swallowing heavily and Kirishima felt the stone on his heart, heavier than ever before.

“You don’t think I’m the right one”, he concluded, because that was where Bakugou was headed with his speech. That was where it was ultimately stagnating. Bakugou would rise the ranks, rise to heights unknown to Kirishima and he would only drag him down. He knew it. Bakugou knew. Better to end it, before it became a problem.

“I don’t think I’m the right one”, Bakugou said immediately, voice heavy like he was actually doubting himself.

“I appreciate you trying to let me down easy. But you don’t need to”, Kirishima told him, voice as gentle as he could possibly muster. He could deal with being let down. There was no need to sugarcoat something he always expected.

“I’m a project”, Bakugou said, stressing the word ‘project’ in a way that let Kirishima know it was important. He still had no idea what Bakugou meant. Bakugou must have seen the confusion in his face.

“I’m no good with feelings. I have no idea what a boyfriend even does. I blow up at every opportunity, sometimes literally. I have barely any patience. We are only friends because you didn’t get lost when I told you to”, he explained, sounding more stressed than Kirishima had ever heard him before. He was serious, Kirishima realized, he really thought he was the problem. He could barely fathom it. Bakugou Katsuki thought he was the problem. Truly a wild concept.

“I’d have you anyways. I’m stupid like that”, he said, lowly, knowing Bakugou would catch it. They always understood each other somehow.

“Really?”, Bakugou argued, sounding defeated, “You want someone like me? How would you even introduce me to your parents?”

“As my boyfriend”, Kirishima answered easily, “who I’ve been in love with since the sports festival.” That gave Bakugou a pause for whatever reason. Kirishima wrung his hands, trying not to look too insecure about what he had just revealed.

“The sports festival”, Bakugou mumbled, suddenly close and Kirishima wondered, in the back of his mind, when they had gotten that close to each other. He was sure they had started out on opposite sides. “Yeah, it was the sports festival for me too.”

Kirishima had wanted to say something about that revelation, but suddenly there was a hand in his hair, on the back of his head and all thoughts just seemed to vanish out of his head. Bakugou was way closer than he sounded, Kirishima could count his eyelashes if he had any brainpower left. He saw lightly chapped lips and the light crevices on Bakugou’s forehead. He felt Bakugou’s breath on his face, as he inched closer. He was about to lose his patience.

“Can I?”, Bakugou breathed in the space between them, like a secret and Kirishima could do nothing but nod, unable to find any words in the mess that was his head. Bakugou surged forward, claiming his lips. It wasn’t perfect. Bakugou had gone too fast, their teeth clashing a little and Kirishima retreated for a second, before coming back slower. He placed their lips together more carefully, hand clutching into Bakugou’s shirt and Bakugou held his head in both of his hands.

They separated only an inch, when they had to breathe and Kirishima would bet there was the stupidest happy expression on his face. Bakugou smiled too, seemingly content, before he went in for another, more passionate kiss. Kirishima gasped, caught off-guard by Bakugou’s sudden boldness and Bakugou took the opportunity to get his tongue into Kirishima’s mouth. Kirishima felt him smirk and he couldn’t help but laugh.

Bakugou let him, joined him even. Then he dove in again, kissing both corners of Kirishima’s mouth before claiming his lips again and Kirishima knew he wouldn’t be able to stop smiling for a while. He didn’t think he wanted to.

“I’m yours”, Bakugou said eventually, after they managed to separate for longer than just a few seconds to gasp for air. “I’m your problem now.” Kirishima giggled, thinking about how dramatic his boyfriend was and then laughed again, when he realized Bakugou really was that now. His boyfriend. He’d never been happier.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way”, he confirmed and then leaned forward again, to steal some more kisses. He’s waited way too long for those.

__________________

Bakugou loved dating Kirishima. He really did. He would have thought cuddling would bother him eventually, but he could never have Kirishima quite close enough. Not even after almost a year. Everyone else complained about their PDA, but Bakugou only gave them a smirk and kissed Kirishima once more, to shut them up. Life was good, most of the time.

Rarely, there were times when Bakugou wished his boyfriend was just a little different. No drastic changes just being able to tell the idiots - who had renamed the Bakusquad to the Kiribakusquad without anyone’s permission - to get lost and leave them alone. Like when they had date night, and Bakugou had thought about a great plan to get Kirishima out of his sweatpants after the movie was over and then Kaminari stormed in. He’d really love it if they wouldn’t do that.

“I need some advice on my bromance with Shinsou”, Kaminari said, as a way of opening the conversation and Bakugou thought about how much easier his life would have been, if he could speak about things as directly as that.

“How often did you and Shinsou have sex again?”, Kirishima asked, with a smile that told Bakugou he knew the answer already. Kaminari still mulled it over in his head briefly, looking like he was counting.

“Six times.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that counts as a bromance”, Kirishima concluded, snuggling deeper into Bakugou’s side and Bakugou tightened his arm around his boyfriend instinctively. Kirishima made a low humming sound, like he always did when he was comfortable and Bakugou could admit within the safety of his own mind, that it was his favorite sound.

“Just man up and confess”, he told Kaminari, while burying his nose in Kirishima’s freshly washed hair, smirking slightly when he heard Kaminari’s gasp.

“You”, he said, pointing at both of them accusingly, “don’t have any right to say that!”

Kirishima’s laughter was music to Bakugou’s ears, light and happy, the way Kirishima should always be. It made the entire procedure worth it, Bakugou thought, while pressing a kiss to his boyfriends hair. Kirishima raised his head then, to steal another kiss on the lips and Kaminari scoffed in the background.

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll go ask Jirou.”

Still, life was mostly great these days.

#kiribaku #kirishima eijirou #kirishima #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #bakusquad #side tododeku

6 notes · View notes

semper-legens · 3 years ago

Text

118. The Devil and the Dark Water, by Stuart Turton

Owned: No, library Page count: 548 My summary: It’s 1634, and detective Samuel Pipps is being taken from the Dutch East Indies back to Amsterdam for trial, but nobody knows of what he has been accused. His bodyguard, Arent Hayes, is determined to see this injustice righted. But that isn’t their biggest problem. There’s devilry aboard their ship, and it’s destined to sink before reaching port... My rating: 2.5/5 My commentary:

I had very high hopes for this book. It’s set in the 1600s, it’s on the ocean, it’s a mystery with supernatural elements...all of these are things that very much flat my boat, pun entirely intended. Unfortunately, this was written by the author of The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle, a book I very much didn’t like, and I came out of this one more annoyed than anything else. I didn’t overall hate it? But it certainly did a few things I wasn’t a fan of.

So first off we have one of the main POV characters, Arent. He’s Samuel Pipps’ bodyguard, a former mercenary, and currently needs to fuck Pipps already. Seriously, every five minutes he would not stop going on about how great Pipps was. He’s so handsome and smart and moral and so much better than everyone else and nobody understands him but me...it was a really weird read because I liked Arent as a character, but just wanted him to fall over the side of the ship instead of going on and on about how great Sammy is. Speaking of, I genuinely thought for the first few chapters that I was reading a middle book in a series, because Pipps was not seen enough to validate the amount of investment I was meant to have in him. We never see him do anything, really, he just sits around making sad faces while Arent goes on about how perfect he is, and I’m supposed to give two shits about his fate and mystery? I feel like this book was meant to be a bit of a character study for him, which doesn’t work because he’s just an annoying Sherlock Holmes-a-like without much real depth.

Sara is our other main POV character, the wife of a wealthy merchant who is funding the voyage, who absolutely hates him because he is a loathsome asshole. Fair enough. I actually really liked Sara, though in places I found her writing to be lacking (more on that in a bit). She’s moral, her plight is relatable, and honestly I think I’d have enjoyed this story more if she was the central character more than Arent. I think it’d have helped the whole Sammy problem too.

And, okay. The author in his afterword says that in places he threw out history to service the needs of the story, which is fine. Things like characters speaking in a more modern dialect, or fudging the details of how sailing ships work, that’s fine, I get that. But some of the ahistorical elements of the book were more puzzling to me. Like, it’s mentioned a few times that Sara’s dresses have no pockets, which is weird because pockets in women’s clothing in this era were huge, essentially bags tied at the waist under their skirts, but this never made any big impact on the plot. It seemed like the author was just coming up with small issues women today face and transplanting them into history without bothering to do the smallest research? It just bugged me.

More than that, though, the book just fell straight into some broader historical fiction tropes that I absolutely hate. Everything’s about the wealthy people, with there being one working-class protagonist, and the poor and regular sailors on the ship being characterised as a mass with broad stereotypes and dismissed. Sara and her friend have a lot to say about the plight of women in their society, but it falls a bit flat when you consider that they, as wealthy white women, are still privileged despite their struggles, especially when you consider that this is an era and society where slavery is commonplace. And the poor passengers are essentially treated as cannon fodder - when the people behind everything reveal their motives, the protagonists are quick to forgive them despite the fact that they crashed the ship, costing many innocent lives among the guilty. But hey, we didn’t bother characterising them, who cares? The working class people who get characterisations are broadly evil, natch.

And then there’s the whole mystery element. I thought the writing here was just strange at times. Like, in one example, the protagonists are looking for a candidate for a passenger who is possessed by a devil named Old Tom. Sara thinks that it could be her husband. Then, the next chapter, we see him talking about making sacrifices to Old Tom. Boom! Tension gone. It kept undercutting its mysteries like this, giving big answers shortly after the questions were asked, without much room for tensions and questions to grow. It made for a frustrating read, overall.

Next up, a bit of YA horror, as the trees are lurking...

#The Devil and the Dark Water #Stuart Turton #bookblr #book blog #book blogger #2.5

2 notes · View notes

make-me-imagine · 4 years ago

Note

congrats on 5.5k!! you're insanely talented and I'm so happy you're getting the recognition you deserve 🥺🥺 could i join in the ship requests too?

I'm a rather small sized (like, 154cm & ~40kg kind of small) Asian female from a South East Asia country and i prefer men, especially men who are taller and Age Gaps™ 🥴 I'm not sure how much you know about/believe in astrology but I'm a Libra sun, Taurus rising and Capricorn moon so you can do what you want with that 😂

I'm an INTP/INFP (I've gotten both an equal number of times from sites OTHER than 16 personality, tho I personally vibe with INTP just a teeny smidge more) if you do MBTI ✌🏼 I LOVE to read, especially fanfiction lmao, and i also write! I really love listening to music + watching shows/movies too! My favourite shows are all mystery/crime based LOL and I am working towards becoming a criminal psychologist/forensic pathologist/forensic scientist in future! (heavily inspired by Criminal Minds, Sherlock, Detective Conan and the like so 😂) I have a really vivid and good imagination please i can spend DAYS just daydreaming and imagining scenarios that I never finish writing about & generally this is how all my work is never finished loll

I'm the eldest sibling at home, and my parents haven't always been around so I've been rather used to stepping up and taking care of myself (+ my sibling, like helping them with homework and all). Some people say I'm a natural born leader? idk bc I often step up to be the leader in group work & I'll often be the one to initiate things & all. I'm a rather big procrastinator though LOLL so you'll often catch me rushing my assignments & final projects & rushing my revision for exams + finals like, 2 days before the actual exam 💀 which often leads to me becoming more stressed out & breaking down more often than i actually should so 🥲 I'm trying to quit this bad habit though

I love cuddles and hugs please I will KILL for cuddles and hugs from my back by a tall character pls it just feels so safe and comforting to be spooned too 🥺🥺 sometimes when I'm too absorbed in work or something (which happens too often for it to be healthy) I might just forget to eat/sleep entirely AND also my sleep routine isn't the best. like i will literally fall asleep at 9pm, wake up in the middle of the night on my own at like, 1am, then usually I'll be rushing homework at this time, then maybe sleep again for a short while from 4ish? till when i have to get up for school/work at 5:30/6am 💀 there's been days where i literally looked so sick from the lack of sleep where my tutor once stopped the class to ask me if I was okay and if i was going to faint LMAO 😔 i feel like I'm a night owl??? but then also i have no problem getting up super early in the morning so?? but i really feel most at home and really enjoy the 3am nights 😌

i am also the class clown lol but it's bc i just make sarcastic comments and all and my friends think they're funny???? but also i enjoy making people laugh bc sometimes i find it interesting to try and see what kind of things make my friends laugh so it's lowkey an experiment? or like something i want to achieve? at this point. I'm fluent in English and Chinese/Mandarin and I'm learning Italian so I roughly know some basics, and I really enjoyed History, which I took last year but dropped this year. (I'm taking English Literature with Biology + Chemistry this year and they're all great, except I'm literally dying from the workload aaahhh 💀)

I'm kinda clumsy and Not Good™ at most sports, maybe passably okay for badminton but I'm really not that athletic and really not very keen on exercising either 😔 I'm quite creative and good with public speaking/creative writing/impromptu performance/speech though I'd say! I'm also in my school's drama club 😎 though I'm more of a backstage lights & sounds kind of person. I'm right handed (with a really neat handwriting, as I've been told many, many, many times) and I wear thin frame spectacles which I sometimes will fall asleep in & I'm so clumsy/careless that I'm actually really afraid I'd break them (it's happened before 😭)

I'm a really good planner? like i can do up a great and detailed schedule/plan for revision and all but i will NOT stick to what i plan 😭😭 i love to snack!!!! on chips + gummies especially, and my diet is quite unhealthy lmao i literally don't eat vegetables At All™ & i don't really eat meat that much too?? lmaoo please i can go for days without having a single proper meal & just survive on snacking on potato chips + soft drinks 💀 i am a very picky eater though so really me not finding food i like/am able to stomach is also really kind of my fault 🤡

while i really vibe with and love the dark academia aesthetic, i also do video/MOBA games, like i play games like Mobile Legends & all. I'm someone who knows most, if not all the lastest trends (like tiktok, memes etc) but i won't actively participate in them? i just kind of like to know things, like Knowledge is Power you know (I'm a Slytherin, in case you're wondering, though I've gotten Ravenclaw so often it's a close tie sometimes)

okay i feel like that's enough details about me? feels like I've told you nothing that's useful oh well LOL... I'd really love a ship for Criminal Minds and Marvel? if that's possible please? in case you missed it, i prefer men! (I'm a questioning bi, with a strong preference for men) for the hc prompt "what you do on your first date" or maybe "how you met + first impressions"?

thank you so much for being so kind and willing to do this ship requests thing!! I'm sure you're spending TONS of time and effort on this and aahhh i feel bad for typing so long paragraphs now (as you may have noticed i have a tendency to ramble on if not stopped because i am just really Socially Awkward ™ sometimes 💀 and have really bad (social) anxiety too) and i really think you're super amazing for doing this??? I'm so sorry if this took up too much of your time aaahhhhh thank you so so so much 🥺😭😭 really the biggest of congratulations to you for your 5.5k??? you really do deserve every single follower & i am SO insanely happy for you 🤩❤️

- 🌙🏒 anon

Don’t worry, you definitely provided enough information lmao.

And thank you for your kind words, I appreciate it.

I hope you like the ships I made for you

They are under the cut:

Criminal Minds:

I ship you with Hotch.

You get the age-gap here lol. He would be a bit hesitant due to the age gap at first, but he would get over it because he can not resist. He does not seem like the type of cuddles, and especially does not take part in PDA. But when you are alone he would love holding you and spooning, especially after a long day of work. Aaron would be attracted to your uniqueness as well as your intelligence and aesthetic, finding it to be very “you”.

How you met + his first impressions:

You met when you were transferred to the BAU as the new Forensic Pathologist.

Hotch thought you were very interesting when you first met and was definitely intrigued by you.

He thought you fit in fairly well and would get along with the others (which you do).

He appreciates a sarcastic sense of humor, so he would dig that as well.

Hotch could tell you had a form of anxiety and wold be patient around you when you first met so that you could open up to him at your own pace.

What you do on your first date:

He takes you to a hockey game.

He is not the sportiest person but he has had an interest in hockey for a while, sometimes watching it on tv.

When he learned that you liked it, he decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to invite you on a date as well as to see his first game.

After the game, you walked around town for a bit, getting some late night food and talking or a long time.

This allowed you to open up to him quite a bit and you grew more comfortable around him as well, which he is very happy about.

Best Friend:

Your best friend is JJ. She thinks you are really cool and unique and nice. She has the type of personality that is easy t get along with and open up too, so you bonded with her quicker than the others. I also feel like she is into hockey as well, so she appreciates your love for it as well.

Marvel:

I ship you with Sam.

I think Sam is a good fit for you. He is into sports, and digs your aesthetic. He is easy to get along with and very funny. He thinks your line of work is very interesting and loves to listen to you talk about it. Sam also really enjoys crime shows ans thrillers so he is always excited to meet someone who enjoys them as well.

How you met + his first impressions:

You met through Nat, who you had met through SHIELD years before.

You happened to be at the compound with Nat when Sam was there and she introduced you.

He immediately thought you were pretty and very interesting.

Sam could tell you were shy, but that did not stop him from flirting.

Though he also made some jokes and was easy going as to not scare you off.

He made sure to ask Nat about you once you left and managed to convince her to give him your contact info.

What you did on your first date:

He took you to the movies first, to watch the most recent crime thriller that came out.

After the movie you went to a nearby park and walked around, talking about the movie and other crime/horror related stuff.

You got food at a food truck and sat by the fountain together.

He was appalled when you told him that you didn’t eat that often (if came a part of your relationship later on that he would try to cook you meals that you’d like just so you WOULD EAT).

You ended up spending hours together, and it felt like no time at all.

So you were definitely up for another date with him, which he of course asked you about.

Best-Friend:

Natasha. She was the first one you met, and slowly introduced you to the others. She thought you were really cool when you first met and was surprised at how well you go along. That is sometimes hard for her to do, so once you became friends she never took that for granted. She and Sam would gang up on you when you weren’t eating btw.

xxaaron

#ship #ships #ship request #5.5k ships #anon ship #anon #ask

2 notes · View notes

cutelock · 4 years ago

Text

Janine 🥀

Part 1 : The Signs Of Four 🌻

Pov Sherlock :

I said “yes” when John asked me to be his best man; said “yes” when Mary requested me to play at the wedding and didn’t say no when Mrs.Hudson suggested matching outfits , took help from friends to prepare a perfect best man speech, or to throw a perfect Bachelorette, composing wasn’t the hardest part - seeing the empty chair, while composing …. was.

The signs were there. Mary Mortson …. Watson showed all the signs of pregnancy the whole day,and to be the one breaking it to the couple was a beautiful feeling, even for me. They laughed , I smiled. They were thrilled , I was happy - they went for a dance - I stood alone.

The day was full of signs, the signs of three , I had known it - but as they went to the dance floor - I realized that there were no signs of four. “ We three can’t dance - people will talk" - of course we couldn’t , there are limits to a couple's dance. And it wasn’t anything like the Baker Street rehearsals. It was “The” day - The biggest day of your life.

“......And I want to be with the two people who I love and care about the most - Mary Mortson … and you “

And as the day was finally getting over John, I realised, you wouldn’t be needing the latter anymore.

Dancing alone wasn’t the hardest part - seeing other people dance with other people...was. My eyes searched for Janine, and I wasn’t very sad to see her happily dancing with the man I told her was her best bet. My eyes looked for Molly Hooper next ; dancing happily with Tom - no - on her own , hiding herself under the shadow of a certain Tom , she didn't love. Because the man who she did , was incapable of giving her the same. - Aren’t we the same?

Aren’t we the same ? I wasn’t ready to ask myself that question for a long time. But after I did, I had to leave.

“Who leaves a wedding early ?"

- Sherlock Holmes.

Part 2 : What I Need 🌼

Pov Sherlock :

Three days have passed since the wedding, domestic bliss , some said - John is suspected to have found that after all. Sometimes I can hear his chair screaming at me to bring his man back, but thanks to Billy who knows when to wake me up. But it's not Billy who I want. It's not even John. Not John, John is happy, I wouldn't do that to Mary. Mary is my friend. And I have vowed to protect them.

Tough words from an addict - said Billy. But of course he lacks the potential to say something like that t o my face. Did I say it out loud? No, of course it was my mind messing. "I am a user" I shouted at him - lie! - I told that to myself.

But Billy is saying something. I wonder what.

"Mister Holmes, I need you to focus "

Billy doesn't call me Holmes - he is not even that tall most importantly Bill doesn't wear a dress - it is a woman, an old woman, someone I know, not Mrs.Hudson, someone related to Mycroft!-Oh!

"You need to pay attention , Mr.Holmes. - I have some serious business to discuss. "

"I am high! All I need is to wash my face "

Part 3 : So you see Janine ... 🌹

Pov Sherlock :

To get hold of Charles Augustus Magnassen , I needed an inside man. But I didn't know that I already knew the woman inside Charles' locked doors. Janine!

I showed up outside her flat and asked her for a dance. She was worse than John. But both had one thing in common, the smile on their face. There was no music, only the sound of her happiness. At least one of us wasn't faking, I thought - but when the dance ended and she left , my hands felt the loss of hers - Just like Baker Street.

I stood there till she came back. " Thank you for the dance," she said.

"Thank you for dancing " - came out of my mouth . Unplanned!

Later that night, Baker Street felt more empty.

Lunch? - SH , next day I asked her for lunch

Dinner? -SH, day after that , I took her to dinner

Movie ? - SH, day after that, we went for movie

Date ? - SH, On the fourth day, she agreed t o a date.

Going back home after the third formal date, I told myself that it was essential for the case to give Janine the keys to my flat . I knew in my heart it wasn't really for the case.

Overwhelmed with Joy she approached for a kiss - I allowed it - I lied to myself that it was for a case.

When her lips departed, I couldn't lie to myself anymore.

Each night after work she visited my place, we ate, drank, kissed, slept. In the mornings, when she used to leave for work, I went to the nearest possible drug den for part two of my plan.

Sleeping on my back watching the ceiling of that abandoned dump house, I wondered if ever I would be ready to move on? Would I be able to give anyone what I could have given the man who is not mine in the first place? If I could ever give Janine something more than just a kiss ? All the questions remained unanswered cause drugs and exhaustion made me close my eyes.

"Maybe after marriage," one day I was not exhausted enough to listen to my own answer.

The same day John showed up and found you inside my room. And seeing him jealous and confused made me forget everything I felt I had realized before John. I made him the king again and you , my pawn. My life again started to revolve around the man I called my best friend and everything I did next was just to impress him, give him a taste of t he life he was missing on , get back that taste myself - overwhelmed by which I completely forgot that I never kissed you for the sake of just the case . Every kiss was given and taken out of my own misery and emptiness. Except the last one, last kiss was a show - performed for the king.

But now that his Queen has shot me and I am burdened with the job of serving my vow, and now that you are happily buying a cottage and settling in, it doesn't matter if I say it out loud that , I wasn't lying when I said "I was waiting for marriage," I was indeed waiting for our marriage.

🥀.......... 🥀 ..............🥀..............🥀.............🥀

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #benedict cumberbatch #martin freeman #janine

9 notes · View notes

the-desolated-quill · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Summer And We’re Running Out Of Ice - Watchmen (TV Series) blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

I’m not going to lie. I was incredibly sceptical going into this. This isn’t the first TV adaptation of a classic novel to go beyond the source material and try to continue the story, and they nearly always suck (see The Handmaid’s Tale and The Man In The High Castle). There’s a reason why books end where they’re supposed to end. If the author intended to carry the story on, they would have done so. This is why I get angry when the TV industry arrogantly oversteps the mark and try to continue a plot that has already come to a satisfactory conclusion. Doing a sequel to Watchmen, a story that hinges on the ambiguity of its ending, is just utter madness to me, and allowing Damon Lindelof to write that sequel borders on moronic at first glance. This is the man behind the TV series Lost, a show that ran out of steam within the first couple of episodes due to the fact that the plot was complete and total bollocks and the fact that nobody could be bothered to come up with satisfying answers for these ludicrous mysteries and series arcs beforehand. They were just making that shit up as he went along. Now you’re handing Lindelof the keys to one of the most intricate and detailed comic book properties of all time?! Fuck, why don’t you just let JJ Abrams direct the next Star Wars mo- Oh yeah, I forgot, he already did that.

Thankfully, judging by this first episode anyway, HBO’s Watchmen is nowhere near as bad as Lost. It’s certainly far more engaging and coherent. Does that mean I’m looking forward to the rest of this season? Well... I don’t know if I’d go that far. I’m definitely intrigued though.

HBO’s Watchmen is a sequel to the graphic novel (Lindelof called it a remix, but come on. Grow a pair and call it what it is. A sequel). Superheroes are still illegal, Robert Redford is now the President, Rorschach’s death has inspired a white supremacist cult, and it’s raining squid.

Yeah, the raining squid thing feels like the only egregious bit of fanwank in here, to be fair. Maybe they’re going somewhere with this, but I have my doubts. Are we supposed to assume that Ozymandias has been making squid rain for the past thirty odd years in order to keep up the whole alien invasion ruse? Why squid rain? And why is everyone so nonchalant about it? Shouldn’t people be just a bit concerned by this, considering what happened in New York?

Speaking of Ozymandias, we see him riding a horse and writing plays for his butler and maid in some fancy mansion. Quite what the significance of The Watchmaker’s Son is, I don’t know. All I do know is I’m not going to be able to sleep at night without thinking about Jeremy Irons’ thighs from now on, so thanks for that.

Putting my cynicism aside for a moment, I do like what Lindelof is trying to do here. He’s not merely cashing in on the Watchmen brand. There is a genuine effort to do something fresh and different with this material, and I commend that. Watchmen’s central theme has always been about power, but whereas the source material focused mainly on its relation to sex (Comedian’s hedonism, Nite Owl’s impotence, Rorschach’s mummy issues and the sexual objectification of Silk Spectre), the TV series seems to be zeroing in on race as a topic. This I applaud. Expanding on certain areas that the graphic novel only ever really touched upon is a great idea. This doesn’t feel like a repeat of the graphic novel, but rather a clarification of it, exploring areas and themes that Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons may have overlooked. This helps set this series apart from the outset.

The opening scenes where we see the Tulsa Massacre of 1921 is a pretty harrowing way to start. I’m ashamed to say I had no idea about the Tulsa Massacre prior to this, and we could have a whole other discussion about why schools seem to have been avoiding teaching specific topics like this in favour of the broad strokes of the Jim Crow era, but now is not the time. The fact that it’s depicted here sets the stage for what’s to come. Some have criticised the show for the length of time the opening focuses on Tulsa, claiming that it sensationalises the pain of black people at that time. I personally don’t think it does. It’s not overly graphic or gratuitous, at least in my opinion, but it is a very shocking way to open a series. Some might say even upsetting, but I think it’s important that we saw this because it’s relevant in setting the tone for the episode and indeed the season as a whole, as well as letting the audience know that this show isn’t going to fuck around or shy away from more sensitive topics, and I can respect that. Unlike Zack Snyder’s overly stylised adaptation from 2009, Watchmen the HBO series is grounded very firmly in reality.

Let’s discuss characters. This episode mostly focuses on Angela Abar, also known as Sister Night. Regina King has given some terrific performances in the past and this is no exception. She’s simply phenomenal. The way she switches from light-hearted wife and baker to violent, no nonsense vigilante cop. The shift is noticeable and yet both personas feel like they’re aspects of the same character. It’s exceptionally good. It also helps that the character herself makes for a great protagonist. Having survived the ‘White Night’ four years prior, where the Seventh Kavalry attacked the families of forty Tulsa police officers in response to the government giving special reparations to the victims of racial injustice, Angela has become cynical and battle hardened. She has no sympathy for Kavlary members and is willing to skip due process by beating one of them to a pulp and bundling him in the back of her car. She’s angry and in pain, and yet retains the audience's sympathy. I’m interested to see what happens to her over the course of the season.

I also really liked her friendship with Don Johnson’s character Judd Crawford. Johnson is a charismatic performer and Crawford is a charismatic character. He really dives into the olde western sheriff persona and seems to be having a lot of fun with it. Crawford is the only other character, besides Angela, who stayed on as a police officer after the White Night, and the two characters seem to have a great relationship. They laugh and joke around and there’s clearly a mutual respect between the two. I genuinely like this character, which is what makes his murder at the end so much more heartbreaking. Not to mention all the little details that force us to realise he may not be what he seems. We see him sniff cocaine in private and there’s a photo on his desk featuring the kid from school who aggressively asked Angela why black people deserve reparations. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Crawford himself is racist, but there’s clearly more going on with him that we don’t know about.

The final character of interest at the moment is Tim Blake Nelson’s character Wade Tillman, aka Looking Glass. We don’t know anything about him yet other than he’s a human lie detector, which I find very intriguing and I hope will be explored further as the show goes on. There’s a lot to play around with there, and the moral implications are tantalising. A conviction based not on physical evidence, but rather on the observations of one man. Even Sherlock Holmes has to back his deductions up with evidence, and yet Looking Glass clearly doesn’t need to. That just raises so many ethical questions. What if he has a particular bias towards someone? What about burden of proof? What if forensic evidence contradicts him? If Looking Glass is supposedly that accurate, does that mean the police will side with him regardless? It’s a great premise for a character and I really like Nelson’s performance, giving him a cold and detached personality that contrasts beautifully with Angela’s.

The characters and ideas are solid, however where I feel the show is lacking is with the consistency of its world building. Let’s analyse. This is an alternate history where Nixon used superheroes to extend his term limits, but after the New York attack at the end of the graphic novel, he’s been kicked out in favour of Robert Redford (nice nod to the source material there by the way. lol). As a result, black people got reparations for the racial injustices their ancestors went through and police are now unable to openly carry firearms without special permission from Panda (literally a cop wearing a panda costume). However, after the events of White Night, the government agrees to allow cops to wear masks to protect their identities, hence why quote/unquote ‘superheroes’ like Sister Night and Looking Glass are around despite the existence of the Keene Act. These are, in effect, legal vigilantes. Except already there’s a problem with conflicting messages. I like the idea of masked cops. In the current age of Black Lives Matter and police accountability, it makes sense and could be interesting to explore. However this is hindered by the whole ‘no guns’ stuff. Again, not a bad idea. America’s current gun laws are, to put it mildly, woefully inadequate. What if we went the other way? What if not only was it near impossible to own a gun, cops couldn’t even use a taser without special permission. Both ideas could work... but not at the same time.

Cops being allowed to wear masks creates the effect of empowering them through anonymity, and runs the risk of officers overstepping the mark and normal citizens being unable to hold them to account. But on the other hand, we’ve also got cops whose lives are constantly at risk and who are hindered in their duties by an overprotective nanny state, which effectively depowers them. So... which is it? It can’t be both. I like the scene where Panda reads the law about how the use of firearms can only be permitted in extreme circumstances, and everyone just angrily shouts him down because it tells us how the police feel about this new system. The fact that they’ve made one cop the sole arbiter of these new restrictions and forced him to dress like some ridiculous furry demonstrates the sheer amount of disdain they have towards this policy. But having said that, with the masks on, they have the power and freedom to break into people’s caravans and basically kidnap and assault them without consequence anyway. So what the fuck are they complaining about? It just doesn’t gel together. Either have it that the rules and regulations of the police are the same as our world except that cops can wear masks now, which has led to an increasing problem of police brutality and corruption, or have it that the police are being too heavily restricted and so a few have chosen to turn toward more ‘unorthodox’ methods of crime fighting out of frustration. Pick one and go with it.

Then there’s the Seventh Kavalry. Again, not a bad idea. In fact I love it. A white supremacist cult that’s taken Rorschach’s journal as gospel and have banded together out of a fear of being sidelined in a more liberal world. Very relevant and very interesting. Except... well... there’s not an awful lot to it, is there? In the original graphic novel, there was no clear bad guy. Ozymandias believed he was doing the ultimate good by killing millions of people to save the world, and everyone reluctantly went along with it. It was morally complicated. This, not so much. They’re unambiguously evil. The end. So what? What is there to discuss? It just feels lacking compared to the graphic novel and it runs the risk of creating a conflict that’s too clear cut. Obviously we’re going to end up siding with the cops, regardless of what they do, because the alternative is objectively bad. Hopefully Lindelof is going somewhere with this, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t say I was slightly concerned.

So on the whole, would I say I enjoyed this first episode? Well... I’d say I did, but with reservations. There’s some good characters and ideas that could be interesting to explore and develop, but its execution feels a little shaky in places. Hopefully the episodes to come will offer further clarity.

#it's summer and we're running out of ice #watchmen #watchmen hbo #damon lindelof #dc #hbo #review #spoilers

23 notes · View notes