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panicatthediaz · 3 years

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40 (almost kiss) + 54 (secret relationship)? 🥰

Being in bed at 12:00 am will not stop me, I guess. Bonus Getting Together, I guess. Spent 3 or so hours at this. Ops.

Post S4. This is a disgusting amount of fluff. Unbeta'd (but self proof-read) as I wrote this from 12 am to 3:30 am.

On AO3

Years In The Making

Not that he believed it, but he was sure most people around him would say it was meant to be; something fated somewhere to happen somehow. Eddie didn't really believe that.

What he did believe was that they may have been too afraid (or maybe too repressed, in his case) to see what was going on, what had been growing for a long while. Years, maybe?

But getting shot (again) had given him a good shake, and he could say he'd been almost disappointed to see Ana by his bedside. No fault of her own, of course not, but...

He was pretty sure of what he wanted at that moment.

Breaking things off with her hadn't been that difficult, or painful, a couple of weeks after his return home. Ana's disappointment was clear, but she seemed to know as well as he did that they weren't going anywhere as a couple. With a promise to stay in touch, she walked out of his home one last time.

Now all he had to do was talk to Buck.

Buck had been cagey for the first few days when Eddie had asked him about Taylor. It took about a week and a couple of beers for him to blurt out, "She kissed me then ran out." He fidgeted for a couple of minutes. "Then she came back and we talked through it."

Eddie's heart sank, but he still put on a smile for the sake of his friend (if that was all that he would be for Buck, he'd make do). "And?"

"And we are at very different stages when it comes to romance." Buck shrugged, but the tiny frown was right there between his brows. "She became a good friend, but damn, we wouldn't have lasted as a couple."

Buck finished his beer and turned to Eddie, though not looking beyond the water bottle he was holding in his one good hand.

"She, uh... She isn't quite who I want." Buck cleared his throat, abruptly standing up and walking away from the dining table to place his empty bottle in the recyclable bin. "How is Ana, by the way?"

Eddie accepted the deflection well enough, watching as Buck stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, a stance that tried to project calm. Eddie doubted he was anywhere near it; he never enjoyed talking about failed relationships (including those that never took off).

"We broke up last week," he replied easily, standing up to refill his bottle in the kitchen. "Don't worry," he added, seeing the wide-eyed surprise (and dare he say, hope?) in Buck's expression. "It was pretty amicable and even. We both saw we weren't going to get anywhere and decided to split."

"Okay," Buck whispered, following him into the kitchen. "You okay?"

Eddie nodded, smiling. "Yeah, I'm fine." Though he had to ask... "Who is it?" Buck's confused, scrunched-up expression was pretty damn cute, making him look a little bit more like the Golden Retriever pup Hen and Chimney often compared him to. "You said Taylor isn't who you want, so who is it?"

"Eddie," he said on a groan, though he simply leaned against the counter instead of answering.

"See," Eddie spoke with a new bout of confidence (maybe just as ill-placed as the excitement he was starting to feel), standing against the sink across from Buck. "I'm kind of hoping for a specific answer here."

Buck didn't reply. Eddie had barely even noticed a shift in Buck's expression before he moved into his space, pressing a hard kiss against his lips, a huge contrast to how softly his hands cradled his head and how careful he was to not press against the sling and his injured shoulder.

Eddie wasn't sure if the bottle ended up on the sink or on the floor by their feet. What mattered was that he managed to get his hand on Buck's neck, drawing him even closer.

(Not that Buck let either of them press too close, and god, he loved him.

And he was distantly aware that he should be at least a little freaked out over the thought after one kiss - their first kiss - but, well... Years in the making and all that.)

One kiss became two, became many, and Eddie could see the same feelings reflected in Buck's blue eyes. Belonging, a finally and a home.

There was no need to go beyond kissing and cuddling, both of them content to sit even closer together, hands intertwined whenever they could.

It was... Soft in a way Eddie hadn't had in so long, intimate in ways he thought he wouldn't experience.

And they weren't subtle, weren't actively trying to keep anything a secret. Eddie was still off work, doing his PT as he should and Buck had been staying at his house (their home, he couldn't help but think every time) since Eddie got out of the hospital anyway.

But two months passed and the only two people aware of the change in their relationship were Christopher and Carla because they found them cuddled up on the couch, Eddie knocked out by painkillers and then too out of it to deny anything when his son questioned him about it.

(Christopher had simply nodded with a mumbled "Good" and left it at that. They still had no idea what that was about.)

The sling had come off a few days ago, though he still couldn't do that much, and it was driving Eddie up a wall. Buck was at the station, and he didn't want to think about the conniption he'd have if he drove there.

He knocked on Christopher's bedroom door, opening it slowly to see his son smiling at him from where he sat with his book.

"Hey, buddy." It was impossible not to smile back, feeling the all-encompassing warmth at the fact that he was still here, could see his son growing up for a while longer. "What do you say we pay a visit to the station?"

The frown he got for that was so much like Shannon's that he didn't know what to do with the pang in his chest. There was no guilt, not then, over the fact he missed her. He just did, she should be able to see how much their kid was growing, how much like her he could be sometimes. And maybe she was, if the afterlife turned out to be a thing after all.

"You are not supposed to drive."

And that tone was way too much like Buck's, just this morning, for Eddie to hold back his laughter.

"I was thinking we could take an Uber." He shrugged with his left shoulder. He might have been desperate to get out of the house, but he wasn't stupid; he didn't want pain and he didn't want to end up lectured by the entire team once he got there. "What do you say?"

Christopher considered it for a moment, then placed his bookmark and got up. "Let's go!"

"You better not have come in your car, Eddie!"

He rolled his eyes at the very much expected exclamation as Christopher giggled beside him.

"Don't worry, Buck," the kid said, walking ahead as Buck came downstairs. "I didn't let him drive."

"Thank God for you, kid," Buck said, kneeling on one knee to give Chris a hug. "Your dad is stubborn, he probably would have driven here if it weren't for you."

"Hey!" There was no real annoyance in his protest, but Eddie still said, "I get enough sass from my kid, don't you start, too."

Buck, in such a show of maturity, stuck out his tongue at him before turning to Christopher once again.

"Come on, buddy, let's go see the fun people."

Chris' laughter echoed in the station, and Eddie let the light atmosphere carry him upstairs to the loft where he was greeted by the rest of the team with hugs, and some friendly pats on (thankfully) his uninjured shoulder.

Chimney and Hen immediately walked with Christopher to the pinball machine, and Bobby had given him a plate of leftover breakfast to carry wherever he ended up sitting.

He chose the couch, where Buck had already made himself comfortable again and was currently watching the trio at the machine. They could hear Hen encouraging Chris to beat Chim's high score.

"Hey you," Buck greeted softly, an arm going around his shoulders as Eddie adjusted himself.

"Hey yourself." Buck glanced at the other side of the loft, then pressed a quick peck to his lips. Apparently, everyone was sufficiently distracted. "How are you?"

"So far so good." He took one of the biscuits from Eddie's plate, quickly popping it into his mouth as if Eddie hadn't sat here to share them. "I'd ask how your day is going, but it's obvious you're bored out of your mind."

Eddie groaned, letting his head fall back against Buck's arm. He was beyond bored, at this point, and no amount of movies or video games had helped. Buck's chuckle beside him was another pretty good incentive to get out of the house.

He turned his head to face him, his own expression undoubtedly soft as he took in the man that had been by his side for so long and for so many things already.

Buck's expression softened even more, somehow, his smile bright as the sun and even warmer. He leaned closer and-

And what sounded like a very undignified squeak interrupted their almost-kiss, causing Eddie to huff in mild annoyance and turn around.

Chimney stood by the dining table, gaping at them. Bobby was still in the kitchen and turned to look at them at the sound of Chimney's squeak.

"What's wrong, Chim?" Hen asked, frowning all the way from the pinball machine (where Christopher continued to play).

"They..." He gestured between the two of them. "Since when are you two together?!" He ignored Hen's own surprised exclamation. "They were about to kiss!"

"Yeah," Eddie confirmed, nonchalantly making himself comfortable in Buck's arms in the new position so he could look at the rest of their team. "And you had to ruin the mood."

Buck hid his face in his hair, and Eddie could hear the quiet snickering. They really thought the others would have caught up after two months of visiting Eddie at least once every few days.

"What about Ana?"

"We broke up two months ago, man."

"And Taylor?"

"Dude, we never started dating in the first place." The exasperation was clear in Buck's voice. "She's really just a friend."

Chimney nodded, satisfied for the time being. They had no doubt that there would be more questions later.

"When did this even happen?" Hen asked this time, walking over with Christopher.

"Two months ago," Chris answered before either of them could, smiling a little too innocently. "A week or something after Dad broke up with Miss Flores."

Eddie had no idea Christopher knew that level of details, but he had definitely been out of it when he told him. Maybe he said more than he remembered.

"Well," Bobby finally spoke up, walking over to their little family unit on the couch, now that Christopher was tucked on Eddie's other side. "I'm happy for you two." Eddie could feel whatever tension had been on Buck's body (not that there was much in the first place) drain out of him at Bobby's words. "And we can deal with HR and paperwork once you're back at the station," he added, directed at Eddie. Bobby's smile was genuinely warm, putting him even further at ease.

Years in the making. Maybe it was obvious to everyone else, but Eddie wouldn't change a thing about the road they took to get here. It had been hard and full of hurt, but what they had was solid and them and it was definitely worth it all.

Including the cheering, clapping, and whistles of everyone else when Buck pressed a kiss to his lips right there and then simply because he could.

#9-1-1 #Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #9-1-1 on fox #buddie #my writing #911 #911 on fox #I have no idea how many words this is #it just happened #WeresWriting

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Text

tread softly

S4 Canon Divergence + Mythological Creatures AU Mermaid!Sasha, Pheonix!Tim, Selkie!Martin

cws apply - see tags

Peter Lukas has always prided himself on the timing of his entrances.

He is not there, then he is. The ward slips colder, down into single digits. Martin gives a jerking shoulder-hunch motion when he notices his unexpected arrival, coupled with an intake of breath. No noise this time, no jumping, no explications of suddenness or surprise. Martin Blackwood takes well to both shock and silence with a delightful sufferance, and Peter is indulgently proud.

The lad is, as expected, by the Archivist’s bedside. Crone-backed, ringed with an satisfying corona of misery. It’s after visiting hours, but Martin likely hasn’t even realised that the gaze of the ward staff and orderlies has simply grazed past him when he came up, when he took his traditional post, when they do their rounds. Martin has not wanted to be noticed, so he won’t be.

Peter idly watches the machinery and tubes threaded though the Archivist like mechanical embroidery. This one seems eminently more worse for wear than Gertrude ever was. Stronger, though. Peter watches Elias’ chosen as he lies still and sedate for all he stalks the landscape of dreamers, and wonders if he might see the Eye’s favoured come to fruition in a way Gertrude never did.

All the more reason to talk to Martin, it appears.

“What do you want?” Martin says. Dulled, thick-throated. He’s wiping his face free from damp with his baggy jacket sleeves, glowering at Peter with a delayed annoyance, as if he’s interrupted some no doubt tender petition for waking. The antiseptic stench of the hospital worsens the tension in his bones.

He is perfect for their God. Peter’s so pleased the Archivist wasn’t so careless to have lost this assistant like he nearly lost both of the others. Elias told him that the Corruption had already sought to burrow into the debris of this lost soul, that Martin has taken the mantle of archivist well, while Beholding’s chosen was indisposed. And it is true that Martin’s gaze is more assessing than he would like. But Peter knows that Forsaken has long laced Martin’s lining with mist and dew-damp cold, filled his stomach with fog far longer than those petty chancers have tried to have him in their maw. That his God’s touch has been settling like thronging, subdued snow in place of Martin’s sealskin.

“I wanted to see if you’d thought about my offer,” Peter replies genially. Pushing his hands in his pockets, ignoring Martin’s radiating desire to be left alone.

Martin has. Peter doesn’t need Elias’ pretty little parlour tricks to know that Martin has likely thought about little else.

“I’ve been a bit busy.”

“Oh right!” Peter says after a moment’s pause. It visibly annoys Martin that it didn’t come to mind faster. “That spot of bother with the Flesh. All sorted now, I’m sure!”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?”

Peter crinkles his face in a deliberate confusion. Casting out his line.

“Why, what should I have done?”

Martin takes the bait with ease.

“It’s your job, isn’t it?” His voice pitches with accusation. His hands ball into fists, and he moves to standing, the chair complaining as it’s pushed back. “It’s your responsibility! You’re in charge now Elias is gone.”

“Thanks to you,” Peter replies smoothly. “And your companions seemed to do a good enough job. A few bruises here and there, a few near misses. Nothing they won’t heal from.”

Peter slides closer. Just a step. It makes his skin sing discordant at the proximity, but Martin stiffens, an anxious intake of air despite himself, and Peter knows he’s paying attention.

“I could ask you the same question,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?” Peter doesn’t sound judgemental. He doesn’t have to, Martin will paint on layers of meaning without overdoing this particular nuance of his game. “It was very impressive, watching you all. They all held their own very well. Except you. You could argue I suppose, that it’s not the same. That you’re not like the mer or the firebird or the sphinx, no added little genetic extras, and you don’t get any boost from any old helpful Power like that police officer, or the angry one touched by the Slaughter. You’re just Martin. And that’s… that’s the problem, isn’t it? Just Martin. Nothing to offer in the fight, no way to protect them. Holding them back. They could have been hurt, and you wouldn’t have been able to do, well, anything at all.”

“I…” Martin says, and Peter takes another step.

“The Extinction is a pressing threat. There isn’t time for me to wait while you finish your grave-side widow routine. I need you to help me, and it would be only fair, in return, for me to help you.”

“Oh, what, you can fix me then?” Martin snaps.

“Not at all,” Peter says. Smiling, because he is so funny, with his rage sputtering in a fog that seeks to tamp it flameless, stumbling headlong and blinded into the conversational pitfalls Peter’s dug behind him. “No, no, I’m afraid you’re broken, Martin. I speak from experience when I say you’ll never grow your skin back.”

Martin freezes. He looks Peter up and down like he’s expecting to see something different, the scales fallen from his eyes, but this is the only skin Peter has worn for so long now, and he endures the slightly prickling gaze of Martin’s Eye-touched observation.

“You… You were – ?”

“A long time ago. Before the Lonely granted me a better shroud to cloak myself in. It is not a selfish God, Martin. It offers gifts, or payment, if you prefer that way of understanding it, to those who work in aid of its ends. Benefits that could protect your friends, should something as unfortunate as the Flesh’s assault occur again.”

“And what about Jon?”

“He’ll wake up. Or he won’t.” Peter replies cheerily. “Either way, you can’t do anything for any of them like this.”

Martin gives him a scowl. Peter lets it pass over him. He knows, before Martin even opens his mouth, that he’s won.

Sasha avoids the sea.

She does not know why. Its pull is no lesser through her absence. She has dreams of sinking and never coming up for air, and she does not know if it is serenity in the ceaseless drop or despairing surrender. She marks the high days and festivals of her people alone and unremarked upon, speaks to her landward kin infrequently and vaguely. She needs to be here, she tells herself harshly. She can’t go off when there’s so much to do, when she’s in the process of losing so much. One of her family cold and vanishing, one breathing through a machine, and one… he died, died properly, and although he came back purged of something poisonous, the shrapnel scarring of collapsed masonry on his skin and the reddest, warmest wings sprung from his back, this does not settle her terrors.

She cannot leave. Not when she could lose sight of her splintering shoal so easily. Not when she’s unsure the temptation to dive down and out, deeper, further away, wouldn’t ensnare her to cowardice.

She finds the first scales in the shower. It’s a myth that any water will have the skin of her legs go slick, then bumpy, fusing into one muscled tail with her scales folding outwards. She can have showers and baths without impact. It’s the sea, that is the essential component. The same for most deepwater kin. Not the sea, maybe, or exactly, but what it represents in the change. It’s something about floating out into endless space clad only in human skin and human lungs and trusting not to drown. The letting go of one form with the tide and permitting the waves to bring forth another.

Her scales are dimmed, like they’ve smudged. Their colour diminished.

It’s not a molt. Her people don’t. Tim does, normally annually. Before they travelled to Yarmouth, he’d been dropping feathers around the office almost continually with stress. Nesting, and growing in new and painful sections of wing, snapping with a yo-yoing temper.

Tim notices. Maybe because he’s the only one left. Basira is holed up somewhere of course, as is Melanie, but it’s not the same. They weren’t here before, they don’t have the context for how much their group is diminished, falling to pieces slowly like her own skin is.

They’ll be visiting Jon later. She hasn’t seen Martin in weeks.

Tim approaches slowly. Looks at the flakes of blue in her hand. Understand flowers gently in his eyes, and he reaches out and touches her arm, and she forgot the world could manifest in ways other than hurtful.

“You OK there, Sash?” Tim asks.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “I don’t… I just… When did it all go so wrong?”

“I dunno,” Tim repeats, and he doesn’t move away and she doesn’t want him to. “God, I – I don’t know, Sash.”

Jon’s clothes are dirt-clotted, ripped up by the grind of rock, and holding him tarnishes Tim’s feathers grey, smudges the pattern on his t-shirt into obscurity. His teeth are chattering, goosebumps bobbling up his arms and making the dark hairs up his arms stand on end. Tim suspects it’s more shock than cold.

Sasha brought him a glass of water, holding her palm under it because Jon’s long-fingered grip is so shaky it’s sloshing the water up the sides.

“Told you the rib was a shit idea, huh?” Tim says. Played as a joke and deliberately shorn of any accusation. He breathes in-and-out and Jon follows the rise and fall, and it benefits both of them. Tim’s getting better at control. He’s had to. His anger grows in like pinfeathers but so does his grief these days, a full plumage of emotions he is learning to deal with.

Jon coughs up something that could be agreement, but is mostly dirt and grave soil over Tim’s shirt.

You should have waited for us, Tim thinks but does not say because there would be too much teeth in it, and Jon’s skin is already whittling down to skeletal. We asked you not to go, we wanted a better plan, why didn’t you wait.

You could have died, down there in the dark, and we wouldn’t have even had a body to mourn, he does not say.

We love you, you idiot. We love you and even that wasn’t enough to stop you leaving, he does not say.

We’re already losing Martin, he does not say.

A room full of looping, chattering, overlapping tape recorders. Neither Tim nor Sasha stacked them, and Jon would not have thought to.

It should be a reassurance, that Martin’s been here.

God, Tim hopes he knows what he’s doing.

Sasha rubs at Jon’s back, helps him sip another small trickle. Tim’s wings, voluminous and unwieldy, knock over recorders in a clattering collapse as he scoops them around to shield them both. Against the balmy heat Tim’s throwing out, Jon’s shivers gradually subside.

“Daisy?” Jon murmurs. His teeth are grimy with soil.

“She’s with Basira,” Tim replies.

Sasha’s picked up the rib that’s dropped out of Jon’s clenched palm. Wiping the grime off it and staring at it without clear expression.

“Why, Jon?” she asks.

“I wanted to help,” Jon says. His words small, like he’s embarrassed that he even thought of it. “Even if it was one person. I wanted to be able to do something good for a change.”

“You could have died,” Tim says.

Jon’s horrible flat chuckle scrapes over his lips.

“I’m not sure I can anymore.”

“Yeah…” Tim replies subdued. He glances at the red daggers of his feathers and thinks he understands that.

“I wonder what it would take,” Jon says idly, slurring with exhaustion, and Tim grips him closer and hopes he never finds out.

Martin doesn’t react when Sasha sits down near him. The breeze, a vicious snagging chill tussles his hair, some wisps twisting into nothingness like smoke from an extinguished candle. She is still getting used to this Martin, or perhaps the Martin he never let others see. The toned-down stillness of him, the undisturbed waters of his expression. His skin not quite solid, the patches that have returned pale, sickly-pallored in the softening dim of moonlight. The rest of him is a coalition of fog, a hazy motion to his image like he’s wave-rocked, smoked out.

Long minutes pass. Sasha sits down cross-legged. The waves ripple up the stones that make up the strip of beach surrounding the loch, and they’re hard and uncomfortable under her.

“I can’t swim, you know,” Martin says finally. The sea is louder than he is, and he can make himself so quiet these days.

“No?”

Sasha keeps her tone light, inquisitive without intensity. Martin shakes his head, and his image lags, skipping disjointed, like his connection is poor.

More silence. Sasha doesn’t know what she should say, where Martin’s thoughts are at. She scratches behind the base of her gills, rubs at the dorsal fins sitting mostly flat under her sleep shirt.

“I didn’t live too far from the sea,” Martin continues. Looking at the wavering mirage of his hands without comment. She doesn’t even know if he recognises her presence. “We had Liverpool about an hour away. Even Blackpool, I guess. My primary school had a swimming club, where they’d pack them off to the big leisure centre on a coach afterschool. Kids’d get these little medals for managing like five metres, or ten, fifteen. But there was a small fee, and Mum said…” He snorts out a dismissive breath and his face twists, and neither of these actions suit him. “Doesn’t matter. I never went, and I never learnt, and that was that.”

“You could always come swimming with me?” Sasha proposes slowly. Lost in the swell of this conversation, why Martin’s talking about the sea, what this has to do with anything. She wishes he’d look at her.

Martin doesn’t answer immediately. He might not have even heard her.

“I told Peter, and he said that made it even better. That it was a such a – ” he says the word with a sneer, the words sharp-toothed in his mouth “ – gift, that I’d never even had the opportunity to know what I would miss, not even a memory to embellish or to sour. That there was so much that could root in absence. He said I should be grateful.”

“Peter Lukas said a lot of shit,” Sasha says.

She shuffles closer to him. Puts her hand on his knee.

“Whatever he told you was bollocks, you know that right?”

Martin blinks. After a moment, his hand joins over hers. His image grows denser, less likely to be stolen by the midnight air.

His eyes, fixed out on a horizon point in the slick dark of the loch, are still distant.

“I just wish I understood why she did it,” Martin murmurs.

“Who?”

“I did some research. After Elias… after I found out. I couldn’t have been the only person, and it’s rare enough but there are – help groups… you know, therapists that specialise in that kind of stuff. But I didn’t… I couldn’t face going to one. I thought that… knowing what was so wrong with me would make it easier, but it didn’t. All my life, I…. I was stupid enough to think it might be something I could fix. If – if I changed myself enough, if I said the right things, loved the right people, then I might… that someone could fix me. But it can't be fixed. That’s what all the leaflets said. That it was best to think of it like a permanent injury. Like having a stroke, or some sort of brain damage or something like that. Something irreparable.”

“Martin, sweetheart…” Sasha starts. She doesn’t understand. The flotsam of Martin’s speech grows erratic and he’s started shivering, and it’s no wonder, dressed in a t-shirt, pyjama trousers and some thick socks.

“Do you know much about selkies, Sash?” Martin powers on. Chattering teeth and goosebumps and it’s like he’s drawing something out of himself, some infection long done its damage. “Not many of them left, and they don’t usually venture landward like some of the other deepwater species. They mate for life apparently. Staunchly social communities, and some of them can’t… can’t cope, if they lose their group, or their partner. They take off their pelt, and just swim off to drown. A-and those help groups and therapists, those people who had theirs stolen, or destroyed… they’re, god, they’re all terminal. They last six months, maximum. Because it kills them, losing it. They waste away and they die. And here’s me…” Martin’s face twists again, and it’s bitter and angry and despairing all at once, “and I just get to keep going.”

“Selkies…?” Sasha says. “Why are you….”

She trails off in a gradually dawning horror.

“Martin?”

“She burnt it,” Martin says, his tone stringing higher now, distress sweeping in like a squall to break up the unnatural apathy in his voice. “I don’t think she knew what it would… I mean, I don’t know, maybe she did, maybe she wanted me gone just like dad, I don’t know, and I’ll never know because I can’t ask her why. I didn’t even… it was so long ago. I was sick and then I got worse and it was awful and I didn’t understand why I was so ill, why everything hurt just so much… and after, when I was better, Mum said it was appendicitis. I believed her. Course I did, why wouldn’t I. I didn’t know… not until Elias, and I’ll never know what I’ve lost, or why it didn’t kill me, maybe it was because I was so young, or because it’s only from one side of the family, I don’t – I don’t know! I’ll never know! It’s a whole part of me that she just… she just took a-a-and…”

Martin’s back bows like whalebone. He takes long shuddering breaths like his words are keelhauling across his lungs.

Sasha’s never heard of a selkie with only half their soul. She can’t imagine, what it would do to someone.

She moves in front of Martin and he moves forward against her like a wave crash. He’s taller and heavier than her, and the impact pushes her back momentarily before her arms catch him.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” she says, “You can do it, breathe.” She holds him so surely, and she always will. And he starts crying then, the first time since Jon was in hospital, and he won’t or can’t stop shivering, and it is horrible to hear every emotion inside him claw itself back from the brink.

She keeps telling him to breathe, and he keeps following that instruction through sniffling and sobbing and broken-voiced confusion, and she counts it as a small victory nonetheless.

Jon’s mouth cannot scream.

Tim’s in the next room, the kitchen, drying plates and bowls and cutlery, within shouting distance, and he’d be here in a moment – he’d help if only Jon could speak a word other than his unbidden, unwanted recitation.

Jon’s mouth doles out its terrible missive, and he doesn’t not feel like a person as Elias rolls out the triumphant red carpet of his plotting and scheming, the self-satisfied weave of his grand finale. And no, he’s not a person, not for a long time now; he’s a catalogue, a testimony, an archive, and he would never have chosen this.

His hands scrabble at his throat, and his eyes are blurred with tears, his vision obscured, but it does not seem to matter, for his skin ripples and sloshes like an inkwell and a hundred eyes swell and pop and inflate again like bubbles against his skin.

Someone else screams. And the multitude of Jon’s eyes are newborn, fractal-imaged, gummed up with a feast of far-reaching horror all witnessed by him, overseen and devoured in his sight, and it is hard to translate what his original set of open, weeping eyes see. There is motion. Commotion. There are apologies being spoken in his ears, fervent, petitionary, but he is hearing the rising insistent thrum of the summoning and it is as sickening as it is beautiful. Someone is holding a hand hard over his mouth, the grip painful and punishing but even then the words burble out through the cracks. Another hand clamps over his eyes, and he shrieks and thrashes as his words gather to a crescendo.

A hand tears the paper from his grip. There is an acrid whoosh of smoke. Jon drops like the rigging of a ship being torn down. The hands at his mouth and eyes lower quickly to loop around his waist, catch him and hold him up.

Jon sees Tim, wide-eyed and shimmering with terror even as his skin burns gold and his feathers shine and there are only sooty flakes left of Jonah’s statement, scattering down from his palms.

He thinks it’s Martin behind him. Jon folds further, all his weight pitching forward and Martin’s forced to come down with him as he retches the leftover words in his mouth; king of a ruined world, he vomits up with bile and ink, and it splashes with a disgusting slop over the living room floor.

Sasha’s partially webbed hands are holding back his hair as he hacks and gags, his lips stained black, his stomach heaving as he chokes on everything that comes up, his stomach roiling with an overwhelming nausea. Conduit of fear, he brings up, dribbling from his lips like paper pulp.

After a long while, it’s over. Sasha carries him to the bathroom, and helps him clean up, although Jon has little memory of it.

He wakes, feeling like a shipwreck, and Tim is there. Sat nearby, his head in his hands. His fingertips stained with ink and soot. He can hear Martin and Sasha talking in low tones nearby.

They're still here. Even now, he’s surprised that they haven’t left him.

And Jon has no words remaining, so his body betrays him with airless, silent tears, at all he could have wrought upon this world, at all the suffering he could have brought to their door to still be granted forgiveness for.

It is not the end. It is an interlude, a reprieve. In some ways a kindness, and in others, waiting is its own cruelty.

They’ve bought blankets to the beach in order to cushion the hardness of the stones rounded by tide and time. It’s the first time they’ve gotten Jon to come outside for more than a few minutes. The scratches up the column of his throat healing. His voice still damaged, scratchy and scraped from misuse.

They’ll have to be moving on soon. To make plans for whatever future they need to avoid.

She sits up, and stretches out from where she’s been lying against Tim’s thigh. Glances at Jon, barely four metres away on a separate towel. Grey-haired and tired-eyed. Martin’s holding his hand, the left one crinkled by burns, as they talk about something treasured for its meaningless. Despite everything, Jon’s face practises relearning its smiles, even as he touches tentative at the marks around his neck, the bruising at the edges of his mouth.

The tension has not faded from Tim’s shoulders. His plumage sharp and strange even now. Her own scales patchy and bare, whole sections that have not grown back.

She considers her battered but striving shoal, and wants to show them that their past is not all there will ever be. That there will be an after-this, whatever that looks like. She wishes they spoke her tongue, so she could gift them names, new names, for the things they have become, this things that they have survived, and all that has survived them.

“Martin!” she shouts over, a sudden inspiration seizing her. “Want to come in the water with me?”

Martin’s expression barrels through at least three iterations before it hovers between wary and uncomfortable.

“I – er… I might just be better off here, actually.”

“No pressure,” she tells him, and she means it, for all she remembers that he has never had the chance to know the sea as she has, to feel his whole weight held up by the water. “But I am a pretty spectacular swimming teacher. I promise I won’t let go.”

Martin, to his credit, thinks about it. Gnaws on his lip, stares away from her and at his knees. Next to her, she can feel Tim bite back an enthusiastic declaration of encouragement for fear of spooking him.

Martin stands gingerly, and she is so proud of him.

“I haven’t got a costume,” he says.

“Your boxers will be fine.”

“We want something pretty to look at, show us those legs, Martin!” Tim says. He times the tone playful, the perfect balance of joking and complementing, and it works, with Martin’s blushing and ‘shut it Tim’ distracting him from the enormity of his decision as he neatly folds up his jeans, and takes off his shoes and socks. Sasha peels off her long skirt, rolls down her tights. She dislikes shoes on principle, and rarely wears them.

The rocks dig into the soles of Martin’s feet as they waddle down to the shore, slow going and interspersed with wincing.

She takes his hand as they stop, stand a foot from the border between land and sea.

“We’ll just go a little way out,” she promises. “The water’s fairly calm but for your first time…”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Martin whispers. He hesitates, and she waits for his decision. And then, he creeps forward, and she follows. He swears vehement as the water hits his toes, and he almost balks to feel the frigid temperature, but he pushes forward, his swearing getting more and more creative the further he walks out against the tide.

From the headland, someone cheers, likely Tim.

“Don’t look at them,” Sasha says. “Come on, this is all you, ok?”

Her legs unfuse into her tail, and she shivers out a feeling like cramp, luxuriating in the sensation against her skin.

Martin tentatively wades out. He’s tall, but there’s a point where he stops, knowing to move forward means his feet won’t touch the ground.

“A little further, yeah?” Sasha encourages, and he nods jerkily, a frantic up-and-down, his expression petrified. “You can do this. Don’t look at the water. Look at me.”

Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she pulls him slowly into deeper waters. His fingers are pressing rounded marks into her forearms. His leg gestures are sloppy, thrashing, and at one point he dips below the surface with the disturbance he’s making, and he splutters as he resurfaces, surging up, eyes bulging in a betrayed panic. She continues to reassure him and doesn’t let go as they stop and simply float, the shoreline easily in sight.

“How does it feel?” she asks.

“Wet,” he grumbles. Clearly concentrating, he treads, kicking out in a motion that gradually finds rhythm.

For a long while, it is them and the sea. The waves rub up against the bare patches in her scales, but the reminder is not painful.

Martin’s breathing calms. His terror recedes, and he looks down at the obscured water under them.

“Can we go out a bit further?”

She’s not doing as much pulling now. She shows him how to use his arms to push himself through water, and stopping and starting, correcting his gestures and posture and breathing as they go, they drift further out before stopping again, hanging suspended above the depths.

Martin smiles at his own unexpected success. He lets out a long, satisfied sound like something’s loosened in him for the first time.

His eyes, completely black, reflect the dour and overcast midday sun.

“Martin, your eyes.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Martin says, but no – he doesn’t say, he barks, and then gasps, and then barks again, stunned, unsettled. He doesn’t look upset. He’s bitten his lip with his too-sharp teeth that now line his gums, and he touches the sharp pain it has caused with incredulity, his still human fingers marking out the sensation of the new.

“What’s happening?” he asks and Sasha grins, and says “I don’t know, Martin, I don’t know” and he’s splashing, a seal without skin, something entirely himself, shivering minutely in the cold shock even as his smile shows off his pointed teeth. He barks again, the sound almost jolted out of him as he figures out how it works, and she trills in delight, and it sets him off grinning and kicking. And for the moment, for this moment, the Lonely is banished entirely landbound, and there is only them treading water, surrounded by the endless sea and trusting they will not drown.

They have to go back to land eventually. The waves around them start to wash choppy, the sky colours grey with the surety of rain. They swim back, and sometimes Sasha lets go, bobbing near his elbow as he swims slowly but steadily on his own.

Martin’s teeth flatten when they crawl onto the shore, panting and burbling out the dregs of their laughter. Tim and Jon have come over to greet them, Jon holding the towels and garments like an overladen clothes tree. Tim chucks Sasha a towel to fold around herself into a makeshift skirt before her tail bisects back into legs.

“Tim, Tim, Tim!” Sasha says excitedly, waving her hands and gesticulating. “Did you see, did you see?”

“See what…?” Tim starts, but he glances at Martin, whose eyes are slow to fade from black to blue, and Tim might not realise what exactly has happened, but he senses the tenor of the mood because he’s barrelling in, knocking into Martin, wrapping him in a hug and nearly smothering him with his wings. Once released, Jon approaches slowly, putting his burdens down. Martin glances up at him, almost anxious now that the initial buzz is wearing down, but Jon goes softly to his knees, and his smile spreads across his face like paint in water.

The grey of the sky feels far off as they allow themselves the momentarily uncomplicated gift of being happy.

#the magnus archives #tma #cw emotional manipulation #cw ableism #cw potential suicidal ideation #cw emetophobia #cw being sick #ask to tag #jonmartin #sasha james #tim stoker #jonathan sims #martin blackwood

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lyssismagical · 4 years

Text

anything for another run with you, i would do anything to be with you

Parkner Week Day Nine: “I’ll keep all my emotions right here, and then one day, I’ll die” / hanahaki / pining

Based on Anything by dodie, and on S4-S6 of Glee’s Klaine, specifically It’s Too Late in S6 ep1

There was a time in Harley’s life where he thought they were forever, where he believed nothing could tear them apart, where he was certain that they were going to make it forever.

Peter had always been so bright, so infinite in Harley’s mind. A beacon of hope for a future together, a family, something they’d never really had in permanence before.

There had never really been a doubt in his head that they’d last forever, that they’d get engaged and then married, live together, grow old together. Whenever he’d think about a future, he always imagined it with Peter at his side.

The reality, though, is far from what he’d imagined when he was young and naïve.

Relationships don’t always last forever.

Harley pushes open the apartment door, taking in the quiet and the emptiness. It’s been months since Peter moved out, nearly half a year, and Harley doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way the apartment feels like a black hole, dark and empty and sucking life out of him.

He drops his bag by the front door, hesitating because Peter used to hate it when he did that, but Peter isn’t here anymore.

It’s hard for him to let go of what had once been his entire life, his past, his present, and his future. The pictures of them are overturned, covered, flipped, but still out, still visible if he wants to see what once was. The things that Peter left behind like an old Midtown sweater, an older quilt, a few pairs of socks that were left in the laundry, are still there. Untouched, in plain sight, a painful reminder.

What was once Peter’s side of the bed is left properly made and unslept in, pillow still smelling like his cinnamon-scented shampoo. Harley’s side is a mess of rumpled sheets, unwashed because he doesn’t have the energy to do laundry most days anymore, and one of Peter’s old hoodies are under the pillow.

“We haven’t spoken in weeks, Harley!” Peter had shouted, throwing his hoodie at Harley in frustration. “I can’t keep doing this!”

New York’s a big place, fast-paced, filled to the brim with people, but New York was always Peter’s city. Peter is engrained into every piece of the city, no matter how far Harley tries to go, no matter how fast he moves. It’s impossible not to see Peter in everything.

The coffeeshops Peter used to study at, he went to nearly every single one in the area to try to find the best of the best. The parks, the tourist traps, the restaurants all remind Harley of their dates, of their excursions when they got too trapped in routine. The quiet alleys where Harley can remember them tumbling into, tipsy and giggling endlessly, mouths pressing against whatever surface they could reach, young and naïve and foolishly in love. The skyscrapers Peter used to swing him onto late at night, laughing and filled to the brim with adrenaline and warmth, kissing under the stars.

“What do you want me to do?” Harley shouted, just as angry after all the pent-up frustrations they couldn’t let out after all the time they’ve spent dancing around each other. “Between work and classes and extra-curriculars and you being gone every night superheroing. When do you expect us to have the time to talk?”

Harley sighs harshly, glaring at the ring that sits so harmlessly on his nightstand. He’d been thinking about proposing eventually, he’d bought the ring and everything, but things had started going bad and he hid the ring away. Now, it sits on his nightstand, box open and ring shining.

There’s a knock on his apartment door and he already knows who it is.

Out of the breakup, Peter got most of their friends because they were his before they were ever Harley’s. MJ, though, she refused to pick a side. She’s still friends with both of them.

When she gets into the apartment, she rolls her eyes dramatically at least six times at the state of his place before he can get a word in.

“This is just sad, Harley.”

“Fuck off.”

MJ rolls her eyes again. “Wow. I seriously thought you’d stop being an asshole to everybody after six months, but I want to remind you that I don’t have to be here. I don’t have to go out of my way and spend a few hours here every week, just for you. So if you wanna be a jerk, I’m going home.”

Harley slumps into one of the dining room chairs, sighing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t pin this on everything else!” Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t pretend this is just scheduling conflicts. This is on us! We’re not putting in the effort we used to. When was our last date night? We missed our five year anniversary a few weeks ago. We’ve been skipping our Friday Night Movies. When did we stop caring? When did we stop putting effort into our relationship?”

“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s talk. You stopped caring when Flash happened. You started pinning everything on me like I had owed you more than I could ever possibly give you. You stopped putting effort in when you felt like I had to put in all the effort to make up for what happened. I stopped caring when I realized I’d never be able to make it up to you, so there was no point in bothering.”

MJ sits down across from him, offering a sad smile. She reaches across the table to take his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “He still cares about you, you know.”

He shrugs, trying to pass off as nonchalant. It’s been six months, he shouldn’t hang onto every piece of news he hears about Peter. He hates that he never goes a day without thinking about Peter. One hundred and seventy-three days and Harley hasn’t gone one of those without thinking about his ex.

They’re not together anymore, Harley’s seen Peter exactly once after they called it off and it was when Peter cleared out his things from the apartment. Harley had cried that day, helped Peter carry some boxes down to his car, nearly falling down the stairs when his vision blurred. Peter cried too, tried not to make it obvious, keeping his head ducked and rubbing his eyes whenever he thought Harley wasn’t looking. But they’d been together for five years, Harley knew Peter better than he knew himself.

“You cheated on me last year!” Peter had cried, tears filling his eyes. “With Flash of all people! And you’re mad at me for being upset with you?”

Harley rolled his eyes, guilt still washing over him like it had been since it had happened the year before. “It’s been a year. I’ve done everything I could to make up for what happened, I’ve said I’m sorry, I’ve given you everything you’ve asked for. You said we could move past it but you’re still holding it over me.”

MJ rolls her eyes again, grabbing her phone and opening the photos. She shows him the most recent photo on her phone which is one of Peter. He’s standing on the balcony of his new apartment in the city, laughing at something somebody had said. He’s wearing a hoodie that Harley knows doesn’t belong to him, a college hoodie. He looks happy and well-rested and full of life.

“Who’s hoodie is that?” Harley sounds almost accusatory.

She hesitates. “Harley-”

“Is he seeing somebody?”

“Harley-”

MJ sighs, shutting off her phone. She stands and moves into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of wine from the fridge and pouring it into two of his wine glasses. (Wine glasses he bought with Peter.)

He accepts the glass and takes a nice swig before waiting for an answer.

“Yes, he’s seeing somebody,” MJ admits. “I dragged him to a party with Ned and he met this nice guy there. He goes to NYU, double majoring in business and engineering. He’s a good guy and Peter really likes him. They’ve been on a handful of dates so far.”

Harley nods. He doesn’t like it, he doesn’t really have a choice but to find it in him to be okay with it. Him and Peter aren’t together anymore. That’s just the way it is.

“This is going to sound downright pathetic, but do you think I’d ever have another chance with him?” Harley asks, voice soft and quiet, scared of what the answer might be.

MJ shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know. Peter still loves you, I think he always will. It’s impossible to throw a five-year relationship down the drain without a second thought, but I also know that Peter’s happy where he is now.”

“And he wasn’t happy with me,” Harley finishes.

“If you can’t let this go, then I don’t know how we’re supposed to keep going!” Harley shouted, heartbroken and angry and confused, but mostly scared of what he’s implying. “I can’t keep spending all my time apologizing for one mistake, and you can’t keep hating me for it. Either we find a way to work this out or we’re going to have to call quits. I hate doing this. Pretending things are fine when they’re not. I don’t want to continue on like this when neither of us are happy.”

Peter, crying and just as angry and scared, nodded. “Fine then. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t think we can.”

Cheating on Peter with Flash had been a mistake, he knew that the moment it happened, despite it not getting further than kissing. He’d been drunk and they’d been fighting, and he wanted to get back at Peter.

He spent a year apologizing, buying things for Peter, doing anything he was asked to do, slaving over their relationship because he’d made a mistake.

“I know this sucks for you, Harley, I know how torn up you’ve been about all of this for months, but Peter’s moved on,” MJ says, not unkindly. “He’s found a new guy and I think they’re planning on making it serious. You’re still living in guilt and beating yourself up over it. You’re living like Peter’s just going to show up again one day and things will go back to the way you once were.”

“They’re making it serious?”

MJ scoffs, draining her glass of wine. “That wasn’t the point. The point is that you’re miserable and you’re beating yourself up for something that was only half on you.”

“But they’re making it serious?” Harley repeats.

“Fuck, I don’t know! Yes, I think they’re going to make it official, boyfriends and all, very soon. They really like each other.”

Harley lets out a harsh sigh, head falling into his heads. “I’m not beating myself up, I just- I still love him. I love him. I don’t know how to move on from him when he was the only thing that ever mattered to me, when I thought we were going to be forever. I want him back, I want us again. I don’t know how to move on from something that felt like everything to me.”

But the truth is that he doesn’t want to move on. He loves Peter, and he wants what they had back again. He doesn’t want to try to date somebody new or move away or try to restart on his own. He doesn’t want that, not when he knows where his happily ever after lies.

“I think you should call him and get closure. I think that would help you start moving on without him. Either way, I should get going. I have an early start in the morning.”

They say their goodbyes and pleasantries.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Harley scrambles for his phone.

“Hello?”

“Peter,” Harley breathes, just hearing his exes voice makes the guilt in his chest wash away. “It’s, uh, it’s me.”

There’s a moment of silence, filled with tension and confusion and obvious worry. “It’s been six months of radio silence on your end… Is everything okay?”

“MJ said you were seeing somebody,” Harley blurts, voice shaking and blinking back tears. “I just- I don’t know. I know I screwed up, I know I made so many mistakes, I just- I always thought we were-”

“It wasn’t all your fault. I don’t want you feeling guilty over what happened forever. It was my fault we fought that night, it was my fault you never felt like you could be forgiven for kissing Flash. If I was holding that much resentment against you, I should’ve called it quits a long time before we did. Maybe then we could’ve worked things out a lot sooner.”

Harley sniffles, feeling awfully pathetic in an apartment that used to be theirs but is now only his, talking to Peter again. He wants Peter back so badly it hurts, it makes his chest tighten and his hands shake and his head ache. He wants everything they had back. “I know you’re seeing someone but I still love you, Peter. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I still love you. And I still want you back.”

“Me and Harry are happy,” Peter murmurs. “I do love you and I really think we can make being friends work, but… I don’t think I can handle that kind of heartbreak again. I think we both need time apart before we even consider coming back to this.”

“Tell me about him. About Harry.”

Peter hesitates. “You really want to know?”

“I’m still your best friend, Peter. I know things have been awful between us for the past year, but I think it’s worse being apart. I wanna know about Harry.”

Peter rambles about his new relationship, one Harry Osborn who’s nearly finished at NYU, who’s smart and funny and sarcastic and pretty, who makes Peter happy, who has money and takes Peter on expensive, extravagant dates.

“I want to meet him,” Harley says, as confidently as he can for somebody who’s crumbling under the knowingness that he’s lost the love of his life. “We should all have dinner together. Maybe MJ and Ned can come too. We’ll make it a thing. I wanna be in your life, Peter, even if it’s not the way I want to be.”

“Good. Because I want you there too.”

When they finish talking, saying quiet, scared goodbyes because their relationship is brittle and broken, and they never know what would be the wrong thing to say, and Harley nearly says I love you before he says goodbye, Harley makes himself useful. He finally takes down all the memorabilia of a relationship that’s over, he puts Peter’s hoodies in the back of his closet, he throws out the bottle of half-used cologne that’s been sitting untouched on their desk for six months.

He stops when he picks up the ring on his nightstand.

There’s a part of him that thinks he should get rid of it, sell it, maybe, or send it to Abbie for whatever use she might have for it, but there’s a part of him, a bigger part, that’s too attached. Even if he never gets the chance to propose to Peter, he’s still hopeful he’ll find his happily ever after one day. Even if it means pining from a distance over a boy he lost his chances with, even if it means watching him be happy with another man, even if it means playing the part of the best friend. He’ll be okay.

(Two years later, after long conversations and careful trepidation when things were finally piecing back together in a way that made more sense than it ever had, Harley buys a second ring and proposes to his two boyfriends. Harry and Peter both say yes.)

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spidey-reids-2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @justme--emily @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

#lyss writes #parkner week 2020 #parkner #peter parker #harley keener #michelle jones #harry osborn #parksborn #parksborner #I don't know the ship name for harry harley and peter lmao #harry osborn x peter parker x harley keener #parley

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wolfcrunch · 4 years

Note

An animator made a tweet saying they worked as an animation director for the second half of the new ova and posted their warm up drawing of Todoroki. The date on that drawing was April 28th, 2020. They posted it only today, which tells me they drew this as they worked on the ova. Not saying production has not been affected in some way, but seeing this gives me hope it hasn't affected them too badly and maybe we'll get S5 in the winter? Maybe? :3

they’ve likely been working on the animation for a few months now! despite season 4 having ended in april, that doesn’t mean they stopped working on the show as a whole right after that. they don’t really have too much of a “break”.

they’ve probably got a fair chunk done, a few months ago we were made aware they’d already started some of the animation of the JT arc, and Yuki Hayashi (who is in charge of the music), has been working on the soundtrack for a few weeks. we also know the VA’s have been voicing lines, of course, with safety measures because of the virus.

i think its also important to note that they wont finish the entire season before it airs. they’ll only have the first few episodes complete, and then as the show starts airing, they’ll finish the coming episodes. the final ep of S4 wasn’t even fully complete until a day (or maybe a few) before the episode itself aired.

winter seems possible, although im betting they might go for an April release to kinda match up with s1-3′s dates. anywhere between jan-april seems the most likely.

#bnha #mha #asks #Anonymous

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master-of-cosmos · 5 years

Text

Imprint [Ninjago Fic]

apparently some people are calling this ‘whumptober,’ so you know what that means! entersroomhoppingonmyhighheels.gif

it’s quick oneshot-inspired-by-@rinas-ninjas‘ palette-challenge-art time ❤️ that stuff is right up my alley y’all don’t even know. anyway, this is also a bit of a thank you gift to @lloydskywalkers for always being so supportive of this fandom’s writer community and such an inspiration in her own work! i absolutely do not deserve all the love you’ve given TMS, so you completely deserve some post-s4 brotherly bonding hun 💚💚

content warning: there’s lots of blood and a very likely upsetting way it’s taken care of because of the way it’s described, so please don’t read if you’re under 13 or sensitive to these things!

~~~~~

Kai wasn’t exactly expecting things to go back to normal right away. The team could still laugh with each other and band together against an enemy like nothing changed, but it’d be naive to think that, once everything settled down, there wouldn’t be some hitches.

He just didn’t think Lloyd would be one of them.

It’s three in the morning, and he’s already awake. Rolling over onto his back, he stares up at the ceiling in the guest room he’s been staying in since they got back from Chen’s outright lousy island. He blinks a few times, wondering what pulled his brain out of his coma so early.

Soft - slow - footsteps pad down the hall outside. Right, it’s time for Lloyd’s patrol. His actual one today, apparently. He’s been randomly stealing everyone’s shifts after Anacondrai gang wannabes started cropping up, inspired by Chen in spite of what happened to him.

In spite of what Sensei Garmadon sacrificed to stop him. Weeks ago.

A whole month has gone by, and Lloyd still won’t talk to anyone about it, least of all Kai. And Kai, in particular, has barely been able to have a conversation with him about anything without the kid stuttering and finding something else to do that cuts off the interaction like an axe to his neck.

He knows perfectly well why.

Kicking off the blanket, he drags himself out of bed and slips on his sandals.

He’s got no one else to blame but himself that Lloyd’s scared of him now, so he let this go on for too long. He’s not sure what’s come over him about it, but at some point in the last few days, he decided he’s putting a stop to it, any act he can do at a time.

He has to show Lloyd that he can still rely on him. That he’s trustworthy and useful and not a screw up and worth more to the team than the shattered bathroom mirror says.

His hurry down the hall causes a yawning audience to trail him, Jay mumbling, “Where’s the fire?”

Lloyd’s about to step out when he makes it to the foyer. “Hey,” he calls.

Freezing, Lloyd tilts his head back a little, answering with a hesitant, “Yeah?”

Ignoring Cole and Jay behind him, Kai moves further into the room, mustering his nerve to say, “I can take your shift. If you want.”

“It’s fine. I got it,” he responds quickly as he turns to Kai. He wavers a little bit, and the dark circles under his wide eyes stand out in Zane’s reading light.

Catching Kai’s drift, Cole gently suggests, “Lloyd, maybe it’s better for you to stay in.”

“I…appreciate the concern, but this is something I need to do,” Lloyd asserts back, his jaw locked from annoyance.

It’s clear to Kai that Lloyd’s been using the patrols to ignore what happened to his dad. Maybe he’s trying to put off sleep, too. Both worried about that and absorbing Lloyd’s aggravation like a sponge, Kai huffs, “Look, dude, it’s obvious you’re tired. Just let me cover you for one night.”

“I said it’s fine. You don’t want to be here anyway,” Lloyd bites, hardly even looking at the others when he says it, and storms out of the dojo so fast that Kai can only stare as the door slams shut.

Oh.

Kai braces himself on the front counter, squeezing his eyes shut. That’s what’s wrong. They - he - left Lloyd all alone. Of course he feels like he has to do everything like that now.

Jay humphs a little and rubs his eye, heading back upstairs as he tiredly jokes, “Well, my shift’s always open.”

Following him, Cole pats Kai’s shoulder. “Let the kid grieve in his own way. He’ll come around.”

Easy for you to say, Kai thinks. He has it on good authority that throwing yourself into work to avoid your feelings doesn’t help in the long run.

“Are you all right?” Zane asks from his chair on the other side of the room, the giant book he’s been chipping away at for three nights abandoned in his lap.

Straightening, Kai tightly answers, “Yep.”

“I am certain you will think of a way to help him,” he states, returning to his book.

Well, he already has. He races back up to his room and throws on his gi. With his comm-link in his ear, he doesn’t waste time running back downstairs. Instead, he leaps out the window as he summons his elemental dragon and takes off after his little brother.

He’s going to prove to Lloyd that he won’t just leave him on his own again.

~~~~~

A few miles out from his dad’s dojo, Lloyd rides his dragon along his patrol route and fights tears, scrubbing at his face every few moments. Stupid Kai, he thinks, but then he shakes his head, mumbling, “Stupid me.”

Somewhere inside, he’s happier than anything to have the team back together. He knew how much he missed them, but it feels a million times better actually being able to watch them work hard in the training yard, hearing them laugh at the breakfast table, everyone saying “good morning” and then “goodnight,” just like it used to be.

But he got used to his dad.

Lloyd can’t keep himself from running through scenarios that might have saved him, and some of those possibilities include things he would never voice, like not taking the challenge at all. But because he wouldn’t do something like that, Dad got to suffer the consequences.

A scream splits him from his thoughts.

“Where?” he asks the night, searching the ground. In a secluded alley, he spots what looks like three men corning a woman.

He sends his dragon into a dive for them, landing it between her and the attackers. It roars before he banishes it and readies his stance. “If you guys know what’s good for you, you’ll leave right now,” he threatens, lighting his power in his hands.

“It’s the Green Ninja,” one of them shouts to his buddies.

“Get him!”

The three drawing knives, they descend on him.

He cuts out the energy and dodges the closest man’s knife, noting the Anacondrai tattoo on his wrist. Grabbing the extended arm, Lloyd hurls the body at the next one. While they untangle themselves, he punches the third in the gut, grabbing his head when he doubles over and slamming his face on a nearby electrical unit.

The second kicks his kneecap from where he still lies on the ground, but Lloyd jumps back enough before the attack can fully connect. With a small yell, he blasts the man’s chest.

Left alone now, the first tries his luck again, charging at Lloyd with his knife held above his head. A high kick knocks it from his hand, and one more solid kick to his solar plexus takes him out.

With a stumble that he locks down on, Lloyd moves over to the woman crouched in the corner. “Hey, you’re safe now,” he says soothingly, extending his hand.

She looks up from her knees and stares at it before she takes it, her own hand trembling.

“It’s alright,” he consoles as he helps her stand. “Do you live around here?”

Wordlessly, she nods, clutching her purse close to her body.

He steps back to give her some space. “Do you need to call someone? Or, uh, I can take you there.” He accepts her careful step forward as an answer and turns around to leave the alley. Mostly to himself, he mutters, “I need to let the police know about these guys. Should’ve brought a rope or some―”

Normally, he’d never let anyone get the drop on him, especially not someone he could take without even looking, but Kai’s right. He’s tired. Distracted. Stressed and not keeping his guard up when he should, but how could he? She’s just an innocent person who needed help.

She’s not holding a switchblade, and that’s not his blood. It couldn’t be.

“It’s your fault,” she spits, circling around him. “You let those Anacondrai warriors attack my home. My children.”

Gasping, Lloyd backs against the wall the woman was just cowering against, his hand pressed to the throbbing fire in his side. “I-I’m sorry. We did―”

“Save it for your maker!” She steps over one of the men and kicks him, barking, “Get up.” The three of them groan as they comply. She hands her knife to the one who stands up first and orders, “Now finish it.”

Lloyd sucks in deeper breaths as he pushes himself to straighten. He can ignore the pain and pretend he doesn’t feel it long enough. With his teeth bared, he calls up another two energy orbs, warning, “Stay. Away.”

The man just smirks and keeps inching closer, so Lloyd pitches a sphere at him, knocking him clear out of the alley. Scrambling back to his feet, he squeaks, “Forget this,” and runs off.

Lloyd manages to re-energize his empty hand before the others get any more ideas, bending his knees and glaring, daring them.

“Yeah, I’m out. I didn’t sign up to kill him,” the second man says. The third follows after him.

The woman glowers at their retreat but makes no effort to stop them. Snapping her purse shut, she looks back at Lloyd, bitterly stating, “You may have this city worshiping you, but you don’t fool me.” And with that, she leaves him alone.

His energy orbs sputter out, taking his grip on equilibrium with them. The ground falls away like a tunnel as he staggers back a step, but he shuts his eyes and shakes his head sharply. He’ll be fine. He can get home and have this taken care of, no problem. He just needs his dragon.

Trying to summon it nearly sends him to the concrete. So he’s too freaked out to do that.

He can walk then. Find someone with a phone or something. The knife was pretty thin, wasn’t it? It can’t be bad enough that he won’t be able to walk.

One foot in front of the other. Not difficult. One step, next step, and then the next―

He gasps so hard he sees stars and has to catch himself on the wall. Restraining a scream in his throat doesn’t do much to chase away the incessant throb, but it helps the frustration building faster around his racing heart.

Flipping over, his back hits the wall. It’s practically the only thing holding him up, and that makes ice run down his spine.

He’s not as knowledgeable on anatomy as he should be, but he has a vague understanding that where she stabbed him is close to a cluster of nerves. On reflection, he instinctively twisted his torso just in time; she was probably going for his kidney or the giant artery beside it. A common target for someone who wants to cause pain.

Great, now he needs to know how bad it is.

He reaches around to touch the excruciating point under his ribs, hissing when his hand fumbles over it. Holding them up to the light of a distant streetlamp, he finds his fingers glazed in red, a mini pool of it in his palm.

A tremor’s already wracking his whole arm, and there’s warmth seeping across his lower back, stolen from his limbs.

He’s been injured and bled before, but this. It’s too much for him to deal with by himself. The pain, the fear, the knowledge of why all gather together behind his eyes and spill out as he murmurs, “Oh god.”

But there’s hope. He’s still got a spark of it. With the others home again, he has one last option.

Tapping his comm, he forces his voice to steadily enough ask, “K-Kai?”

His heart drops to his stomach when his brain promptly supplies, What if they went back to sleep? Nobody’s listening. Even if he does hear you, the dojo’s miles away.

No one’s gonna be able to come for him. He’s in real trouble now, and it’s all because he was a jerk and didn’t let them be a team even though that’s the exact thing he wanted, and god, what’s Dad gonna think? Is he even in a real afterlife? Oh god, he’s never seeing him again. He’s gonna die out here, or some other day, and it won’t even matter―

“What’s up, Lloyd? You’re kind of staticky.”

He wants to laugh in relief, but the pain’s killing him enough, and as cloudy as it’s making his senses, he heard the worry in Kai’s voice despite the effort he used to hide it.

With his fleeting strength, he manages, “I-I need h-help.”

~~~~~

Ten minutes.

He was only ten minutes behind Lloyd.

Kai can’t hear anything outside his comm. He can barely see besides the blurry lines that are supposed to be streets he soars above. The only reason he knows Nya heard him when he told her to notify a hospital is because she commanded him to keep Lloyd talking.

“Yeah, and what’d he say to that?”

“Jeez. Gene was…s-so mad. Said..said he’d get me back f-for sure.”

“Tell me you got him first.”

“I-I tried, but I d-didn’t know where..to find…scor-scorpions.” He laughs at himself, but the sound chokes off with a gasp.

“Lloyd?”

“Are you close?”

“Yeah. Yeah, buddy, two minutes. Just sit tight.”

“A-awesome.”

“I know where we can get a couple.”

“What?”

“Scorpions. We can still get that jerk.”

“H-he’s nice…n-now…Remember? Don’t..be mean.”

“Right, yeah. We ruined a perfectly good bad boy, didn’t we? Too nice for your own good, Lloyd.”

Instead of answering, Kai just hears sniffling and measured groaning like Lloyd’s trying to control the pain.

He’s about to ask how he’s doing when Lloyd speaks up again. “Is…is that what’s…wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, man.”

“B-but if I was mean, then…then Dad might still―”

“Hey, hey, listen. None of that was your fault. Okay? Can you see me? I think I’m over the right street.”

It takes Lloyd a minute before he hums, “Mhm. F-fire…dragon.”

“Yeah, bud. I’m right here. You’re gonna be fine.” Kai doesn’t see him, though. It’s still pretty dark, and the alley’s crowded with junk.

A green orb floats up from beside a big power box.

Kai drops his dragon and banishes it just before they hit the ground, flipping off it to break the fall. He’s at Lloyd’s side in a near instant, looking him over where he sits against the square unit, one arm bent around his torso.

Bleary eyed, Lloyd smiles at him. “Y-you made it.”

“’Course I did.” He resists the urge to yank his hair out, sinking his tooth into his cheek instead. There’s blood all over the concrete, a smudged handprint on the brick wall. Lloyd moves his arm so Kai can see, and from what he can tell, the wound’s still bleeding. His gi has a jagged rip going down, like the attacker cut into him before she got the leverage needed to sink the knife in deep.

Immediately, he presses his hand to it, making Lloyd flinch. He tries so hard to be calm, but he can’t get the terror out of his voice when he demands, “God, Lloyd, why’d you leave it like this?”

“M’sorry,” Lloyd groans in a cracking voice, slumping forward.

Kai puts his other hand on his shoulder, noticing the abandoned hood and gi sash wadded in soaked piles. Swallowing his nausea, he alternates brushing Lloyd’s arm and hair, saying, “No, it’s alright, okay? It’s gonna be fine. Nya’s already got an ambulance on the way. They’ll be here any minute.”

Shaking his head, Lloyd gasps, “Too late. T-they’re gonna be―” Suddenly distressed, he huffs and whines, “Kai…”

Kai nudges him upright. “What? Tell me.”

Lloyd’s head lolls to the side and back against the metal box before he pushes himself to lean over on his elbow, grimacing. He tugs the end of his gi aside, exposing the injury. It’s the way he pinches his brows and further labors his breathing, his expression miserably expectant as his neck gives out on him, tears and beads of sweat bouncing off his face from the movement. It says enough.

“N-no,” Kai croaks. Stronger, he says, “Lloyd, no, I can’t do that to you,” standing as he recoils.

“I-I’m gonna…bleed―” He winces, raggedly continuing, “Bleed out..i-if you don’t.”

Kai yanks on his hair anyway, but he glances back at Lloyd.

His dark circles stand out worse, a sunken mask on his paling face, and his eyelids droop despite how he’s fighting to keep them open. With the arm he’s propped on trying to shake out from under him, he’s almost lying down, each shallow pant pushing him lower bit by bit.

And now that Kai can see it, he’s losing too much blood. It’s just leaving him in small yet constant pulses, four black rivulets dripping down his stomach and adding to the puddle on the ground.

He’s right. Why does he have to be right?

Kai takes Lloyd’s weight off his arm, wrapping his under it and along to his little brother’s back, and gathers the green cloth there in his fist to keep it out of the way. “Just― just hold onto me, alright? Don’t let go.”

Lloyd nods. His arms come up around Kai’s torso and across his shoulder blades, squeezing with all the strength he’s got.

His right hand free, Kai closes his eyes and ignites it.

Or, he tries to. It doesn’t respond instantly like it should, only giving off smoke. The consequence of his own reluctance.

Sensing the hangup, Lloyd mutters, “I can…handle it..pro-promise.”

Kai inhales, letting the air out slow. “You better.” He snaps his wrist again, the fire lighting up the alleyway. For a few extra seconds, he makes it burn hotter than he usually needs before he pulls the flames down to a dull orange smoulder in his palm. “Ready? On three.”

He’s not ready, and Lloyd tenses, burying his face in Kai’s shoulder.

“One. Two…T-three.”

For the second time, Kai presses his hand on the wound.

As promised, mostly, Lloyd toughs it out at first. He keeps the pain deep in his throat, but eventually the groan turns shrill, and then he’s screaming and struggling not to writhe.

Kai wants to scream with him, but he won’t. Maybe he can’t either. All he can do is hold onto Lloyd tighter as he tries to block out the sound under his hand.

He turns his focus to how the muscles in his back seize around Lloyd’s fists from the energy he’s started channeling on agonized reflex. He gets kneed in the ribs, too, and he’d lose his grip if the slick blood wasn’t burned away.

Burned. Burning. He’s burning his baby brother.

Why didn’t he think to heat up a knife or something instead? Why’s he using his hand for it? Why’d he let Lloyd convince him to do this at all? He should’ve just carried him to the hospital on his dragon, or better yet, he never should have let any of this happen.

“I’m sorry,” Kai yells, screwing his eyes shut. Just a few more seconds, just enough to make sure it’s cauterized fully. He can’t risk messing up because if Lloyd has to suffer for nothing, then he―

Kai’s gonna―

Lloyd loses his strength to keep screaming, and then Kai’s muscles relax only a fraction when the scrabbling limbs behind him fall slack.

Enough. It has to be enough.

Ripping his hand away, he crushes Lloyd in both arms, unable to stop rocking him or repeating apologies. Not just for this. He’s sorry for everything ― the betrayal, the staff, for leaving and allowing so much time to go by that it ended up leading to now.

Lloyd probably can’t understand any of it. He just hiccups while he cries, slowly quieting until he’s too limp in Kai’s hold.

The paramedics find them like that, but they’re all strangers, and one of them talks to Kai while another tries to pry Lloyd away from him. He’s gonna blast them in their throats if they don’t shut up and stop and get their hands away.

But then the Bounty’s sailing overhead, and Nya’s getting through to him as Lloyd’s taken to someone who can actually help a hell of a lot better.

He clenches his fists the entire flight over to the hospital, refusing to look at his own hands.

~~~~~

Kai gets an earful later about how ‘incorrectly’ he handled the situation, and Master Wu adds ‘proper field medicine’ to their training schedule, but ultimately, everyone hugs him and cries and are so thankful he’d at least ‘been there to do something,’ and he doesn’t remember a whole lot of it.

He knows the others have been worried for him now, too, though.

He hasn’t been able to eat anything cooked if he’s around while it’s being prepared. Zane picks up on that in record time and starts making oatmeal and cold-cut sandwiches for him instead.

Cole and Jay learn real quick that if they ask Kai for help with fire-related needs, then his powers won’t respond. Fighting is the only thing it’s felt like doing, and fight it does. They steer clear of him when he goes out to the training yard.

Nya keeps looking at him with a face that’s so sad, like she wants to help him but doesn’t know how, he can’t help it. He retreats to his room and hides under the blanket for hours until the world stops spinning and he can breathe without needing to think about it.

But Lloyd heals fast, so there’s that.

The cops want to track down the people who attacked him, but he refuses to help, muttering something like, “She’s a mom.”

That doesn’t stop Kai from trying to find the woman himself, but he has nothing to go on, and the cops have better resources. They catch her pretty soon after that.

He does have the power to scare other Anacondrai wannabes into never showing their faces again. He gets another earful for that, but it’s worth it to rest at least a little easier.

Things get better after Lloyd comes home, where Kai can see him and be reassured.

He seems better, too. He spends more time with everyone, participates in conversations, and doesn’t run away from Kai anymore.

The thing is, Kai thinks he should. Especially now.

The heat index today’s like a hundred and ten degrees. It doesn’t really bother Kai, but the others already went inside after training as much as they can stand. Lloyd’s not done sparring, though. Said he feels like he fell behind and wants to keep going for another half hour.

But it’s still really hot out for him, so he’s folding his shirt and setting it on one of the benches before he heads back over to Kai to resume their match.

And Kai isn’t sure what he thought would be there. He knew Lloyd had to have been scarred, but he didn’t know. It didn’t occur to him at all how it’d look.

Under Lloyd’s ribs, close to his lower back, it’s a reddened, indistinct patch of burned scarring surrounding a handprint.

It looks like a violation, like a betrayal of Lloyd’s trust and Kai’s job as the Green Ninja’s protector.

He practically collapses as he sits down on the packed dirt. He waves his hand dismissively and pants, “I’m done,” when Lloyd looks at him, confused.

His confusion shifts to narrowed worry as he glances towards the scar. Carefully, he says, “You saved my life.”

Kai pulls his legs in, one hand on his thigh while the other scrapes at his forehead. “I know…I know.” He ends up ripping at his hair, closing his eyes tight. “It’s just. Everything. All of it.”

After a second, Lloyd’s kneeling in front of him. He’s put his shirt back on and has that stupid, sad face that’s gonna send Kai packing. But he can’t leave because Lloyd catches onto his shoulder and says, “You can’t hurt me, Kai.”

“But I―” Kai’s already pounding heart speeds up, making him dizzy, because he did. He let them shackle Lloyd and steal his power and drop poison on him, and he’s alone. He’s bleeding. Kai’s burning him, so who’s to say he would have dropped the staff? “I’m―”

“Hey,” Lloyd interjects, shaking him once. “You. Can’t. Hurt me. Alright?” He harshly emphasizes the words, except they’re gentle, kind, more than Kai deserves, but if he can still have conviction like that, then Kai can try to accept it.

Eventually.

His head bows. He can’t get his heart to stop demanding to fly out of his chest. It hurts, it hurts, he’s sinking, and he wants to hide because this feeling won’t go away out in the open.

“Look at me,” Lloyd says, a beacon of calm. “Just breathe. In and out. Copy me, okay?”

He does. He feels completely stupid because whatever’s wrong with him is nothing compared to what he put his little brother through, but he looks up and matches Lloyd’s exaggerated breaths.

Minutes go by as the world melts away and rebuilds itself enough to steady him, Lloyd’s presence somehow a foundation for it.

Swiping at his eyes, Kai nods when he’s fine. He huffs out a short laugh, asking, “S-someone teach you that?”

Lloyd gives him a hand up and mumbles, “Yeah. Um, Dad did.”

“Oh.”

The floodgates open with that. Kai listens while Lloyd talks about Garmadon for the first time since his funeral, the conversation leading to shared stories and lessons the man taught them both and on to experiences the ninja had with him before Lloyd got to meet him.

He does mess up again, really soon actually, but at least this time Lloyd knows someone’s coming to save him.

~~~~~

overuse of adverbs and unbroken dialogue signals that this is a ‘doodle’ lol

and because it is, i didn’t feel up to writing much more – i just want to point out here that lloyd absolutely does internalize the fact that he traumatized kai, so jot that down

*pats their heads* these beans can fit so much angst in them!

#ninjago #so this might be the most messed up thing i've ever written and i surprised myself by actually feeling bad about it but uh #👏 jay’s 👏 fricking 👏 next #~myposts #~fics

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kazamastar · 4 years

Text

Welcome to 2021

Ver. 2.1 - Ok. February but still, here we are. “Behold it’s me” as Logic would say. [...] I’m sorry I’m a bit shook because I started to write at 10:01AM, and it’s precisely 12:07AM, I was progressing pretty well in the process of writting and then I made a bad move and lost everything I wrote. I’m kinda mad. Really, I was this 👌 close to give up on writting it, and you can notice that the pixels are touching. But I guess the “I said I’d do it, so I’m going to do it” mentality is taking me places, once again. Even if I have to start again (that's called mental strength, take notes). And I said I’d write it baked so here I am, baked and hella motivated to do it. So, W shouldn’t help me reminding me what I wrote in the first version but nevermind. So I guess I'll put the most things I remember. I can tell there were good ideas ! I'll take this occasion to remind everyone the concept of these posts but first we will recap numbers of this year (well, more or less accurate for 2020 as I'm writting one month late) (and I'll fucking stop writting on the tumblr site and switch to OpenOffice so my next words are not lost again). 637 Nakamas (thank y'all for being here, even if I post 12847 times in a row. You're the best). 3609 posts and 23 376 likes. (109 drafts : lol it's less than a few weeks ago)

Pic : Plot twist 2. No more smile, but the return of the bowtie. (aka « The 4 days late suit » aka « I'm old enough to know better »)

The choice of this picture was so simple. Or maybe I should have chosen the one with the mustache only I took during lockdown ? Ahah. But … this picture could almost resume the year on its own. If I'd describe it in depth and explain the context, I could review 70% of the events that happened this year (and I think I'll go for that later, interesting exercise).

So. First let me explain the goal of these sums up. Each « Welcome to XXXX » is a resume, a sum up of the year XXXX-1. I write these for me, it's a funny way to keep track of all these years. I try to describe more or less precisely what happened during the year. I allow myself to be more or less precise because I firstly write these for me. And sometimes these posts tend to be long. Especially this one. It's gonna be sooo long. Like, idk maybe highlight this line and take a few seconds to scroll down and see how looooong it is. Kinda discouraging isn't it ? Lucky you it won't go on forever though as today, as I'm writting that it's 12:23PM and I'll have to be gone at 4 or 5PM. But I think contraints make art, even if I don't like to write under any kind of pressure. But I'm determined to do it in one take. So in these posts I also write about the TV Shows, manga, anime, movies I've seen/read. Even books, as I finally had the chance to read « Le Petit Prince » this year. We all know we had time this year, don't we ? And at the end, I post a 12 songs playlist (+ songs that I discovered this year that also are going to remind me of the year). We can roughly say it's « 1 song/1 month » but it's not always true. These songs are songs I like a lot, like really (but not necessarily my favorite) but above all, they remind me of the year I'm resuming (it can also be older songs). I also post my top 3 albums of the year. I'm thinking also of detailing my choices of playlist. Maybe not explaining all of them but a few. [12:36PM. And I'm already hungry.] On the 1st try I remember I talked about the TV shows I saw. I forgot to mention it but I write in English for a few reasons. First is : it helps me exercising my English. For me, it's the most beautiful langage to talk and it's a good occasion to do so. And then I actually enjoy writting in English. And it prevents unwanted people who don't master English to read all that (as it is pretty intimate). But joke's on me, I'm conscious the people I'd like to keep away from reading this all master English, and even better than me for some of them. (It surely is the case for 27 at least, even though we all know she still won't read this lol). Yes, I never drop names in these sum ups. Or at least, some names are blacklisted. I always chose a number to nominate them they would normally recognize themselves. So, talking about English, I've seen « Emily in Paris » on Netflix. It may surprize you but I'm very interested in dubbing. French dubbing is amazing. For example I bought « Spiderman » on PS4 this year and the french voice is the same voice actor as in the « Amazing Spider-Man » (yes the one with Andrew Garfield). (UNPOPULAR OPINION : Andrew Garfield actually is the best spiderman. Or at least the one I prefer and by far). Emily in Paris is funny because I watched it in English and it kinda disturbed me that it took place in Paris but everybody spoke English. On the other hand, if you watch it in French, langages people are talking become logical (French people speak french) but you'll have to deal with the DEADLY ANNOYING French voice of Emily. And her accent. I think I just watched 1 or 2 episodes like that, I couldn't take more ?. If you have time you should take 5 seconds to listen to what I'm talking about. But it was quite a good show. It was so fun to see these streets I've been visiting for so long in a Netflix show. By the way, I think it's easy to say that I'm missing Paris so much. But not only for the tourism, but most and foremost for the competitions. Before being a tourist I was a competitor there. So, I'm missing Paris but I'm also missing karate competitions. And also just karate. I haven't stepped on a tatami for 3 weeks and it still seems like it won't get better, and we all know why. I'm curious if I could talk about this year without mentioning a very famous virus but I think it's just impossible. But this virus gave me a lot of time in March and April. Maybe less in November tho. I could finally finish The Walking Dead, which last seasons were surprisingly good. And it was so fun to watch the reactions of people on Youtube [#]. Talking about karate competitions, I also watched Cobra Kai ! What an amazing job they did there. Adding more depth to the first movie, it's funny to change perspective and see that the Daniel we were rooting for wasn't that much of a « perfect good guy » we saw (I'm not talking about the kick in the face etc). It's also funny to notice I kinda went fro Daniel to Johnny lol. But having a Netflix show talking about martial arts and value they teach to their students ? It was perfect, even more when you see that some of my students also saw it so when we were training I was refering to it they almost all got it. And it's also funny to see that it's not as Manichean as the 1st movie was. It's a 9/10 for me. If I read the last sum up right, I said : « This year 2020 I really need to watch Kimetsu no yaiba, Jojo, Violet evergarden, Gintama and i have to keep ready 7 deadly sins. » So : Kimetsu no Yaiba was dope. The anime was beautiful and the manga was very entertaining. Not a top tier manga but definitively a good one. Jojo's anime was cool but too long. I stopped after season 2 or 3 I guess ? Violet Evergarden was TRASH (and very bad for a date, if you ask me) and I didn't take time to explore the 2 others. I also saw : Assassination classroom (5/10, i couldn't finish it so i skipped directly to the last episode, was as moving as people said), Validé (8/10, with an insane final episode), No Game No Life (8,5/10, i loved it), Freaks and Geeks (7,5 but i didn't finish it, I really like the old school vibe), Code geass (7/10, great anime and great opening). I finally discovered Community and it was worth it. What a funny show. And what a pleasure to see Mr Donald Glover on screen. Makes me think that I need to watch Atlanta again. The problem with Community is the last seasons broke the 4th wall too much for me, it became painful to watch. But the 3 or 4 seasons are crazy. Another show that was even more funny : IT Crowd. I finally had the chance to see the episode of « I came here to drink milk and kick ass, and I just finished my milk ». This show is a 9,25/10. Grand Army was also a great show of 2020. Dom is an amazing character (but I already said it). Kengan Ashura was also so cool ! I think it's what Baki would have liked to become. This year I also started to watch « American horror Story » again (alone and not alone). These last seasons were awesome. I also converted Elodi to «my hero academia », it was so cool to share that. Other things I saw : SAO S4 (AMAZING, SO BEAUTIFUL), Erased, SNK Last season) ; The Mandalorian, 24's 9th season.« Queen's gambit » have been one of the greatest show I've seen this year. And I really want to say that I played chess before the show came out (add me on Lichess if you want to play with me. Same username. I'm not strong -about 1000 ELO I guess- but I'm always happy to play and learn). If you want a precise idea of my level, on the chess.com app, I can beat Emir 🇹🇷 (1000 ELO) often but I didn't win once against Sven 🇸🇰 (who is ~1100 ELO). I'm so happy talking about all these lengthen the post even more. Kinda satisfying. But I could also talk about Tekken and chess this year. I think I have a thing with dueling sports. I'm a Karate competitor, I love Tekken and I like chess. I guess someone has something to prove haha. But come on, chess is incredible. For the 1st lockdown, I was just playing (not alone) but I wanted to make progress just by practicing. And that's how I got BB 5 or 7 (yes, it means Beat By = my number of loss in a row). But at the end of the 2nd lockdown I finally allowed myself to study a little more, thanks to Youtube (once again). This is SO INTERESTING. Like the strategies, the top players. French content creators are fun but I like american ones more. Eric Rosen is my favourite. He's always calm, he often finds solutions. GothamChess is also very entertaining. You can say by how he talks he has been a teacher. He's great. So, once again on some shonen shit, I started studying more. Mid December, a kid beat me 2 times in a row. He's a smart kid, I like him. He didn't brag or anything. And then, during Christmas Holidays I spent 2 or 3 hours a day watching chess videos. I guess he hasn't been able to beat me since then haha. By the way I should play with him later on today. Playing chess is a way for me to make sure my brain doesn't let me down, like gym for the brain. At least, it's what I thought when I started but I quickly discovered that it's a game of patterns recognizing, so memory is really challenged here. I mean, in the middlegame you have to be smart to get by but at the beginning and ending … you have to know your openings. I have also thought of joining a club but I don't know if chess communities are benevolent. I also noticed that high ranked players seem to have strong personalities. And then for Tekken (yes, 3 years and a half later I'm still on this game) I'm still making progress. In March, someone made me want to play Heihachi. What a funny character. Not top tier, but fun. Leroy Smith is also fun to play. There was no offline tournament but I won one, the 1st organized by Tekken Toulouse and finished 5th at the second. It's funny to live that level of stress straight from my bed. Usually, that kind of stress making my whole body trembling is usually found nearby tatamis of Karate competitons. (Yes, these Tekken tournaments make me stressful and that's the reason I can't play Jin in tournaments). But Eddy is still a sure value. Still progressing in movement, and whiff punishing. Mishimas are getting more consistent on electrics but it's not perfect. By the way, if you love fighting games and Bruce Lee, there's a video you need to see (whoever you are) : [#]. If you're really interested in these topics, you should appreciate this video as much as I did [2:10 PM. I have eaten, but now I have the feeling that I'm late.] Btw I don't skip line to add some « length » effect. Once again I'm sorry if making it until here was painful to read, but I need to make this paragraph the least attractive I can. This line I'm writting is almost on the 3rd page of OpenOffice. And I try to avoid using emojis, so there's just text. Tout dans le fond, pas de forme. Also, congratulations for making it until here, you must be very motivated. I'm writting slowly because it's the 1st time I write this by daytime, and I swear at the begining people were harassing me ahah. It's fun because the sum up of 2019 was so short. Just with its form, you can tell how 2019 have been peaceful. I don't remember if I talked about it already but a disaster could have happened in September/October 2019. But karate kept my mind busy so the worst have been avoided. Time spent on the tatamis kept me away from overthinking about my problems. And that was a good strategy indeed. Because in 2020 it wasn't the same. If we count right. Dojos were opened in January, February, 1st half of march, reopened in September and october, closed on november and opened in December (Mon Dieu quel … CASSE-TEX hahaha merci c'est tout pour moi). It was a weird karate year. Today is the 1 year anniversary of my last competition. During the 1st lockdown, I had litteraly no desire to train. Some of you know why. But let's talk a bit more about COVID and lockdowns. The most important thing is that I didn't spent the 1st lonely. This was the most challenging time of my life, but I can say that I made it thanks to 0808 so I'm eternally grateful for that. So, if we recap months by months : January was a funny month. One thing that I thought a miracle happened (until I found out months later what a real miracle was). I also almost went into a brawl. I guess this weird ass month set the tone for the 11 months to follow. February … was one of the calmest month. I had an awesome dojo session in Balma with 0808 in February. I think there were a lot of beautiful sunsets this month. Guess our weather power was at its peak. These 3 1st months of 2020 had a lot of trainings, even if I was injured due to kumite. March and April are kinda the same for me. I won't talking long about these but I'd simply say that I'm glad that I hadn't to write to 27. So, the Miracle happened by mid April. Mid april to mid may, it was cool. We were at home but … the weather was nice, I was doing sport everyday (but no real karate trainings) and I could keep this rythm of exercising until … Half July, which is good. It's the first time in my life I'm that consistent in doing sports at home. From mid may, I started to train with Coach O. on a weekly basis. It was incredible. These days were still bliss in my mind. I was there, no « real problems » in mind, I wasn't alone, I was making progress physically … It was really great. And from mi may to end of July, it kept getting better.Indeed, I fell in love again in January and it was getting stronger by the months. It's been a while I haven't fell this hard for someone. But she gave it back to me nicely. And then … Mala suerte 3.0. This point of the sum up is funny because I do remember when I talked about mala suerte in the other sum ups. I do realize how it's always the same thing when I write those : « 1st part of the year is cool, then not cool, then cool again but in a weird way because I have insane difficulties to repair broken parts of me » but hey. This time it's not my fault. It makes me realize how cyclic all this is. So, August, September and October have been terrible and chaotic months. A level of sadness rarely reached until there. Maybe comparable to September 2018. A high level of anger also. But still, with rare occasions to train, so no occasions to let go off steam. In fact, let's talk a bit about this anger. I've always took a lot of pride in the fact that I could most of the time remain calm in a lot of situations. Plus, being patient isn't something natural but … I learned to be through the years. I was so surprised to notice how angry I became … It simply wasn't me. But the reason is simple : I really think karate brings me balance in life, on a lot of levels (and it concerns me a lot for when I'll stop competing one day …). But I realized it so I'm working on it. In 2020, I led a lot of fights, sometimes I won and often I lost, but I also avoided a lot of them. One of the reasons I think I'm not ready to be a good partner is first I think I'm too angry. I don't think I could be mean to my partner but … I think I could be annoying to deal with. But mainly, I'm not ready to better myself now. To find the good partner, you need to become a good partner first, and this is precisely what I'm not ready to become. Despite being not perfect, I'm fine that way and I know how far from perfect I'm right now. But nevermind. This is the kind of state of mind you can't afford when you're in a relationship. I'm not saying you need to change to fit your partner's ideals. But if you notice something's wrong in your behaviour/habits and don't want to correct it, you might be a bad partner (but I could be wrong, I'm not a couple therapist lol).

Oh. And that's the moment I can describe my photo to tell the story differently. So this shot was taken precisely on Sunday, 4th of October. 1302 got confirmed so we had to go to the Temple du Salin. I went there with my father and he decided to rock a bowtie so I wanted to match him. It was so fun. That was the first time we stepped in a church after « all these events ». It was a strong moment for me. So, this picture (taken by me, thank you tripod) was taken 4 days after I « took a gamble ». I took a lot of gambles this year. One memorable gamble that lead to beautiful pictures of Toulouse was on August 27th (lol). This was after our breakup. I gave her an adress and an hour, and I hopped she would come. She never came so this was a lost gamble. (So I had a great time watching « Back to the future » outdoors, on a big movie screen, but I was alone). But this time was different. I did suppose she would be at one place on a certain day at the end of September. And I gambled right because she was there. And even if the context was so particular, I can tell we had a great time. I was so ready that I put on my best white shirt, because I knew she kinda liked it. I was there to win her back but I simply failed. Guess the shirt wasn't enough. So it was funny to wear the full suit 4 days later, I was like « Dude, nice effort but it's too late lol» (plus the Temple du Salin is on the other side of the closest bridge from her home) but I still hopped to cross her road on that day. Oh and as we're analyzing this picture, I really like the bokeh on the autmun-colored leaves. I had the luck to have a very sweet light when I took these pictures. And the post processing was really funny. I have a lot of versions of this picture indeed. But all these colors in the background always make me think of a quote I love : « Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go » and this quote is so damn right. I discovered this year that I have difficulties to let things go. The thing is I hate injustice. I hate to see things that litteraly belong to me, things I deserve, simply run away from me. Sometimes I'm telling myself it's just my karma making me pay for all the شيطان I've done in the past. But other times I just try to convince myself to let go. It's been the 2nd most challenging thing this year. These levels of depression have never been reached before. But still, here I am. But not stronger than before. I had this conversation a few weeks ago about « what doesn't kill you makes you stronger ». To support this idea, some people might evoke the principle of « Kintsugi » as an example. But I strongly disagree about the first statement. I'm not a goddamn bowl. I take the example of my lower belly scar : it didn't kill me but it didn't get stronger either. That's the exact opposite indeed. Sometimes it still hurts even though it's been done 12 years ago (the last time it hurt was this night, almost stopping me from finding sleep). It's a personal opinion but what didn't kill me made me weaker. And I'm not just talking about physical injuries. Losing the ability to trust after all these events isn't what I'd call « getting stronger », even though « I didn't do anything wrong ». That's an expensive price. Bref. I think you can overcompensate with something else but the damaged parts may stay weak after. [3:03 PM. So I have about 1 hour to finish it. Easy.] There's one thing I wanted to talk about in this sum up, related to the fact of « being strong ». I read Blach again (you can tell by my december posts) and I started with the lost agent arc, followed by the TYBW arc. There's 2 things about it : its poetry, through the words and the drawings will always amaze me (it amazed me even if it’s the 2nd time I’me reading it), and the 2nd thing : I love how Ichigo become stronger. He lost his Shinigami powers but then found his Fullbring powers. And that is very important because he becomes strong again, but it's a different kind of strong and I LOVE THIS. It's like in real life. I was very strong in June 2012 (videos as proof), but it's not the same strong as in July 2017 or April/November 2018. June and July 2020 have been a different kind of strong. Not that I gained 10 kgs in 2 months (unfortunately) but I was exercising daily. I was getting my body ready for the supposed heavenly month of August that was awaiting me (us). Unfortunately there was no videos of karate at this period (but I made some in september!) but I was feeling great physically. In fact. This May/June/July 2020 period could be considered as “bliss” for me. Of course there was some background problems but ... Mentally I was getting back on my feet, I was deeply in love, physically pretty feeling myself. Plus on the 1st half of July i could go back to the tatamis ... I swear this level of peace and life appreciation have rarely been reached before. Well, this concept of getting stronger differently is almost obsessing me for a simple reason : I'm feeling like I'm getting older. 27 is a weird age for competing in karate. If I look back, I realize I'm older than William when he stopped (it's his birthday tomorrow!!). Also older than Zak, Teddy and so on. I guess I'll never be physically like 10 or 5 years ago but I'm really asking myself if I can be better. But as seen as the pains I go through after the trainings … It's going to be complicated. Plus I did my body wrong this year. There was pain in mars, april, august, september, october, november and december. I tried a lot of things to make it go. I tried to smoke it, i tried to sleep it, i tried to drink it also. I tried to fuck it of course but none of these things worked. But can we consider I won if only my cock still works ? Compared to 2018 : yes it is a win. And at least when I'm with someone, that makes less time crying and overthinking shit. Anyway, I also tried to smoke it really hard. And that's an habit I'll have trouble to let go but nvmd. Still, one of my 2021 resolutions is to smoke less. Also, I took a funny resolution that is : « I'm not accepting defeat this year ». And I realized only a few days after taking it how hard it will be. I'm not dumb, when defeat is unavoidable, I'll just take it. But I decided to be a real Scorpio and be more stubborn than ever. We can say it's above all pride. Same pride as Vegeta, Bakugo or even Endeavour. Really touched me when Bakugo talked about « Absolute victory ». Sometimes I find myself too soft. I'm not going to become an awful person (or at least, not more awful than I am right now). I'll still be kind … But I'll go get the victories I deserve a little harder. Talking about my age, I'm a bit deceived I have no close old friends to share the memories. Every one is kinda gone. Sometimes it's my fault, and sometimes it's just people who are shit but life's like this. Also, every year I try to think of my best encounter of the year. It's kinda hard because sometimes, you meet someone a few years earlier but you really get to know each other later etc … So I'm not clear if this should count only people met this year or simply the people I've spent the best times with. Because I received a curious message this summer and my God. What a luck she took the chance to write me. We realized a few days ago we were in the same class in 10th grade (2nde) (we saw the class picture, what a laughter we had). We get along so well. And it's the proof that 2nd chances deserve to be given. I swear that I also lost some important people this year. But I'm not fighting to get people back anymore. I've done it too much and I'm simply done. People need to realize it's a luck to be in my life. I have my ways but you'll hardly find a friend that's patient and kind as I am. But nevermind, it always makes more time and attention for the people who are here, who really care for my hapiness. Focusing on the people who are here was one of the main concern this year, for a lot of reasons. I thought I was good for selecting the good people in my life but looks like I still can improve. So I'm still letting people go off my life. [3:36PM. Guess I said mostly what I had to say. Maybe 5 pages is enough, but maybe not.] Oh I can still tell the rest of the year. November have been one peaceful month. Away from all the obsessions. Focused on me. No karate but still courses by videoconference. The weather was very sweet even tho it was November. This second lockdown was not that funny but we've seen worst. And December … had it's ups and downs. It was cool to meet my kids 1 month after all these video courses. They clearly got stronger, it was cool. I could also talk about my experience as a sensei this year because there's a lot to say. At the beginning of February, it was my last competition but also for my kids. We litteraly took the competition by storm. On était TROP CHAUDS. But then the Covid stopped us. We kinda were ready for Occitanie championship, if you forget that I was sick the week before the competition. I'd have loved so much to see how far their training would have taken them on this competition. But thank God they cancelled it, guess He didn't want to see me lose ahah. So, I've seen a lot of kids getting better. What a pleasure. Later on this year I told them that I wanted to see them become stronger than me. Seems cliché, but I'm happy they took it seriously. Of course I'm dead serious. We also talked about I will be waiting for them in Senior. Hope they'll continue until then. And above all I hope I will still be competing. I really want to have a positive impact on these kids, competitors or not. And I guess it's working. (Btw I'll surely do a post about Whitebeard soon, just to show him love). So. What lessons can we draw from this chaotic year ? Always treat your high school comrades well. Be picky about who you let in your life. Before engaging in a relationship, ask why her previous relationship ended. Trust no B. (And BBW's are heaven sent). Now it's 3:50PM and I guess I'm done. But I keep myself the possibility to add things if I think of things to add. It's 6 pages long (Arial, 12) but if I can make it longer I will.

[Friday. 00:55AM] Edit : Ok. The story is funny. I really wanted to finish that in one day. So I wrote the previous lines between 10 AM and 4 PM Wednesday knowing I would need more time, just to check and to add a few more details. And one of those Lonely Wednesday Night would have been perfect just to finish the job. So I planned to finish it on wednesday night but the fact is I forgot my computer home …. So here I am one day later. Still baked, so still in the right state of mind to do it. It gave me time to proofread myself (?) and most importantly, it gave me time to read again some of my previous sum ups. It was interesting to compare how they're all different, and also how my writting evolved. Tbh I think I'm becoming more comfortable with my English. Or maybe the more I express myself, the more I look at ease with the langage. This sum up is the longest I've ever written. But still, I'll add things because I still haven't told everything. For example, I haven't spoken about the fact that all the Kazamastar adventure might be closer to the end than the beginning. Like, I'm not immediatly done with all that. I'm still having a lot of fun here. Anon visitors are also part of the game, but it's still all fun. It also keeps my « photograph eye » opened. This makes me think of the quote «I want to be so awfully happy that I never need to write poetry again. » [#] and more precisely I'm thinking about : do I post more when I'm happy or sad ? But I noticed this tumblr kinda works like therapy for me. (And especially, this post is a therapy by itself. Wednesday I woke up feeling bad, lower belly aching and making this post really helped me going through the day.) I post a lot when I'm sad but it really allows me to get all of these negative feelings out of me. I do stylize things but I know I'm not a poet or anything. But can you imagine being so happy that you don't write again ? Would be an amazing feeling. (Indeed, I've already done it once [#]. I've ended a blog on a perfect happiness and yes it felt amazing. ) Imagine if I do it here. After all the trials and tribulations I went through, it would be a perfect way to finish this tumblr. But as I'm speaking, I think there's like … less than 5% chance that it ends happily. If it does, it could be in a long time. I have a few ideas of when and how it could end, but Imma have to keep these selfishly for myself. You'll see when we'll get there.:) Also, I'm realizing right now the things I'm adding to the text make the timestamps through the text a bit less accurate but that's just a detail. [2:37 AM] Earlier I talked about this blog being a therapy for me. But it’s not only this tumblr. This year I proudly finished another tumblr (yes you can guess I was proud as I posted about that 17325 times already and pinned a post). This was such a relief to end it after letting it still for litteraly 2 years. Well that’s it for tonight !

No transition : let's go for the explanations of my choices for the playlist followed by the playlist itself. It's kinda easy to understand why « la mienne » is here, for the first month. This “I can’t touch you I’m not allowed to” really made me think of someone and this someone came back. Incredible. The next song with a Boogie is perfect for February. Very peaceful month, really full of very good moments (in the backseat of a certain car for example). The 2 next songs are for March. These are kinda « lockdown anthems » as The Weeknd album came out right at that time and so did Laylow's. Plus « Escape from LA » have the vibe I really love from Abel. 2 next songs are for April. Dsvn really smashed when he put that « A muse in her feelings » album. (and the « Amusing her feelings » is even better but that won't happen before January 2021). The sequence between « Outlandish – Keep it going - flawless » was one of the best thing I heard musically this year. But keep it going is insane. « Meilleurs » from Oboy is … special. And so are the 2 following songs. Meilleurs is now blacklisted but it's still one good song. But I can't listen to it anymore. Maybe that's exactly because it reminds me June and July. Count me in reminds me precisely of August 8th. Btw what a funny day, very far from all expectations we built up through the years (let's remind that the countdown started with more that 400 days, but I guess patience and loyalty is not always rewarded). I might digress from the playlist one second, but on this day we were in Treilles with the guys, and thank God I had them in this moment ... That’s when I drank to heal, with “count on me” for soundtrack. For September, I hesitated between « DEUX TOILES DE MER » or « MEVTR » (which means « Meilleur d'Entre Vous Tous Reunis », the 1st stage name of Damso). Damso’s flow on MEVTR is huge. He makes a whole verse rhyme and on but … 2 toiles is more iconic. Talking about iconic, « Bande organisée » wasn't a masterpiece but a force to be reckoned with (i find this expression funny ahah). I mean, in hip hop nowadays we don't see often rappers teaming up with big groups like that. Plus on this song particularly some of them have interesing flows and a lot of energy. And you can tell it comes from the South. Not of them are goods, some are excellent but this makes a very decent track. « Route 66 » was cool, even tough it's for November (so 2nd lockdown) it gave me really lovely vibes. And I take this occasion talking about November 2020 to remind it was the 10th anniversary of Kanye West's MBDTF and I celebrated it the right way héhé. Finally, this featuring is really ending the year well. Dinos dropped an insane album, his best since a long time and Tayc also (respectively « Stamina, » and « Fleur froide »). So having them on the same track was risky but it paid very well, incredible vibe from those two combined. They could have been in the top 3 albums but some people made better than them. Trinity is my top 1 one 2020. The concept, the musics … it was INSANE. QALF was also great. It's insane to see Damso get rid of « artistic barriers » to focus only on sound and music. No communication etc … Just music. And Eternal Atake from Lil Uzi Vert because it was long awaited but also because it was perfect, also a 1st lockdown album so it helped me forget my loneliness but so much good tracks ! And finally we have the very special songs that I coudn't tell why I like them. I just love their vibes. So now is 4:15 PM and I'm offically finished but I still have to tweak it. Know I won't hesitate to add things that are related to 2020 and that come to my mind :) Thanks for reading me. Have a lovely day, or night.

2020 Playlist

Tayc – La mienne (Accoustic)

A Boogie – Reply feat Lil Uzi Vert

The Weeknd – Escape for LA

Laylow – Nakré

dvsn – Keep it goin ✨

PartyNextDoor – Believe it feat Rihanna

Trippie Redd & Russ – The Way

OBOY - Meilleurs

Kehlani - Serial Lover

Juice WRLD & Marshmello - Come and go

THEY. - Count me in

Damso - Deux toiles de mer

13 Organisé - Bande organisée

Joe Dwet File - Route 66

Dinos & Tayc - Je wanda

Spécial : Lil Tecca - Last Call YNW Melly - City girls

Jessame - Times we had ~ Dennis Lloyd - Never go back ~ Elliot Trent - computer love

3 top albums de 2020 :

Trinity de Laylow - Qalf de Damso - Eternal atake de Lil Uzi vert

#sum up #resume #welcome to #welcome to 2021 #2020 #me #myself #i

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admiralty-xfd · 5 years

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36 please! (specifically that diana WIP because I absolutely LOVE it)

Bless you, anon! I’m so happy to see people interested in this one because I’ve worked so hard on it (eight months in the making, actually) and am SO CLOSE to finishing.

Here’s a section that takes place S4, post-Demons. Enjoy!

2630 HEGAL PLACE, APT 42

ALEXANDRIA, VA

APRIL 1997

“Do you remember anything, Mulder?”

He sprawled on his couch and Scully leaned back against him from her position on the floor. He’d been released to her medical supervision after firing six rounds into the wall at the Martha’s Vineyard residence. She’d brought him home and hadn’t intended to leave him alone.

“Bits and pieces, I guess… but I don’t remember a whole lot before you came into the house, to be honest.”

Scully turned slightly to look at him. “No, not tonight,” she clarified. “I’m talking about your sister.”

Mulder looked at her. “I’ve told you what I remember.”

Scully wanted to tread carefully. This was a sensitive topic for Mulder, obviously. But she’d long suspected his eagerness to participate in deep regression hypnosis had troubling implications. The more willing a person was to believe, the more they could potentially be led, and she’d feared from the start this was what may have occurred in this case.

“I know what you’ve told me you remember since your regression, but not from… before.”

Before. The word sounded strange on her tongue. For a moment she reflected back even further in his life and found it hard to imagine, as if any notion of a life before Samantha’s disappearance for Mulder was, for lack of a better word, alien.

“You mean before my memories were manufactured, right? Is that what you’re suggesting, Scully?” He sounded defensive, and she didn’t want to argue. She just wanted a moment of honesty, a moment of disclosure.

“No, Mulder. I’m not suggesting that at all,” she said gently. “I just… I want to know, I want to know more… about you.”

The incident with Eddie Van BlundHt a couple of weeks ago was mostly something she wished she could forget. But it had stirred up so many feelings inside her about Mulder, primarily the idea that she had thought she knew him, but now realized she didn’t really. Not at all. Not when it came to the personal. And she felt an ache come over her, an ache to know him in a way she never had.

She caught his eye and hoped her expression mirrored her thoughts, her willingness to listen. She watched his eyes soften as they flickered in color: mossy, chartreuse. Mulder. How did they do that?

“Before the regression I didn’t remember anything,” he said. This news surprised her, as she’d always suspected he’d concocted the alien abduction scenario during his childhood and his regression had only furthered that tale. “I guess… the shock, the trauma. The terror, even… I must have blocked everything. She was there one minute and then she was just gone.”

Scully let this information settle. It was looking more and more likely Mulder had in fact been led. He’d been led down a path as an adult that ended at an answer that was as irretrievable as his sister.

“My parents never blamed me, ever, but… I blamed myself.” He stared up at the ceiling and she leaned back into the couch, watching him, her cheek settling very close to his thigh. She just listened. “I don’t think they ever knew how much I blamed myself, because we never talked about it. They fought all the time, and I knew it was because of what happened to Samantha. They didn’t have to say it.”

She tried not to think about herself, compare herself to Samantha, but in this moment she couldn’t help it. Mulder was nothing if not a martyr to his cause, and that included the guilt she knew he felt about her own cancer; that due to some horrible twist of fate she’d landed herself with him and received this disease as punishment. She didn’t see it that way, but she suspected Mulder did. And it had all begun when he was twelve and took responsibility for losing his sister. She couldn’t imagine what that had done to him, to his psyche. To his heart, his mind, and his soul. To everything that made him the man he was right now, in this room, lying here next to her.

“I didn’t know how to deal with that kind of guilt. I was twelve, then thirteen, then fourteen. Life moved on without Samantha and I had to as well. The only way I knew how to deal with any of it was to forget it happened. So I tried that for a long time.” He was still staring at the ceiling. “A long time.”

“Until you decided you wanted to remember?” she asked. He nodded. “What made you decide?”

He hesitated then, as if there were something on his tongue that refused to slip out. Something he was holding back.

“My, uh… my ex convinced me, actually.”

Ex. Huh.

“You mean… Phoebe Green?” she asked.

He sighed. “No. Someone else. After.”

An odd sensation ran throughout her body. The idea of Mulder maintaining any kind of romantic adult relationship seemed surprising to her. She felt bad for thinking so, but she did.

He’d revealed more than she’d expected already, and she didn’t want to push, but goddamn, was she curious.

“And the layers keep peeling back,” she said, as playfully as she could, echoing a sentiment he’d directed at her a couple of years earlier. She was eager to know about this ex-girlfriend now, but there was no way to take a detour from the topic at hand. She could only hope it would come up again someday.

“She was a psychologist, and she… thought it would be helpful.”

Scully nodded. “And was it? I mean, are you glad now, in retrospect, that you did it?”

Mulder shifted on the couch so he was on his side, looking at her. His arm was tucked underneath a throw pillow and she was so close to him she could smell the dried sweat on his white T shirt. She tried not to think about how good he smelled, how masculine, how much she missed having a man in her life in the kind of way Mulder couldn’t be.

“If it brings me closer to the truth,” he said simply. She knew that would be his answer.

“And… if it pushes you further away from it? What then, Mulder?” She honestly wasn’t trying to be combative. She wanted the truth, too. But she was starting to realize the lengths to which he would go for his truth, and they were terrifying.

“I don’t know, Scully,” he sighed, and he wasn’t irritated or upset, just exhausted. He’d had a rough few days, so she couldn’t be the least bit surprised.

She wasn’t sold on hypnosis. As a scientist, she felt the method itself was questionable at best, and it had raised plenty of eyebrows in the medical field. She had no idea who this psychologist ex-girlfriend was, or what she knew of Mulder, but she felt immediately resentful of her, distrustful. Protective of Mulder. This woman should have known better.

This woman should have known him better.

Scully smiled just then, realizing maybe she knew Mulder better than she thought she did, after all.

The topic finished for now, she wanted to get him to bed, to get him comfortable. “Come on, Mulder, get up. Let’s get you into bed.”

“No,” he said immediately. “I’m fine here, Scully.” She never really understood why he insisted on sleeping on his couch all the time. She worried the man never slept, not really. She didn’t even know if he had a bedroom, now that she thought about it.

“Well, I can’t leave you alone, Mulder. It’s been court-ordered.”

“It’s fine, okay? You know I’m fine, I know I’m fine. I won’t rat you out. You can go on home, Scully. Thanks for driving me.” He turned over on the couch until his back was to her, and she rolled her eyes, knowing he fully intended on sleeping right there.

“I’ll go, okay? I’m just gonna sit with you for a few more minutes.”

He didn’t answer, and as she watched him shifting to get as comfortable as humanly possible on that couch, with its well-worn Mulder indentation, her hand reached out of its own volition to touch his back. She felt the same heat radiating off his skin as she’d felt in that house, and feeling it once more was an odd comfort. She rubbed his back softly, between his shoulder blades, and the tension she felt began to ebb with every passing second. She heard him sigh, contented, and it was probably one of the best sounds she’d ever heard him make.

After a couple of minutes she knew he was asleep. But she lay down on the carpet next to him, still rubbing his back, until she fell asleep herself.

#msr #season 4 #txf #fanfic #my fic #sneak peek

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twdmusicboxmystery · 5 years

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AMC/ABC Actor Patterns

Okay, I said I’d get this posted this week. Let me first say that this won’t be terribly ground-breaking. It’s actually just more evidence for something I and many others have pointed out before. But I’ve been thinking about it off and on since Michael Cudlitz’s show—The Kids are Alright—was cancelled.

Quick recap: Many of us thought that the show Emily did a few years ago—Conviction—was kind of suspicious. It was small, produced by ABC (a partner/sister-network of AMC), promoted by AMC and TWD, and only lasted one season. We had lots of reasons it was strange. It seemed like Emily just took a small potatoes roll she and the network knew wouldn’t last, which adds to our theories of her return to TWD.

I most recently talked about this HERE when I pointed out that, just this past season, Lauren Cohen followed a similar pattern. The major difference is that they didn’t try to make us think Maggie was dead. They wrote her out of the show from the second half of the season (Ep 6-16), but just said she’d left, going to another place. So everyone assumed she’d be back.

But in the mean time, Lauren did Whiskey Cavalier. Other than Maggie’s character not having a death fakeout, it followed the exact same template. Lauren did a show that was produced by ABC, promoted by AMC and TWD, and only lasted one season. I thought WC had a better chance of getting picked up for additional seasons than Conviction ever did…but it wasn’t. So it ended up being the same. I saw that as simply being more proof that Emily will return to TWD at some point. And granted, we haven’t technically seen Lauren return yet, but it’s been confirmed that we’ll see her again in S10.

When Michael Cudlitz’s show got cancelled, that was the first time it occurred to me that his show followed this same pattern. Let’s examine the evidence, shall we?

First, let me say that this isn’t a team delusional/he’s really alive theory where Abraham’s character is concerned. I don’t think he survived Negan at all. How could he have? His injury was far and away more deadly and final than Beth’s was. So while I think Beth is alive, Abraham, not so much.

1. During S4 of FTWD, we were introduced to Althea, who used to be an investigative journalist. She takes video of people she meets in the apocalypse. In her collection of tapes, one of them was labelled in a way that suggested it might possibly be of Abraham and Eugene. Michael Cudlitz even commented on this on Twitter.

2. There’s a humorous commercial I remember seeing that features Abraham and Eugene. It’s for one of the TWD games. I haven’t seen it on TV in a while, but it aired long after Abraham’s death. Kinda suspicious. I mean, if we’re suspicious that they still use Beth and Daryl to promote the show, thinking it means that relationship will return at some point, then we have to apply the same thing to Abraham and Eugene. Check it out on YouTube.

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I also think it’s important to point out that most of the deceased characters from TWD are not used this way to promote the show. We don’t see commercials including Bob, Tyrese, or Sasha that are used to promote the show. And similarly, there have been absolutely no whispers or rumors of their return to the show or the spinoff. So we can count on these kinds of promos as being hints of some sort.

3. It’s been said (X) that the new TWD spinoff, which we don’t have a title for yet, may feature the backstories of deceased TWD characters. Of course that could be any deceased character, but the fact is that this makes the idea of Abraham returning—showing his backstory BEFORE he met Glenn in S4—a real possibility.

4. On this last episode of FTWD, Daniel had a cigar very reminiscent of the ones we saw around Abraham, and said a friend told him to save it for when things got better. I thought of Abraham, and given this edit I reposted from @theinfectedtwd (IG) obviously I wasn’t the only one.

Even more “coincidental” (that’s sarcasm) is the fact that the FTWD crew is currently hanging out in Texas. Remember that Abraham and Eugene met and started out in Texas. Houston, if I remember correctly. So the idea of them having once run into Daniel and/or Althea really isn’t far fetched at all.

5. MC just finished up one season of The Kids are Alright, also produced by ABC, also promoted by AMC and TWD, and also only lasting one season. (I was thinking he’d done two seasons of this show. Maybe it’s just because ABC shows have longer seasons of 22-24 episodes, but I thought he’d done 2 seasons. Nope. Only one. Cancelled after that.)

So we’ll have to wait and see how this plays out. But assuming we see a lot of Maggie in TWD S10, and assuming Abraham and Eugene’s backstory shows up in the spinoff, that will now be three mainstream, TWD characters who left the show for a time, did a small-potatoes ABC series that lasted one season, and then returned. Well, I guess two. Beth hasn’t returned yet. But my point is that this is simply more evidence that she will. This is becoming an undeniable pattern.

In fact, if you google this, there’s a LOT of people talking about Abraham’s possible return to the show. Some even claim it’s been concerned, though most of those are clickbait articles, so I wouldn’t take their word until and unless AMC officially confirms it. But at this point, his return is almost a foregone conclusion.

In closing, let me throw one more thing out there. This is 100% my own opinion, based on all my years of research into this stuff, and not something I can prove, but I thought I’d share anyway. In each of these cases, the networks (both ABC and AMC) and the actors and everyone else involved goes into these short-lived ABC series acting like they genuinely believe/hope the series will succeed and be on the air for many seasons.

And of course they do. That’s their job. It’s the actors’ job to promote their shows and the everyone else’s job to be optimistic and gush about how great this series is. Otherwise, no one would watch.

But again, in my humble opinion, I think that’s a little deceptive on their part. I think each of these actors has gone into these ABC series knowing full well that the series won’t last long. Because ABC and AMC are sister companies, they can collaborate and choose to put the actors in the series that are least likely to run for the long term.

That may sound weird, but most networks start a number of new series each season. They use a lot of different variables to determine which ones are more likely to succeed and sink most of their advertising dollars into those ones, more or less ignoring the others. So why do these series if they’re not going to succeed? Because they have to put something on the air and you never know when you might get a runaway hit (like TWD).

So they may ask ABC to cast their actors in the series most likely to only run one season. They may also put into their contracts that, for example, Lauren will be returning to TWD in S10, so if ABC wants to continue Whiskey Cavalier, they’ll have to replace her with another actress.

But I digress.

The details really aren’t terribly important, and I don’t pretend to know the detailed ins and outs of this industry. Truly, I don’t. But I have a basic understanding of how big business works and I’ve been following this franchise closely for more than 4 years now.

I just find it suspicious that, despite how many people loved WC and how critically acclaimed it was, it was still cancelled after one season, and now we’re hearing that Lauren will definitely be in S10 a lot more than she was in S9.

Similarly, we have a lot of hints that Abraham might show up in a new TWD spinoff. It’s in the works and they’re casting for it now. I’m assuming they’ll start filming before too much longer. And suddenly, his show is ending. Which means he’ll be available for filming. Just saying.

One other thing I thought of while writing this. I was going to say that while, yes, we saw several deceased characters in Rick’s hallucination in 9x05, those were small, 5-minute roles. Not the characters returning to some branch of the franchise for an extended amount of time. And that’s true. But it occurred to me that we DO think Beth will return, and we heard her voice, but didn’t see her face. Who else’s voice did we hear? Abraham’s. An interesting parallel, if both of them return to the show in some way. I don’t know if this will end up being a thing—we’ll have to wait and see—but the other voices we heard were Morgan’s (already in another branch of the franchise) and...Lori’s. Interesting.

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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youknowmymethods · 6 years

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Content Creator Interview #5

Welcome back again folks! This week in our fifth interview @vermofftiss chats to @mizjoely about her love of lists, her fantasy season five finale, and reveals the truth about who really writes her stories...

Hi, @mizjoely here, chatting with @vermofftiss about my sherlolly writing and fandom experiences, and answering some questions submitted by a few other folks. I’ve been involved in fandom in one way or another since the early 1980s, which is also when I started writing fanfiction - for classic Doctor Who and Star Trek in its various incarnations.

@vermofftiss here, putting forward the aforementioned questions. I’ll also be trying to weasel some advice out of @mizjoely that I can use for my own writing, which has been a casual ongoing thing since I published my first sherlolly fic in 2014.

Vermofftiss: I think our first encounter was in the Sherlollychat in the fall of 2014, around the time I got onto AO3. Which means series 3 was five years ago. How does it feel knowing that series 4 was already two years ago? What’s changed in the time since it aired?

Mizjoely: Oh, I miss the sherlollychat, or at least I did until Channy came up with the discord version! It’s hard to fathom that so much time has passed since I joined the fandom! (I became active on tumblr in November 2013 after discovering Sherlolly earlier that same year, btw.) Series 3 was five years ago. Series 4 was two years ago. Crazy!

As for what’s changed since then, I’d have to say one positive thing is that the fandom wank has calmed way the hell down since S4…. Another change that I’ve seen is probably common to all fandoms over time - new writers and content creators have joined the fandom while (sadly) many others have moved on to other fandoms. Of course, that’s to be expected when your show is essentially over, but it’s still kind of sad to lose folks completely to other fandoms.

V: Which series was your favourite to play with as a writer? When did you really get into writing Sherlolly?

M: I would have to say Series 4 has definitely been a great series to write for - so much angst! The I love you! Mary Watson’s very sad death, Rosie Watson becoming a character, Mrs. Hudson showing us what a badass she is, and of course Eurus Holmes entering the picture. We might not have gotten as much Molly Hooper as we wanted, but the scenes we did get with her were tremendous and gave so much inspiration to me and many other writers.

I really got into Sherlolly as a ship after seeing TRF, as I’m sure is true with many folks - especially the “what do you need” scene. And it was so much fun to dive into the possibilities of life after Sherlock’s ‘death’ between Series 2 and 3, I consider that a real golden age of Sherlolly writing. My first published Sherlock/Sherlolly fic was “Conversations With A Dead Detective”, set Post Reichenbach, which according to fanfiction.net I published on 04/11/13 (so I’m nearly at my five year Sherlolly- versary, woo hoo!).

A quick look at my spreadsheet (don’t judge me, I love my lists) shows that I wrote or at least started 37 fics that year (one of which I’m still working on, yikes! - The World As We Know It, a vamp!lock fic). I’m currently sitting at almost 500 fics for Sherlolly, which still amazes me, that I could be that inspired by a pair of fictional characters! (For comparison, my second most prolific fandom is Doctor Who, for whom I wrote a total of 25 stories over a period of 20 years. And of those 25, only about a dozen were for my main ship, Five/Tegan).

V: A couple of questions from @ohaine -

1) Based on the sheer volume of your work, I have this theory that you’re actually some sort of artistic collective rather than just one person, please tell me I’m right!

M: You have discovered my secret: I'm actually four raccoons in a trenchcoat! Seriously though, until I was bitten by the Sherlolly bug, my output was much, much lower, even though I've been writing fanfics since the early 1980s. For example, I love the Zutara ship for Avatar: Last Airbender, but I only wrote three fics for that. I wrote about 25 fics for Doctor Who, and about the same amount for the various Star Treks (not including Khanolly). Nothing set my writing muse afire like Sherlolly, and I doubt anything ever will again.

and, 2) You write a lot of AUs, and I’m wondering what inspires them?

M: Considering that I started off as a strictly Canon Universe/Canon Compliant writer in all of my other fandoms, it still seems funny to me how much I enjoy writing and reading AUs now. I started reading them after finally running out of canon compliant fics to read and discovering how much fun it was to transplant the characters into a different universe. And that, of course, made me think about what sort of AUs I could fit Molly and Sherlock into.

In fact, the very first BBC Sherlock story I started to write (never finished or posted) was an AU because I was nervous about trying to write Sherlock and figured no one would complain too much about him being OOC if it was a fantasy setting. (I ended up taking the plunge on a canon universe post Reichenbach fic and posted that and a lot of other canon universe fics before returning to AUs.)

Wait, that doesn't answer the question! What inspires them? The same things that inspire all my writing: wanting to read a specific kind of fic and not being able to find it; fics that other authors have written that make me itch to put my own spin on the idea; dreams; books I've read or movies or TV shows I've watched...inspiration is everywhere when you really, really, really love a ship. (Gawd that's cheesy but it's true - no love, no writing fanfic, period end of paragraph.)

V: This past spring I finally got the nerve to start working on my first proper AU (not CC, CU, or UA) after sitting on the idea for about 3 years. Have you ever had to wait to be “ready” to start working on a concept? How much do you need to know about a project to get going on it?

M: I have absolutely had to wait to be ready to start working on a concept. My very first attempt at a Sherlolly fic (never finished or published) was going to be an AU because I was so intimidated by the idea of writing Sherlock Holmes in the canon universe set up by Moffat & Gatiss. I was terrified I wouldn’t get his voice right, that he would be too OOC for folks, that I wouldn’t be able to make him clever enough or that I’d mess things up a dozen different ways. So I started writing the AU instead, and in doing so (over a course of several months), I finally realized that no, I wanted to start off in the canon universe. Just trying to write him at all, in any setting, made me a little less intimidated by him. But I might never have written anything if I hadn’t started that abandoned AU. (And I look forward to seeing your AU when you’re ready to post it!)

V: Does reader feedback ever impact the plots of your stories or the building of your AUs?

M: It absolutely can, especially when someone leaves a comment that makes me think about my story in a different light. I won’t go so far as to say comments have caused me to redo anything on a larger scale (such as change the ending) but certainly I’ve thrown things into the fic or expanded on ideas expressed in a comment to make the story that much richer.

That’s one of the best things about being active in fandom - the interactions between readers and writers. Of course, the reverse can also be true - I remember needing a LOT of fan-friend coddling when some folks were unhappy with the ending of my story ‘Abandoned’ (i.e., my Molly let my Sherlock get off too easily). But you have to have thick skin to be a creator, and remember that not everyone likes the same things. And you also have to be able to say yes, I could have done this better, or if I had to do it over I’d do it differently. It’s all part of the creative process.

V: Are there any scenes or aspects that were cut from a story that you regretted leaving out at the end?

M: Not really. Most things that I cut have been vetted by my betas (shout-out to ALL betas for being willing to help you make your story better!) and jettisoning those things has always made my stories better. (Plus I keep a folder of scraps that got cut and periodically review those scraps to see if I might be able to salvage them.)

V: On top of being one of the better-known Sherlolly writers in the tag, you’re also the single person behind the Sherlollbrary. As much as I love to organize my life and everything else I can get my hands on, that’s not something I think I’d ever actually want to do. So what made you decide to start cataloguing Sherlolly fics?

M: My love of lists. Seriously, that’s it. I love making lists of things - like, how many stories did I write in 2013 for Sherlolly (37, as you now know!), how many one-shots have I written vs. multi-chapters, how many were prompts...and then I started seeing people doing lists of various tropes. The one that made me decided to start my Sherlollilists side blog was one put together for Sherlolly omegaverse stories. As more and more lists were created, edited, and added (I’m currently at 140 official lists, with more than a dozen unofficial lists), I decided it would nice to organize them all (not realizing quite what I was getting into!) as one spreadsheet, with other tropes and tags and keywords for folks to help narrow down their searches. It always give me a little thrill when I open the library and see folks are browsing, so I like to think it’s a useful tool (although I am looking forward to finishing it someday!)

@writingwife-83 asked: You work tirelessly to organize all the multitude of writing this ship produces, but how do you feel that affects you as a writer? Does it make you less interested in writing your own fics? Or does it tend to help get the wheels turning and inspire you?

M: I have to admit, sometimes curating the lists can completely put me off writing, simply due to feeling oversaturated. This is especially true when I am reading or skimming over fics that are, shall we say, not the best of the bunch. Or the times when I'm just pushing myself even if I'm not really enthusiastic about doing it. Those times, I've learned to just step back, which is why sometimes the lists don't get updated very quickly.

On the other hand, rereading a favorite or a forgotten gem can really get my creative juices flowing. At times like that, I fall back in love with the ship and the fandom all over again.

V: When you’re stuck with writer’s block or just a lack of motivation, does it help you more to reread an old fave or to go back through some of your own works? Have you noticed your style has changed much?

M: It does help, absolutely. It reminds me why I love this ship so much, and helps me reconnect with others in the fandom. People think of reading as passive and writing as solitary, but to me it’s an interactive process. Reading great fics, new can old, helps feed your creativity. And nowadays the internet helps so much as well - there are awesome resources and fandom spaces to talk to other folks about their works and your own, reminding you that you’re not creating in a vacuum. (And I REALLY love the cheerleading section of the Sherlolly Discord site. That can help unstick my creativity like nobody’s business!)

As for my style changing - yeah, it definitely has. I feel like my writing has become more streamlined and less clunky since I first started. I still do a lot of semicolon abuse but at this point I’ve decided that’s just my style and will likely never change.

Thanks for the excellent questions and for letting me ramble on!

V: I’m sure we can do a lot more rambling if left on the trail. How about one last one: In the currently hypothetical series 5, how would you continue the story from where it left off?

M: Oooh, good one! If I was in charge we would see that Sherlock and Molly are continuing their relationship, culminating with a wedding at the end of the third episode. But since I’m not in charge, I’m thinking that Mofftiss would give us some subtle hints, like John casually mentioning to Sherlock that he and Rosie can’t join ‘them’ for dinner that night for whatever reason. And maybe some small changes to 221B to show hints that someone else spends time there other than Sherlock and the Watsons - a cherry patterned pillow, perhaps? A Bart’s ID card with a woman’s picture to show that no, it isn’t one Sherlock nicked to get access to a place he otherwise couldn’t get to? A woman’s coat hanging next to Sherlock’s? Something like that. And some private smiles between Sherlock and Molly, little things like that. Enough to give us hope but not enough to give us proof! They do like to tease that way!

Non-shipwise, I think Eurus would make a return because come on, how do you leave a character like that catatonic? I also think they would return to ACD canon to revise a few more cases for the modern age, and maybe (maybe!) have John start dating again (especially if they’re so married to canon that they killed Mary off - since John seems to have been married at least twice, they would probably explore that option).

I know, that last part is a bit vague but honestly? I hope they surprise the hell out of us in a good way if we ever get that fifth series!

Next Week, Friday March 22nd, @ashockinglackofsatin talks to @sunken-standard

#content creator interviews #sherlolly #Sherlock #mizjoely #vermofftiss

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