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sometimesoliloquy · 2 years ago

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The Handmaid’s Tale 5x03 “The Border”👀

Thoughts (and some over-thoughts) 🤔🤓 TLDR: Look, this episode really wanted to fuck me up, like really make me cry, not sure what I ever did to it. Still some laughs, though. Definitely my favorite of the season so far.

Luke… can someone please tell me why they are making him so obtuse if they want us to like him?😂 I get that “Gilead is a block box” on a some fronts but Luke has known enough people who have literally first-hand lived in Gilead (not to mention Rachel and Tuello who seem pretty available to him certainly know a bit about how society and the classes function if not the politics) that I’m getting a little tired of the “well he was never there” excuse for his continued ignorance of certain things, like how refugees deal with their own trauma differently, or that Gilead has a very strict dress color-coded dress code and ALL of it has meaning. You mean to tell me he has been gathering all that info and all those photos of little girls in pink dresses and bonnets for years in his search for Hannah and it doesn’t stand out that this is a very different (and much more grown up) outfit? I will ONLY give him a pass on this if it turns out he’s color blind.

I already love Lily, please don’t kill her off. "women always say that when they've done something extraordinary"👏 I love her. I also enjoyed the callback to “I thought you’d be taller”😂 (even though as a 5’3” person who’s always being underestimated I can relate to June🙄😂). I did find it interesting that the last person who delivered that line was “Daisy”, also resistance. And we find out later in s2 that Ofglenn who suicide bombed the new red center opening was also named “Lily”. All fighters, all flowers🌼. And now we also have a “Rose”? Coincidence?? (is anything in THT ever a coincidence?)👀

I feel like Moira was seeing June through Lily’s eyes here was so needed. They’ve been so disconnected lately, with Moira just seeming scared of, baffled and frustrated with June, and I think she needed that reminder of badass rebel June, not just the struggling June who killed Fred, but the leader June who made angels flight happen; her friend the fierce loyal fighter with a huge heart, who inspired her to fight and get out when she wanted to give up. She needed to be reminded of the good she’s done and hope she’s inspired in others (I’m not sure she even knew about the exchange for Fred June orchestrated??). And by the end it seems like they’re back on the same team (at least for now?).

Serena is insufferable. The “respect Fred deserves" 😂😂 SHE IS FLUSTERED WHEN TUELLO WALKS OUT.

Can’t help but love when Lily refers to Nick as “your guy”😏😁

Likewise to her attitude toward June, I noted a similar shift in Moira’s attitude about the women’s camp. Very much see parallels here. She first refers to them as “suicidal”, infers that they’re dangerous and damaged (and she didn’t tell June because she was afraid June would join if she knew about them). They, like June, do not fall into the “healthy” “healing and moving on” mindset she’s subscribed to and think is best. But I think we see her realize maybe she was wrong, and gain and admiration and respect for them and what they’re doing (even if that way is not for her)...especially when we hear that MAGIC WORD...

MAYDAY. May. fucking. Day. Y’all, when I say I cried... I’m starting to well up just thinking about it."We thought it was made up. We thought it wasn’t real. We thought we made it up because we had to.” “Then you were Mayday too” 😭😭 ...what a cathartic moment... WHAT a pay off.

Also loved when Lily, talking of the people they’ve lost, said “but everyone who works with Mayday knows the stakes”. Can the people who insist June is responsible for the death of literally anyone who dies while anywhere near her proximity please take note? Yes there are some choices she’s made that have specifically yielded bad consequences that she is more culpable for but everyone who chose to plan and fight alongside her (especially rn thinking Beth, Sienna, Alma, Brianna) knew the stakes and made their own decisions, and to say otherwise is to do THEM a disservice, in undermining their agency and their bravery. Enough with the “her fault” Aunt Lydia bullshit.

Lawrence laughing in Tuello’s face, he basically hung a metaphorical “no solicitors” sign on the door and said goodday, sir.

Serena doesn’t like MacKenszie’s suspicions about Fred’s death, she’s worried it might undermine her blackmail ambitions! Oh no!

Aunt Lydia is unhinged and needs therapy and anger management, not prayer. And yes, this is obviously foreshadowing / the seed of Lydia’s journey that will eventually get her to where she is in the Testaments. Got to say, this episode was really keen on foreshadowing.

Back to the Most Awkward Gilead Dinner Party From Hell ever (at least that would be my idea of hell without Lawrence’s one liners to almost save it. And I guess that Nick’s there). Speaking of, Nick (and Rose??maybe?? Might have actually been sincere on her part) performing the “Gilead happy couple show” or whatever that was, was... disorienting? This is the first time we’ve seen him play the “happily-married” “happy to be here, sir!” commander role and yeah it was a little unnerving because it’s so obviously not Nick happy, it’s Nick play acting at happy? Which I guess maybe we would buy except that we know Nick. And while it does seem that he and Rose have a caring partnership with a good deal of trust, and I do hope they are able to share some genuine moments of peace and levity in the safety of their home, we’ve seen him alone with her and by himself and that is not a happy man (and though I very much want happiness for him that will never happen in Gilead). His happy good young loyal commander mask started to slip real quick though when Commander MacAsshole started shit-talking June (calling her a devil! He LITERALLY demonizes her! 😈🤣 the drama! honestly these Gilead folks are too much) and throwing around thinly veiled metaphorical threats (or was that a simile?). Anyhow, excuse me, Mr. Blaine, PLEASE CONTROL YOUR FACE, SIR.😅 I will be VERY interested to see how much loyalty Mrs. Blaine actually has towards her dad’s (WHO IS HE?) very good friend (I mean THAT can’t be a coincidence). And will she also ultimately be forced to choose between Nick and her Dad?? Not really sure of her deal yet definitely makes me nervous, but we do know Rose also has shown a good deal of empathy for June and she seems genuinely kind hearted... (also she DOES kind of look like a grown up Eden and it kind of throws me 😳)

Of COURSE the young sympathetic guardian helping at the border has to go back to Gilead to HIS WIFE AND CHILD he can’t leave behind. Jesus, why not just name the character “NICodemus”? You could cut this foreshadowing with a knife

I would like to state for the record that I owe Mr. Mark Tuello an apology (FOR NOW, I’ve still got my eye on you, Mark) for assuming HE was the one to pull Nick into an indiscreet rendezvous in a very open gazebo with commanders nearby. Shoulda known, textbook Nick, only ever (and almost always) reckless when it comes to June. Oh, my poor love-sick boy.🥺 Although I might be careful, Mac, the last commander who insisted on calling Nick SON didn’t end up too well.

Started crying again when Naomi appeared in that doorway with baby Charlotte (even if she insists Lydia forced her, I don’t fully buy it). I think this season has made me wish for a redemption arc for Naomi? After Warren gets dealt with I kind of just want her and Janine to escape to Canada and be bff’s and eat macarons and raise Angela Charlotte together, is that wrong? (fan fic idea??👀) Yeah no I guess that would be wrong.

Not sure I can really go into the phone call without aggressively weeping… there are some things I loved and some I did not, and I may be still processing, so... I will just say that if anyone who makes fan vids really wanted to rip a shipper’s heart out in a very painful but kinda good way, the song “Someone You Loved” (duet version) would be a really good one to use for an edit centered around the call and reflecting back on their relationship so far from both their perspectives (and why they need each other)👀. I purposely say SO FAR because I refuse to accept anything is over, nothing is ever over with these two no matter how many times they say goodbye (and they didn’t even technically SAY goodbye hear, so hah).

Ok I will say one more thing about it: the Nick fantasizing/day dreaming about them kissing thing was interesting, wasn’t it? For one that they didn’t just use a flashback of a previous kiss (which would have been much easier), and also as I’ve seen mentioned, that this is the first time we’ve seen into a character’s head besides June(??) WTF is going on here? Am I just overthinking it?🤔

I think by now we have scientifically proven that Janine cannot be killed and ok I am here for it (but knocking on wood just in case).

I believe Serena is standing back in the exact spot where she read (the cost of which her pinky), receiving yet another undesirable sentence…she’ll roll with it, though. Infrastructure…😂

I have to end by saying just how much I enjoyed watching Serena get rejected by not one but basically two different men who she thought she had wrapped around her manipulative little finger. And she was SO sure of herself, so smug with Tuello about her “prospects” in Gilead🤣. Maybe overestimating your charms, Serena?😂😂 I mean, we knew she had no chance with JLaw but I was worried about Tuello for a minute there (STAY STRONG, MARK). The schadenfreude is real, y’all.

Actually no, I’m going to end by saying just how much I enjoyed how fucking SCARED of June Serena is. That’s right, you better RUN 🤣 Just shows what a hypocritical coward she is when she doesn’t have Gilead or Fred or Tuello or her deranged Canadian fan club to hide behind. After June was forced to live under the fear of Serena’s selfish whims, mood swings and cruelty for so long, it is SO gratifying to see the tables turned. That’s not even schadenfreude, that’s just justice.😂

#the handmaid's tale #the handmaids tale season 5 #tht show #osblaine #june osborne #nick blaine #why you gotta make me cry #serena so scared #and she should be #she can dish it out but she can't take it

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onthecrosslook · 3 years ago

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Reverse, esreveR

Tw: S*ic*de Attempt, Dr*g Abuse

Sherlock Holmes was an arsehole. He knew that he was, he felt it- deep inside, a sort of gut emotion that clenched and twisted and made him feel all the more wretched. He really couldn’t control it at this point. It was a habit that had formed from years of keeping every awful thing that had happened to him pent up in his mind. So many years of abuse, so many bruises and scars, and so, so much hurt that left no marks on anywhere but the mind. He knew it was wrong to take it out on those he loved- and even those he didn’t- but it kept resurfacing in the forms of snide comments and manic volatility.

It started one quiet night at Baker Street. It was nothing much, a snappish comment too far, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was the last straw for a livid John Watson, who stood up and kicked over the coffee table in fury. Words bounced off of Sherlock, who heard without listening. Eyes closed, chest feeling empty, Sherlock felt John’s innate rage. Until he didn’t.

When Sherlock opened a single eye, he saw John holding a small box that had been concealed under the table. Sherlock heard a roar in his ears, he could hardly breathe, he was crushed by an overwhelming feeling of guilt- it all just hurt.

John’s steady fingers brushed over the syringe that the box contained. The flat was silent, except for the pounding of Sherlock’s heart- or was he the only one who could hear that?

Glass shattered at his feet. John was yelling, now. Sherlock was pretending to listen.

Sociopath. Liar. Machine.

John was saying those words as if they held no value to Sherlock. Of course, that had been the impression Sherlock had made, so why wouldn’t he say those things?

Sherlock was used to feeling hopeless, but this? This was it. This was all he could take and more. And worst of all? It was cowardly, and Sherlock couldn’t even have the decency to properly listen to John.

Possibly in the middle of John’s sentence, he stood up and mumbled some sort of excuse- that he had to use the loo, maybe? He wasn’t sure.

Dazed, Sherlock walked to the loo and left John alone in the living room. Thoughts were rushing through his head. He couldn’t take this. Not anymore.

He clicked the lock and slid down the door onto the cold, hard tile floor. His hands were shaking, his vision blurry with held-back tears. He didn’t want to do this. Yes, he did. No, he didn’t. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?

Trembling fingers pulled open the medicine cabinet. They pulled out a bottle of painkillers. They opened the cap. They poured precisely ten in Sherlock’s other hand.

Ten, because Sherlock had measured the dosage during a particularly bad night. He knew that each pill had 500mg of acetaminophen in them. Over 5000 in one go would certainly kill a man. It had to.

Shaking, crying- although he didn’t realise it, and he never would have admitted it otherwise- Sherlock popped a pill into his mouth one at a time. It was hard to swallow. His throat was rejecting it, so each pill took longer to take. He was shaking his head, not wanting to finish, but knowing he had already taken at least six.

After number ten, Sherlock broke. The tears came freely, now. He mumbled a shattered apology to his mum and dad, to Mycroft, even, and most definitely to John, whom he didn’t want to leave.

With each whispered name, Sherlock popped another pill between his lips. Now he had taken…what, fourteen? Fifteen? He didn’t really care, even though he did. A small part of him was screaming for someone to care, to stop him, to save him- but to no avail.

After a few choked-out sobs, Sherlock regained some of his composure. He wiped his eyes, which were shamefully red, and stood up. He was going to go about this bravely. The toxic shock wouldn’t kick in for at least a few hours, and by then, he would be asleep. A peaceful death. An easy one.

Sherlock unlocked the door and walked back out to the living room, where John was pacing furiously. He looked pale and frightened.

John must have asked something along the lines of “what did you take?” in a worried tone of voice, but Sherlock shook his head. He probably told him that he took nothing. John still looked concerned. He asked him again. Still, Sherlock shook his head. He felt guilty for lying to John.

John relaxed. He nodded, he sat down. He offered Sherlock dinner, but Sherlock politely refused.

Sherlock lied about something or other and said he had a stomachache, that he wanted to go to bed. John reluctantly allowed him to.

At approximately nine o’clock, Sherlock laid down in bed and wrote a short note in his pocketbook. It told whom he wanted his things left to, even though he knew it wasn’t entirely legal. He trusted Mycroft to sort all that out.

His stomach was already starting to ache. He needed to fall asleep.

And so he did, praying that he would never wake up.

Unfortunately, life was decidedly quite cruel.

By the time the clock read midnight, Sherlock realised he had made a terrible mistake. He woke up gasping for breath as his stomach burned. His face felt hot, and his head was pounding. It was as though his insides were tearing themselves apart.

Dazed, he tried to move, but instead fell out of his bed and hit the floor with a groan. Sherlock was so weak that he could not find the strength to move. He threw up, even though he didn’t want to. It meant that the drugs might not work. Mind racing, chest heaving in mild panic, Sherlock wondered if this was how he would die- suffocating on his own vomit and in horrible agony.

Spirits broken, Sherlock whispered John’s name. It hurt too much. He needed John to save him, or else he was going to die.

Sherlock kept whispering it- his lungs wouldn’t allow him to speak up. But John was already upstairs. He couldn’t hear him. Maybe Sherlock didn’t want him to.

He choked out something along the lines of “I don’t want to die”, but slowly, agonisingly, his eyes closed and he faded into unconsciousness.

You could imagine his surprise when he woke up the next morning, every inch of his body aching. His chest burned, and he kept needing to throw up every few minutes, but he was unmistakably alive.

And in some of the worst pain of his life.

He staggered to his feet and made his way to the loo. He threw up again.

For a brief moment, he felt better. He dreaded another racking dry heave that would take hold of his body.

No dice.

After typing a few things onto his laptop- perhaps updating his website with a few unintelligible entries about the side effects of acetaminophen overdose- he went back to the loo and threw up. He hadn’t eaten anything, so it was just stomach acid that burned his oesophagus and made him nauseous. The pain was growing steadily worse, and John wasn’t even awake yet.

For the next hour, Sherlock allowed the poison to simmer in his body, silently attacking his liver and slowly killing him.

John eventually woke up. Of course he did.

When he saw Sherlock’s pale face, he said nothing. When Sherlock nearly tripped down the steps in delirium, John was concerned, but said nothing.

When Sherlock’s knees buckled beneath him, he said something.

What did you take?

Sherlock slurred a half-hearted response, his head aching and his stomach twisting itself inside out. He felt like he was dying. It was probably because his organs were failing.

He clung onto the banister of the staircase as John desperately shook his shoulders. He couldn’t breathe. His brain was shutting down but his eyes and ears still worked. Everything hurt.

Sherlock saw John pull out his mobile and dial Mrs. Hudson’s number before swearing and pulling him outside.

Sherlock faded in and out of consciousness.

He was in a car.

Then a waiting room.

Then an urgent care.

Disappointed, disapproving, and endlessly pitying. Nobody would stop staring.

A nurse said he would be out of their care the same day.

His liver began to fail.

And then he was in an ambulance. He made a hazily rude comment to the EMT.

They stuck a needle in his arm. They did it wrong. It hurt like hell.

I’m clean, he wanted to tell them. Saying he didn’t do drugs anymore would be a flat-out lie.

They put him in a hospital.

His liver reached critical condition. The levels of acetaminophen in his bloodstream were lethal, yet he was somehow still alive. (It would be a case study for months and months to come.)

Sherlock was in the worst pain of his life.

They gave him morphine.

John sat by his bed during the entire ordeal.

He didn’t say a thing.

He didn’t know what to say.

Sherlock almost died.

John looked like he’d aged many years.

Sherlock felt regret.

John held his hand.

Sherlock wished he could turn back time.

John did, too.

༺═──────────────═༻

(Author’s Note: Based on a true story, sad enough to say. It’s sort of my way of giving past experiences a bit of closure. Imbuing writing with pain and anguish is rather cathartic. To tell you the truth, the fact that I’m alive now puzzles doctors and professionals alike. A case study was written on me. I am one of only eleven cases to have ever survived several doses of acetaminophen- enough to kill multiple grown men- at the age of twelve. I’m an anomaly and the fact that I’m here today writing this only proves how strange I am. I can’t say I’m better now. But I’ve learned my lesson. I’m sorry if it was so intense. If you or a loved one are having suicidal thoughts, please tell someone. Don’t make my mistake. And please, for the love of God, if you’re considering it, don’t kill yourself. It would be the biggest and final mistake of your life. People care about you so much. Much love, - AE.)

#sherlock #bbc #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #benedict cumberbatch #post reichenbach #angst #sad ending #ambiguous ending #angsty #based on a true story #jalexandria #writing #fics #fanfiction #tw suicide i guess?#drug addiction #writing angst to make people suffer

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demonslayedher · 4 years ago

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Your content on Kny is interesting, being a Kny fan I would like to share a cusiority. During the final battle did you notice that the Hashira were passive about the death of some? When Shinobu died only Tanjiro had a reaction because of how busy he was; Mitsuri didn't seem sad and when Iguro remembered who died in the middle of the final battle he didn't even mention her. What did you think? It would have been nice if Gotouge had shown us what the Hashira's thought when the others died

[cont.] I'm the anonymous person who asked you the question about the Hashira who fell in the fight, Tumblr makes people write very little. Apart from Tanjiro they seemed cold to me, even for Tokito; the only one affected was Himejima; when always Iguro mentioned him during the clash with Muzan it was like he was thinking normally. There wasn't time to mourn for the dead but I was expecting a slightly deeper reaction. Anyway for Shinobu yes there was Inosuke and Kanao but the pillars are important too

Thank you for the Ask, time to get into it! This served as a good excuse to flip back through of a lot of the later volumes... or rather, a huge chunk of the series. Short Answer: I don’t think Mitsuri knew about Shinobu’s death. Longer Answer: A walk-through of the Pillars’ situations in the final showdown and a partial analysis of Kimetsu-style story pacing.

Disclaimer: I finished this around 2am. I chose to leave it rambling and unedited and typo-ridden. HAVE MY FEELS, I’M DISHING THEM.

(Disclaimer: This isn’t meant to be a plug for my own fics, but since they are born out of my emotional experience of canon, mentions will make their way in. U fu fu.) First, absolutely yes on there being no time to mourn. From the moment the Ubuyashiki Mansion blows up in volume 16 to the actual end of the fighting in volume 23, that is one hell of a night; this final arc(s) had NO CHILL. Like, wow. It’s been a long time since I followed another battle-driven manga, but that seems like a lot, especially for a relatively short series. And I was initially happy to dismiss all the lack of satisfying sadness as being due to the fact that they are in *PANIC MODE* and entirely focused on fighting, but that is also not necessarily the case; they do come off slightly cold. I want to touch a bit on what we want to see the characters mourn each other, but also why I think it works out a bit better that we didn’t; from a purely narrative standpoint. LET THEM BE SAD: Parasocial Needs Science says we form bonds with fictional characters that affect our brains in very similar and impactful ways, so our feelings are legit when they get killed off. It affects us like a breakup or other goodbye and makes us crave closure. As for my own assumptions, we look for proxy characters in-universe to give those characters we love the attention we wish to; their sadness validates our sadness, watching them get emotional can be super cathartic, and a good mourning arc can provide satisfying closure. This is something we got with Rengoku, canonically loved by like, everyone. Hell, even the guy who killed him was sad. Just to rub salt into it, the most recent fanbook that includes a section about how the Pillars see each other, and it drives home that even if we never saw much or any canon interaction between him and any other given character, they’re all like, “Oh yeah, Rengoku, he’s a great guy.” And, he’s the only character we really get space to mourn, pacing-wise. First, because of when it happens in the plot, this gives the story time to show us each and everyone one of the Pillars hearing the news; it gives them times to process it (which Tokitou clearly needed), and most of us, it takes us in depth through how it affects Tanjirou, our main character whose emotions that we, the readers, are most in touch with. Rengoku got star treatment in the way he was mourned, and we readers get to lap that up. So then when we don’t get that in-universe star mourning treatment, it does feel a bit jarring by comparison. Gotouge did say she was sorry to hurt everyone, but these are the conditions the little humans were up against all along and a point driven home again and again; even with power on par with demons through the attainment of a mark; even Pillars are just breakable humans who will never be able to regenerate like demons can, hence why their stakes are so much higher in every battle they go into. Furthermore, the Pillars are more ready for this than anyone else, they of all the characters would be the best at keeping their emotions in check in the heat of a battle. Which means they had to keep them in check for seven volumes of near constant battle, love it or hate it. KIMETSU LOGIC: The Writing Sins That Make This Manga What It Is I could go on and on and on and on about the writing sins this manga commits and how it shows that it’s Gotouge’s first time writing something of this length. In manga not all of it can be blamed on the author alone because the editors have a very significant influence, but yeah, this is not the most amazingly crafted story out there, by a long shot. Would I change any of it, though? Well, a few things, yes, of course, out of personal preference. But on the whole, no. It’s the collective errors that stamp KnY with its style and make it what it is, and I find it as endearing as all the randomly super goofy art. Now, when it comes to the lack of Pillars reacting to new of each others’ deaths, I wouldn’t necessarily classify that itself as a fault, and if I were Gotouge’s editor, I probably would have encouraged her to keep it to a minimum too. After all, I would be considered with selling a new shot of tension with every week’s installment to keep any readers from getting bored with the constant battle. And dang it, THAT TENSION WAS HIGH, those battles were remarkably emotional and tense through and through. The breaks in tension that we got were necessarily and not distracting, with the notable exception of Iguro’s past. That was clumsy placement. I’ll be honest, I didn’t bond with Iguro as much as a character because he lost his earlier chances to be appealing to me, and by the time the chapter with his flashback came out, I DIDN’T CARE, I waited anxiously all week to see what was happening to Tanjiro and was invested enough to have an appetite for the additional Sumiyoshi and Yoriichi bits, but dang it, Snake Pillar was getting in the way of what my emotions were primed for at that point. But, such is the way of fickle weekly readers; with THAT MUCH tension going on, readers crave a little breather here and there with a look at who else might taking in a breather in a flashback. We got bits and pieces of that mostly through flashback, like Tamayo’s memories of conversation with Shinobu experienced in real time through Muzan, as well as in-real-time moments with the characters having very slight chances to catch their breath (no pun intended). But, how well those breaths worked depending on each character, and how the readers’ emotions were getting slammed week to week. Just like how I as a weekly reader (by that point) had no appetite for an Iguro flashback while eager to move forward, there likewise would have been limited appetite for mourning, and we’re stuck with who we got as proxy characters to react through. ACTION, REACTION: The Rhythm of Basic Writing Advice It has often been said that in writing, something should happen in a scene, and the next scene should be a reaction to it. In the next scene something new happens, and likewise, there is a reaction. We could also thing of this as stages within the same scene, like the part when the music changes or the moment the battle has ended but we’re still on the battlefield. In Rengoku’s case, we got one big happening, and then a whole lot of reaction drizzled through the story after that. In the Infinity Fortress case, we get a big happening with the Ubuyashiki Mansion blowing up and then--a big happening!--a big happening!--a big happening--! A--uh oh, there’s a reactio---NEVERMIND, THINGS ARE STILL HAPPENING, GOTOUGE, PLEASE, THIS HURTS, OW, OW, HOW ARE YOU SO CRUEL, WE GET IT, THIS SITUATION IS AWFUL, PLEASE STOP HURTING THEM---

The reactions are there, scattered throughout. They’re short, but they sure make themselves count. While Tanjirou is our Empathy Personified hero, it’s natural that we get more of his reactions, but the lack of them in other characters is, I would say, a natural fault of having a huge cast to work with it. Once you start dragging too many other characters into the reactions, the actions have trouble moving forward, and with the level of seven volumes worth of tension it’s the actions that keep readers hooked and buying magazines. THEY’RE ONLY CORVIDS, OK: Now We’re Actually Looking At Canon Details Now that all being said, although it’s easy to dismiss a lot of Kimetsu Logic as amateurish at first, on further reflection, the little worldbuilding logic does excuse itself for not plunging each of the characters into a period of reaction to actions happening elsewhere. Not all the birds had Yushiro’s papers. Not all birds were created equal. It’s really hard to navigate that place. Ergo, communication was probably highly imperfect; not all the crows knew everything going on. We don’t feel that as readers because we’re seeing Kiriya and his sisters get all the available communications. In Iguro and Mitsuri’s case in particular, I suspect that might not even had been Mitsuri’s crow (as that one has a distinct personality and accessory) giving her orders to gather where Muzan is. It was probably any old down-to-business crow working with the information it had as clearly as it could in the battle that was most difficult to physically navigate. If Mitsuri’s crow (named Urara in the most recent fanbook) had been there, I imagine she’d have been having difficulty that whole time to even stay within a close range of that battle. Furthermore, a crow like that with a strong bond with Mitsuri might had also judged that telling her about Shinobu’s death was a dangerous distraction, and chosen to withhold information. The fanbook specifies that Iguro’s crow Yuuan was the one who told him about how Tokitou got a red blade (in fact, this is basically the only thing said of this crow besides its name and gender). To able to report in such detail that Iguro could analyze that Tokitou attained the red blade by the strength of his grip, that probably quite an accomplishment to have either witnessed that much, or to pass on crucial information that detailed and quickly. At that time, Iguro and Mitsuri were physically separated and she was distracted by the crow giving her orders to gather where Muzan was, so she might not even have overheard that Tokitou had died. As for Iguro, the second fanbook tells us that because Tokitou was young he had hoped he wouldn’t die. There was no opportunity to mourn him, and they weren’t close enough for that to throw him off much from battle, but on a Pillar to Pillar level, I think the amount of thought Iguro did dedicated to Tokitou showed a certain level of esteem for him and regret at this passing. What would have been nice? Maybe a little look over his shoulder to Mitsuri like “I hope she didn’t hear that.” That would have revealed a tender side of Iguro in a very short use of panels. I want to come back to analyzing Mitsuri’s reaction later, so let’s keep focusing on the loss of Tokitou. Once he attained more of his sense of self back, it seems he preferred the company of Corp Members closed to him in age (if we go by his little flashbacks, which in true Kimetsu Logic, are things we didn’t know about until they come up in flashbacks). Most of the Pillars weren’t especially close with him, even if they did care about his wellbeing, as they seemed particular aware of how young he was. Sanemi probably had never interacted much with Tokitou until that battle, and *OKAY, HERE IT IS, THE UPCOMING FANFIC SELF-PLUG* one of the things I really liked working with in my post-canon fic is that there’s a point at which thinking about Tokitou forces Sanemi to deal with all the trauma he’s buried from that battle. I figure it would hit him later; he had a good excuse of a distraction. Ugh. Man. My heart hurts again thinking of that chapter. Let’s also not forget, after Himejima showed his respects for Tokitou both quickly and sincerely, he couldn’t allow Sanemi to deal with Genya’s death until after everything was over. All the Pillars had to think like this. What would had been nice? I liked this reaction scene to two simultaneous and horrific deaths exactly as it was. Ow. Ahhhh. Owwwwww, it’s hurting again. This is catharsis exactly the way I like it. Let’s keep going with Himejima, the only one to have known to expect all this, and who stayed ready and likely hoped to bring down Muzan all by himself without any other sacrifices (welp, so much for that). There’s a scene in the novels that implies he had some idea that Shinobu wasn’t intending to make it out of the upcoming battle(s) alive, and I imagine he felt the same regret and bitter acceptance in advance that he also felt with Ubuyashiki. If we heard the news about Shinobu like Tanjirou and Giyuu did, I imagine he was hurt but it wouldn’t have been noticeable, and he probably would not be surprised even at how quickly it happened. What would had been nice? Anything. Just a “How pitiful” and some tears as he runs through the halls woulda’ been great. So since Giyuu did hear it loud and clear with Tanjirou, I first want to point out that whether that was Tanjirou’s crow or not (might not had been, because his crow was busy with a letter delivery from Senjurou at the time too), that crow must had loved to shared details; maybe even details that were not necessary. Like, would telling the lower level Corp members everything really help? Wouldn’t the loss of each Pillar make them lose their nerve? Was it because that crow was wearing one of Yushiro’s papers that it had to report extra detail for Ubuyashiki HQ? Whatever the case, Giyuu is initially shocked about Shinobu and then is like, “what is that paper the crow has? It sure is reporting things fast.” What would have been nice? ANYTHING MORE THAN ONE PANEL OF SHOCK. Come on, Giyuu, give the GiyuuShino shippers S O M E T H I N G. Granted, if Tanjirou had been killed in battle with Akaza, I believe Giyuu would have had an initial outburst of emotion, but then gotten himself under control real quick and stayed that way until it was safe to break down (which he did immediately later on, since the threat was gone--but he was just as soon picking up a sword and stabbing him, so again, Pillar-mode must come before experiencing emotions). I interpret canon as that even though Giyuu might had found it easily to address Shinobu in conversation due to frequency in how much they had conversed and the fact that she would usually talk to him first, he would never had considered himself especially close with her (since he never saw himself close with any of the Pillars). I feel their relationship had potential to grow closer if Giyuu had actually gone out of his way to communicate more with her, and he probably would had if they both survived, but at the time she died he probably still felt a distance, which is why it did him harder when Tanjirou--someone who Giyuu did actually get to a point of enjoying conversation with--was dead right in front of him. (Side not, oh man, OH MAN, being a weekly reader was so tough then. I still have so many emotions from that week. Oh man. Oof. Ouch.)

Of note, Giyuu had the best opportunity for reflection on a comrade’s death since he had enough recovery time once he woke up to build a fire and treat wounds, and Tanjirou took that chance to read a letter.

What would have been nice? AGAIN, GIYUU, ANYTHING, but after that battle I think he deserved to disassociate a bit. Also of note, I don’t know that they had complete information either, because NO ONE (by “no one” I mean Tanjirou and Inosuke) seemed to hear anything about Zenitsu single-handedly killing Upper Moon Six and surviving it. What would had been nice: “Good for you, Zenitsu, I hope you’re okay” or “Six? Again? Didn’t we already do that? There was a third??” or “well I got Upper Moon Two SO THERE” or “..........are you sure?” or even way, way after all is said and done, off in epilogue times, “you fought WHO by YOURSELF???” but I digress. Now back to Shinobu, losing her so early on in this marathon of high-stakes battles made her death seem forever ago by the time we got to another Pillar death. It would had been nice for more of them to react both with “no, not Shinobu!” and “we are in deep trouble” sort of ways. That made the glimpses we got of her in flashback feel way, way more nostalgic, since for our experiences as readers, she had already been gone a very long time. I like that the battle with Douma got stretched over so long a span of the manga, they really showed the stakes in how difficult of a foe he was, even if that battle was itself was relatively shorter than others. And as stand-ins for the readers to mourn Shinobu, I love how we got that both through Kanao and through Inosuke. But yes, it sure would had been nice to get something from... Mitsuri. Now, if I had only read the events of canon, manga chapter to manga chapter, and even the Taisho Secrets, I still never would have guessed that Shinobu and Mitsuri had such a warm friendship. I know this purely from the fanbooks and novels, and that is something I find a writing error that detracts a lot from the work. Some of the most apt criticism I’ve heard of the Kimetsu pacing is that it could have stood to give us one of more arc to bond with the characters at least a little more, so we could really, really be emotional over loosing them. We get all our spare Pillar interactions in works outside of canon and after Tanjirou initially gets to know Shinobu, he has no more on-screen interactions with her; she mostly appears in Taisho Secrets. Pillar Training was fun and all, but maybe another arc with stakes in it that occurs closer to home and brings out some different sides of the Pillars in Tanjirou’s presence, instead of each of them getting one dance each with our protagonist. That would had been a chance to show Shinobu and Mitsuri’s friendship, in which case, we would had really, really wanted to see Mitsuri’s reaction. But, Mitsuri had a job to do in the very, very, very heavy tension and battles that ran in weekly magazines for months on end. She carried the very heavy weight of needing to provide brevity. Her silliness contrasted against all that tension was fresh air for readers who had been holding their breath (no pun intended! kinda) through so much. And man, our reliance on her for that made it hurt all the more when things suddenly got very serious for her. But, that means she was also unable to play a heavy emotional role too early on. There wasn’t room to give her a satisfyingly emotional reaction to Shinobu or Tokitou; when after all, this is the girl who was fretting about dearly beloved Oyakata-sama, was horrified to see the explosion, angirly attacked Muzan, but was saved from certain doom almost immediately after she was taken by surprise in the Infinity Fortress, and then she’s BACK TO 100% FANGIRL MODE. Like, giiiiiiiiiirl, Oyakata-sama just diiiiiiied, tone it down a notch. I feel like I had more to say. OH YEAH. WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?: To fanfic, duh. Going back to reaction and action and producing something with sellable pacing, again, I wouldn’t risk bogging down the tension-heavy final arc with too much open sadness (less is more definitely applies when the reaction scenes were often SO GOOD), but it clearly set up the desire for it. And, the length and intensity with which a work of fiction can live rent-free in audiences’ minds is a measure of its success. If we MUST turn to fanfiction to get that emotional closure (or force the Pillars to get theirs), then this is proof of a job well done in making us care. Herein lies the freedom with fanfiction: It doesn’t have to be good. It doesn’t have to sell. It doesn’t have to fit a regular serialized format. Fanfic is whatever it wants, all it has to do is indulgently scratch an itch. I have way more stomach for sappiness in fanfic than in original canon, because I have higher expectations of canon to honor writing conventions, and to make decisions that will serve the overall story, not necessarily cater to my tastes. But fanfic? Fanfic, you are here to serve me. Dive into those characters’ dry eyes with a jackhammer and gives me their tears. I don’t care how much you have to fry their brains to do it, give it to me. I mean, I don’t write fanfic like that, noooo. At least, not that I post publicly. Ssh. No one needs to know aaaaaall my particular canon itches I wish to have picked raw. But all the more power to people who DO post that publicly and provide a great service to all the other people with that same need. But, in the spirit of writing fic that tries to honor the spirit of canon, I try to sprinkle the juicy emotional potential canon could have had around as needed, to draw out what I feel canon just didn’t have the opportunity to give us. It’s ultimately self-servicing for what I wish canon would had done, but my style of published fic does try to stay widely appealing as a gen fic. Everybody’s got their own balances and tastes, and that’s cool. And that is freedom canon authors don’t have. I’ll conclude by saying that, although we as readers collectively earned it, the ending of Kimetsu no Yaiba was too bright and happy and specifically chose bittersweet moments that would be easy to swallow (pretty smart for a quick ending), but entirely skipped all the really heavy stuff in the immediate aftermath.

And yes, as difficult (and even dull) as it would be to slog through, there’s a part of me that wants to see all that, for the sake of closure.

And now I sleep byyyyezzzzzzzzz

#KnY fandom theories and meta #KnY Spoilers #tw death #KnY nerdery #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

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sexbirthdeaths · 4 years ago

Text

her hollows, her unholy son

summary: because this - this isn’t hotch's job. his job is to make sure they don’t get killed out on the field, to make sure they do their job and that they finish all their paperwork, not give his agents haircuts in his office,

warnings: emetophobia (vomiting), panic attacks, implications of depression and anxiety, mentions of spencer’s dad

words: 2500

The walls feel like they’re collapsing in on him as he stumbles numbly to sit down, lean against the cool tile and just desperately attempt to breathe. He can feel his heartbeat thrumming through him, head to toe, down his fingers like an invisible thread strung along them. Leaning his head down onto his knees, he feels himself curl in on his body, wraps his arms around himself.

Scrunching his eyes tight at the thought, he pulls his legs in a bit closer. You're an idiot, he thinks, can't do shit without freaking out.

He wishes he didn't live alone.

Everything is spiralling around him, water whirlpooling down a drain and he’s trapped right in its eye. All he can do is wait it out, he figures, try to force himself to breathe steadily. But god, it’s so hard, like there’s a boot on his chest pressing down further and further, crushing him under cruel rubber.

There’s this sickening sensation in his stomach, like a rock at the bottom that’s pulling him down further and further, churning as it sends waves of nausea through him. Forcing himself up, he fumbles for the toilet and collapses in front of it, emptying the contents of his stomach. So much for dinner, he thinks bitterly, dizzy and vision blurred.

Scrunching his eyes tightly closed, Spencer moves to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, not even caring anymore. The taste of bile and now-regurgiated takeout sits sour on his tongue, but he can’t will himself to stand and wash it from his mouth. Too much energy, energy he doesn’t have right now.

This is a panic attack - he’s never had one before, he's read enough about them to know what triggers them, to know how to help himself. Five things you can see, he recalls as the first step, but he can’t will himself to open his eyes. Four things you can hear is the next step -

One. The sound of his panicked breath as it racks through his body in quick, shallow waves.

Two. The humming of the light above him, too loud.

Three. The air con that's sending a cool breeze around him, chills him to the bone.

Four. Fuck- fuck- what’s four? The sound of blood in his ears, heart thudding in his chest.

That’s four, that’s four, why doesn’t he feel any better?

Another wave of nausea overcomes Spencer, forcing him over the toilet bowl again. His hair falls past his ears, over his face as he retches, tears streaming down his face at the sensation in his throat and stomach. It’s more bile than food this time, he supposes he really hadn’t eaten that much. It’s hard to have an appetite these days

His hair is bile-soaked now. His stupid goddamn hair, he’s wanted to cut it off for years but he can't find the energy to get up, go to a barber's. Just the thought sends a rush of panic through him.

Though his chest still heaves, Spencer's breathing has fallen back into a steadier rhythm, he feels less like he’s suffocating. With weak knees, he pushes himself up from the toilet, wipes his mouth again. And he faces himself in the mirror.

Pale and clammy, his skin has taken on a ghostly sheen that’d only worsened by the unflattering warmth of the bathroom lights. The contours of his face are more prominent under the harsh glare, the hollows of his cheeks and deep violet valleys beneath his eyes. His dark hair is a mess, clumped together with vomit at the front. You’re supposed to be better than this, he thinks bitterly, you’re an FBI agent, not some weak child who can’t handle being alone.

The person in the mirror isn’t him. It looks like him, sure, it walks and talks like him but it- it isn’t him. He wants to just throw a sheet over it, cover it, out of sight out of mind, and it takes everything in him not to shatter the glass then and there. He feels sick, he feels sick, sick in a way that’s bone-deep, something needs to change and it needs to change now. He feels like he might die if it doesn’t.

So Spencer rummages through the medicine drawer, finds a pair of craft scissors they only keep in there for opening stubborn packaging, brandishes them with certainty. He’s been dreaming of this moment for months now. Of chopping off chunks of hair, pulling it by the fistful, dowsing his scalp in gasoline to watch it all burn, anything if it means it’s gone.

When he was a kid, his dad had used the word 'defiant' a lot. Defiant, as in going against orders, as in questioning his judgement, defiant as in refusing to go down easy. Where has this new you come from? he would keep asking, expecting some sort of concrete answer - what has changed? What part of you have I failed to control, allowed to become so overgrown that it the ivy has swallowed up everything good?

But pruning is a means of growth, he thinks, and he lifts the scissors to his head.

There’s a chunk of hair in his hand. A few inches, maybe, what’s left on his head just curling past his ears. He drops it, watches it fall into the sink, bright and dry and gone. The scissors are shitty, and they don’t cut through hair evenly or easily, but they’re better than nothing.

He’s crying again before he even knows it, and he isn’t quite sure why, but the tears are rolling down his cheeks as he keeps cutting, throwing fistfuls of hair down into the sink, the stench of vomit still in his nose and the taste of spite on his tongue. He’s crying, but maybe they’re happy tears. It’s oddly cathartic, all of this.

It takes a long while to cut it all, get it even semi-even, but he manages. The street lamps outside his apartment have turned on by the time he creeps out of the bathroom, hair shaggy and shorter, and it gives him this rush. Taking control, finally reclaiming this part of himself. It tastes of rebirth, revival, a life that arises from rain-soaked earth, of becoming new again.

He goes to sleep with a smile on his face. It's the first time in years.

When he gets up for work in the morning, the house is empty. It's never not empty, he thinks as he eats breakfast alone, he doesn't know why he hasn't gotten used to the quiet after all these years. He wears a hat on the subway, knowing the haircut isn’t the cleanest, but atleast he doesn’t get those looks anymore. Having no eyes on you makes you feel so… light, he realises.

Stepping into the elevator, there’s a peaceful quiet to the building this early in the mornings, only a few people in sight. There's a peaceful quiet, one more comforting than the silence that suffocates his apartment. He likes to get to work earlier than the others, so it's no surprise he's the only one there - besides Hotch, of course.

Stepping into the communal area, Spencer is met with the sight of Hotch and Rossi, talking quietly by the coffee machine. From their stiff body language, it’s probably just business - some business higher up, likely Strauss. Hotch's eyes meet his from across the floor but quickly drifts to his hair instead.

“Excuse me, Rossi,” he says to the older agent, who takes his queue to leave. He gives Spencer a knowing look as he departs, stalking off to his own office to spend the rest of the morning until the day officially begins.

Hotch hums, peers down at him with a steely glance.

“You cut your hair.”

“Yes, sir,” Spencer nods, unable to hide his smile. He combs his fingers through it. Hotch chuckles shortly, raises an eyebrow.

“You didn’t do that bad, honestly. But I can fix it for you - come on,”

So he guides Spencer away from the coffee machine, down the halls and into Hotch's office, somewhere a little more private. The shutters are drawn, door locked, and Spencer looks guiltily at the floor - what if someone needs Hotch? And he's busy, here, giving his subordinate a haircut?

Hotch pulls up a chair and sits Spencer down on it, facing the window where he can see the streets of DC, the thick morning fog of early spring.

“It won’t be long,” the agent promises as he drapes an old dress shirt over Spencer's shoulders, “I’m no barber, but I can atleast even it out.”

There’s a strange feeling in Spencer's chest, but it isn’t the same as last night. It doesn’t feel crushed tight, like his lungs are bound to collapse in any moment - if anything, he just feels light. He feels appreciated, he thinks, hearing Hotch's search for a pair of scissors in the drawers. When was the last time someone had done something like this for him? Something beyond obligation, because they just wanted to help?

“You didn’t have to do this,” he murmurs as he feels Hotch get closer behind him, run a hand through his hair, “It isn’t your job to take care of me like this.”

Hotch starts cutting, the sound of the metal scissors slicing through his hair ringing in his ears. The only other sound is the clock ticking in the background, steady and echoing in the loud, silent room.

“No,” the man agrees, “It isn’t. But I’m curious as to why you did it.”

“I needed a change.” It’s the rain that washes the slate clean - gives him a chance to start over, beginning the path of reclaiming himself bit-by-bit. He's felt so helpless all of his life, taking the backseat and watching it all unfold. And one day - likely, soon, given the dangers of this job - he'll die and he’ll die young, with no agency over his life, too scared to try and take it. He’s done being scared.

The clock ticks, filling the silence as Hotch seems to contemplate. He’s moved from the right side of Spencer's head to the left, and the boy can feel chunks of hair fall onto the shirt on his shoulders.

"Do you think the others will like it?"

"I hope," Spencer admits, "I hope."

Hotch tilts his head down, touch unusually gentle for the typically stoic, blunt man. He can see strands of dark hair on his clothes, a tangible recognition of the new control he has over his life. It’s the best high he could ever experience, one he’ll be riding for months.

“I always thought you liked having long hair, I kind of figured if you didn’t you’d cut it,”

“My mom likes my long hair. She always wanted a girl,” Spencer mumbles absentmindedly. "I've just never had the energy to change it." Hotch hums in thought.

“You know,” he starts, “You’re stretching so far you’ve lost sight of where you started.”

He tilts Spencer's head again, leans to cut the hair short by his ear - it’s difficult to get it close to the skin without clippers, but he can make do. He bites his tongue between his teeth as he tries to avoid clipping Spencer's ear.

“Maybe you don’t hate your hair, or yourself for that matter - you hate what it proves.”

“It doesn’t prove anything.” Spencer huffs indignantly, brushes hair from his lap absentmindedly.

“It proves that you don't have control. Something's holding your life over your head. This is your act of reclamation, Reid, and I have to commend you for it.”

There’s a long silence as Spencer mulls his words over. He can hear more and more of his colleagues arriving in the bullpen, laughing as they talk. He can hear JJ, who’d been the first to notice how long his hair was getting. And yeah - he’ll admit, having long hair was fun at times, but not when it was unkempt and dirty because he couldn't muster up the energy to wash it.

Hotch brushes the rest of his hair off of the towel and onto the floor, runs a hand through Spencer's trimmed hair.

“I’m done, Reid, you can stand up."

He doesn’t know how to say thank you in a way that sounds genuine. Because this - this isn’t Hotch's job. His job is to make sure they don’t get killed out on the field, to make sure they do their job and that they finish all their paperwork, not give his agents haircuts in his office, not treat them with the same love and attention as a son.

He wants to cry.

But instead, Spencer swallows down the lump in his throat, fights the tears, and just smiles.

“Thank you,” he says, and prays that Hotch understands what he isn’t able to say.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #NOT hotchreid #sorry besties #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #derek morgan #david rossi

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captains-writing-desk · 4 years ago

Text

Inappropriate

Universe: BBC Sherlock

Character: Mycroft Holmes

Type: F!Reader insert (I, me, we)

Words: 2,011

Warnings: Swearing.

Note: Jesus lads... This was quite cathartic to write in a way. Took some interesting turns... I won’t lie it almost took a different turn towards the end with cheekiness ;)

Mycroft joins you on a walk after you get angry with him and his brother. Awkward angsty fluffiness ensues.

“Deduce me again Mycroft Holmes and I’ll see to it that you suffer.” I spoke without lifting my eyes from my reading material. He immediately averted his gaze and idly rolled his palm over the handle of his umbrella. “And tell your shit of a brother he can stop fucking trying too.” My voice did not waver once and remained low in tone- perhaps making it more sinister.

“I am right here.” The brother muttered from his arm chair and I raised my brow, peaking over the top of the newspaper for one moment just to reiterate, “Personally.”

“Well we can’t help it can we, it’s something we’ve always done, it’s not our fault that you’re more fun to try. “ Sherlock never knew when to shut up which was one trait Mycroft at least had the decency to inhabit.

“You CAN help by not turning me into a game.” Mycroft looked rather offended as did his brother, “Don’t look at me like that. You’re hardly sneaky about it, seeing who can get a deduction first and just how much fucking money have you both put into this hm? Acting shocked as if you were being so fucking sneaky, you haven’t fooled anybody... Dickheads.”

“I’m sorry, you turned someone’s trauma into a game?” John piped up emerging from the kitchen , my eyes narrowed at him.

“You boys should be ashamed of yourselves. Such an awful thing to do.” Mrs. Hudson followed from the kitchen who was met with a direct glare and with that, I folded the paper up neatly and rose to my feet.

“I rather despise this household sometimes. I’m going for a walk.” I’d had quite enough of this nonsense and had thrown my coat on and shut the front door behind me before anyone could speak up.

“Rather foul mouthed isn’t she?” Sherlock commented.

“Hot blooded.” John hummed in agreement.

“I find it rather endearing, oddly.” Mycroft mused as the room openly stared at him which he took as his cue to also leave.

“I’ll scream.” Mr. Government had caught up to me and I just couldn’t be hassled to deal with him and yet, he persisted.

“I don’t doubt that. Bare in mind however, that we are in London. Nobody would even flinch if you screamed.” He reasoned.

“What if I screamed 'bomb' and threw something?” Highly insensitive yes but I was angry.

“I stand corrected.”

“Yes and what a lovely mess that’ll leave you to deal with.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” His voice a little grave.

“Then perhaps you should bugger off hm?”

“Perhaps.” Yet he remained by my side even as my pace quickened, the swearing had subsided a little so I couldn’t be quite as angry right?

“Where exactly are you walking to?” I suppose my route made no sense to him, then again, made no sense to me either.

“Why do you want to know? Just follow.”

“So I can follow you now? No need to ‘bugger off'?” He was amused, but not at his comment, rather at the fact I would let him tag along. Not amusement, elation.

“You would be following me regardless and by that standard all you need to know is which way I am pointing and that will be where you’re going too.”

“I see. So we are just wandering aimlessly?”

“I am wandering aimlessly. YOU are wandering after me.” Why did that make him feel stupid? Perhaps it made him think too much into why he liked to stay around me as long as he could.

“Yes, sir.” He was making it seem like my fault, as if I’m ordering him to follow me. Can’t say I minded it.

We made it to Whitehall gardens and ambled through, staring at the flora that had started to turn with the autumnal weather. I was hungry now as I walked through the park and down to the embankment so I bought a pretzel from a little hut whilst Mycroft trailed behind on the phone about something so I expected him to leave soon.

I sat myself down on the wall with one leg tucked underneath myself so that my body was turned slightly and I could gaze through the bars my back rested against and watch the river.

Moments later Mycroft came and sat next to me, mirroring my pose only with his leg crossed over the other instead and he watched me for a moment until I looked at him.

“You can go. I’m quite happy sat here.” Not that he needed my permission to go but it felt as if I needed to remind myself that he could go, that I didn’t need him with me.

“I’ve got nowhere to be.” He raised a brow when he saw me relax, a wave of relief washing over me then the lamposts all turned on, what with the shorter autumnal days. I glanced around at the red leaves now lit up in this strange new light then back to Mycroft who had an amused smile fringing on his lips.

“Good,” I smiled, feeling an odd new confidence, “Do you mind if I stay here a bit longer?”

“Not at all.” He leaned back on the rails slightly as I took a bite of my pretzel, still warm from the vendor.

“Here.” I noticed Mycroft pull the sleeves of his coat down a little from the cold so I tore the pretzel in half and offered him a piece. ‘Does he even like common food?’ I thought and laughed internally at how odd that sounded. “It’s warm” I added still holding it to him. He thought about it as if it was a big decision but eventually took it.

“Thank you.” He smiled, thankful for the bit of warmth it provided him.

“It won’t kill you. Probably.” I looked out across the river feigning being suspicious.

“I’ll take my chances.” He chuckled and took a bite, humming at how surprisingly nice it was as I took the last bite of my own half and shook the crumbs of my hands then tucked them between my thighs to keep them warm.

Once he finished his half he turned further towards me and leaned in slightly.

“I apologise for earlier. It was uncouth of me.” He cleared his throat nervously but looked directly into my eyes where I saw the sincerity in his apology.

“It’s alright, You can’t help it. Besides,” I sighed, “I know you do it often- both of you. I suppose today I wasn’t in the best of moods to put up with it.” Truth be told I’d had a shit day. The sort of day where everyone I encountered decided to make my day worse than the last person had.

“Did anything happen?” He asked and I looked at my hands for a moment before furrowing my brows and looking back up to him.

“I’m not traumatised you know? That’s just John’s theory on me.” I wasn’t sure why I started with that but I suppose it did feed into why my day was crap but more than anything really, I felt the need to explain myself to Mycroft. Maybe explain why I was so difficult and rude. He sensed I had more to say and let me finish.

“Truthfully I'm not really sure what’s wrong with me. I just can’t seem to figure out how to figure out what I feel or what to do. Some things I understand but then I just get overwhelmed to point where I just numb down. I can’t quite explain it but I it just makes me cold and it scares me. I never used to be like this and I don’t mean to be cold but I just am. Then when people point it out it makes me feel like shit and I get agitated but with the wrong people.” I started to choke up, “So I don’t know. I don’t mean to be that way.” I looked down at my hands and started fidgeting to distract myself.

“You’re not cold. I’m sure anyone that knows you can tell you that. You’re perfectly fine the way you are.” He made no great speech just a simple reassurance and it was that- reassuring. “I've never understood people. They are idiots.” He summarised and I laughed.

“That is true. Yes. Mycroft I-“ I looked at him and he leaned in expectantly, “I didn’t mean to unload all that on you.” I shot him an apologetic look.

“It’s quite alright. I’m glad you felt you could say it though. That and it’s my job to make people talk sometimes.” He joked.

“Don’t pull that crap. I did it because I needed to not because you made me. I'd never crack in an interrogation.” I teased.

“We shall see.” He lifted his brow and watched me carefully.

“Did I not say that you would suffer if I caught you deducing me again?” You narrowed your eyes at him with a smile threatening to escape.

“You did.” Though he didn’t stop watching and even cocked his brow playfully which surprised me. Was he flirting? A sadistic smile slowly crept up my face.

“Are you flirting with me?” I returned the scrutinising look and he was taken aback.

“Excuse me?” He recoiled.

“You heard me. Are you flirting with me?” I demanded now, leaning in to catch his eyes until he finally looked at me. “You are flirting.” I could see it in his eyes and I was surprised by my own realisation and honestly elated though I tried to conceal it. Though now I had no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry if I was inappropriate.” He finally spoke, breaking my train of racing thoughts then he stood up. My heart skipped a beat, I didn’t want him to leave. He turned to me and I looked up at him with my brows furrowed, unsure how to proceed. “Perhaps I should l-.“ I pushed myself into my knees, grabbing the lapels of his coat and kissed him. I knew what he was going to say and leaving was not an option so I panicked. I pulled away and searched his shocked expression.

“There.” I took a deep breath and sank back to sit on the feels of my feet, “Now we’ve both done something inappropriate.” I laughed nervously under my breath, drowning in my own awkwardness and searching for any words to say to make this moment go away. I definitely misread the situation, he was definitely not flirting. My head flopped into my hands and I groaned.

“I fucked up... I’m sorry.” I mumbled through my fingers. I only wanted to tease him, make him suffer a little, but now we were both suffering for the wrong reasons.

“You didn’t fuck up.” Mycroft’s voice was gentle as his palm rested between my shoulder blades, pulling me forward until my head rested against his stomach. I really hoped he would forgive me for this cock up but I couldn’t bring myself to show my face, now or ever. However, we couldn’t stay like this forever so he grabbed my hand that was still glued to my face in shame and he urged me to stand up. My legs felt like they barely worked but I managed to sort of flop to my feet in front of him , dropping my other hand to my side and just stared at his chest. He let go of my hand and if my heart could drop any further it would have but instead, it shot up into my throat when he grabbed my waist with both hands. I looked up to see him smile then pull me into him as he lowered his lips to my own.

He pulled back to look at me fluttering my eyes open and staring slack jawed.

“You didn’t fuck up.” He repeated and squeezed my waist reassuringly which snapped me out of my daze. I bit my lip trying to stop the smile they crept onto my lips.

#sherlock #reader insert #mycroft x reader #mycroft x you #mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #fanfiction

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tonya-the-chicken · 3 years ago

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I’m not going to change your views but it does feel a bit dismissive when you say it wasn’t that bad because he had rich parents who neglected him but hey they got a maid for him and he probably wasn’t outcasted or bullied so hey it’s not that bad right 🤷‍♀️! I don’t know he definitely didn’t have the worse out of the villains but I don’t know it felt a bit dismissive is all. Although we need to all remember these are fictional characters so have no idea why the other anon needed to get so aggressive! Also the person in the notes I don’t know how to say it but uh the whole the Todoroki’s had a rich father they didn’t have to work a day in their life take is not a good look. Just because someone has parents with money it doesn’t derail the fact that neglect can cause trauma.

Anyways for the real reason I sent this, you wonder why Dabi is so insane. Well take into account the neglect alongside the fact that he burnt to near death up on that hill alone at the age of what 13? That’s got to be extra traumatising, especially for a child that was already not mentally ok. We also don’t know what his circumstances were like after that fire, like was he homeless? Or picked up by someone nefarious? Kind of like AFO(not him exactly but someone nasty) who maybe fed on his brewing anger and hate instead of positive healing. I’m sure we will find out at some point? I don’t think it was just what happened in the Todoroki household or the fire that broke his mind? There had to be other factors after the fire after his “death”!

[[WARNING!!! I love Dabi as a character but I am not a woobifier so if you are too much into him don't read!!!! No complaints taken, y'all will be blocked for being rude I am too old to deal with people unable to interact with me in good faith (anon it's not for you, you are good and I can't understand your point of view I am just not as good as a person and too old for that shit)]]

I don't think I will change my mind either but I feel like the belief that every trauma is equally bad is just... Simply wrong. Like, we can legit compare this stuff and how badly it affects our brain, what do y'all think psychologists research 🤷‍♀️ Like, your therapist won't tell you this because it's not their job to make you understand you not the centre of the Earth (and it won't help because it is a legit trauma response that is very valid but is annoying you're fucking 25 yo). And to say that, neglectful parenthood is probably the worst parenthood style, as far as I know XD I wrote coursework about this (neglectful bitches are having a lot of need to make us the biggest victims (the bitches is me))... It also feels really American to me? Like, are we going to pretend people who got to live in a nice house and were neglect somehow got it as bad as people living in poverty or warzones? Hello? Imagine telling some orphan "I know you have no parents but actually, my trauma of my father not spending enough time with me is just as severe as yours". Bruh couldn't be me sorry... Like, even taking into account the fact that we can have weaker or stronger nervous systems or be more prone to depressive episodes *looks in the mirror and cries* I simply wouldn't find the guts to say my trauma is as severe as idk people who had physically abusive parents or no parents at all or who were disowned for being gay

And like **again** I am not saying that neglect is not traumatic I WAS NEGLECTED THIS IS TRAUMATIZING AS FUCK. I just am living in a country at war and with lots of discrimination problems and I like... Can't say I am the biggest victim. Sorry I can't though there were times when I was a lot more bitchy especially before being in therapy so I understand where you are coming from and I know what I am saying won't resonate with everyone (it's ok go on your own healing journey I believe in you) but this doesn't mean it is garbage and won't help me or someone else... I've already talked once about it but as a person, I am very easily irritated and envious and really not your local Jesus and partially my trauma turned me like this so being more humble about my sufferings helps me not be a complete bitch (believe me or not but people with traumas and mental illnesses are often insufferable *looks in the mirror* not me though I am perfect... BUT IT IS OK TO BE INSUFFERABLE OK??? like, bitch, that's normal. That's normal to stink when you are depressed it's ok to be a bitch when you are hurting. Forgive yourself because I forgive you (when you are not being an abusive asshole but if you apologize and explain yourself I will forgive that too)

The reason why I talk about the fact he is rich is that I've got a disease called leftism and I am a person of several marginalized identities and since this fandom LOVES looking at characters like real humans, I looked at Dabi this way. And if Dabi was a real human, I wouldn't sympathize with him one bit. I would fucking hate him for being the biggest entitled asshole who commits crimes for the reason his Daddy didn't give him attention. Bitch, my Dad didn't give me attention either! But somehow I don't kill people! And I don't even have money!!!! But like... I am not denying that neglectful parents are not a problem. It is. But he is overreacting, bro. He needs to humble down and recognize the fact he is a fucking idiot (he is). He has inherently so much more resources to recover and heal himself than I had... Yes, I am just being jealous at this point but honestly. Making an entire country suffer for you is not a good thing and y'all need to stop using trauma and mental illness as an excuse for people. No! Being abusive to people because of neglect is not valid, is overreacting and you had no reason to do that. I am dismissing your trauma because you are exaggerating it to make me sympathize with your asshole behaviour. I won't judge people with different sets of standards as I judge myself

I bet it would be dismissive and bad if I said it in conversation with someone who is currently struggling with mental health and is not a murderer. But guess what! I don't talk with humans and my friends the same way I talk on my Tumblr about fictional characters 🤷‍♀️ Not to mention I don't have rich friends akabsksbxm

I think with Dabi there's this whole thing where we saw him at 14 (poor baby boy) and 24 (a grown-ass boy) and... Like, I am so sorry for 14 years old Touya not receiving the help he needs (bruh so relatable) but I am not gonna act like 24 years old bitch can't get his ass to a psychiatrist (extremely unrelatable and infuriating). We shouldn't apply the same standards to kids and adults. We can talk all day long about how society is bad and how our parents ruined us but at some points, you gotta take your life into your own hands and do something and be an adult. And it's fucking hard when you're born with a shitty brain that was fucked up by your parents even more in a society where no one gives a fuck but I sincerely don't know another way to live. You will feel bad and want to die but you either keep on recovering or keep on getting worse and at this point getting worse is Dabi's *choice* That's how I live, that's my framework and I am, of course, extremely fortunate in a lot of ways but I just don't know how are you supposed to survive without the notion that grown people are responsible for themselves and their mental health. We can't act like adults are babies

But as a character, Dabi is fucking hot ngl. Like, do I sometimes want to murder my entire family, make them suffer AND commit terrorist attacks? We all do. Dabi is the dark fantasy of us neglectful bitches craving some attention. Gotta kill the president and tell everyone that my Dad sucks. Imagine the entire country hearing your Dad sucks? That's the juice, that's the dream. Trauma makes you vicious. I get the sentiment. Imagine all those fuckers who made you feel like shit pissing their pants and crying? Imagine your Mom being afraid of you the way you used to be afraid of her? People do have the desire for some violent justice but like... Think of bullied kids committing school shootings. But instead of a kid, it's a grown man who graduated school and who also have a rich father

Ok too much about irl stuff and philosophy shit. I know my way of talking is kinda brute so just know the way I treat people is different from that I treat fictional characters, in particular, I don't call real-life humans submissive and breedable... And stuff...

Damn Dabi is kinda good to project your hatred of your parents in bruh, I should write a fanfic about that (would be cathartic)

To the plotline, I am also very interested in what the hell happened with him after burning because... How the hell he wasn't found? I kind of DON'T want him to be groomed at this point because I feel like it won't be as cool as him just more naturally evolving into what he became. Like, surely, he is an asshole but consider this: as a villain, he is morally obligated to be an asshole

I feel like someone hiding him and Touya overstating the gruesomeness of his living conditions to the dude so he feels *bad* for him and hides him and feels sympathy and Touya gets attention but also begins to reassure himself in the fact his Dad needs to be punished... Idk it's a lot of mystery but I feel like more suffering won't deliver the point the way I want it... I mean it CAN be handled this way and initially I thought a lot about Dabi being brainwashed a bit or having his memories altered so it seems worse to him or even him being groomed or lied too but nowadays I am not into it. I mean I believe in Horikoshi and that he will handle him well 🛐

I talk a lot so I will summarize

If we judge him as a real human

14 yo Touya - DID NOTHING WRONG IN HIS LIFE PROTECT HIM

24 yo Dabi - go fuck yourself bitch you older than me and act like a child and kill people, I couldn't care less about your trauma rich boy

If you want me to talk as his psychologist

Yeah, it is painful and sad, I understand him so much and surely, his trauma is valid as is his hatred but probably revenge won't bring him what he wants. And what he wants is love and attention. But he gotta make choices that will lead to his healing. He needs to *want* to heal. And we will step by step go to the healing because it is possible. He is loved and he is enough. AND YOU ALL MOTHERFUCKERS WILL HEAL I BELIEVE IN YOU BESTIES

Also his therapist (behind his back)

You won't believe it but my client is the most infantile attention whore I've ever met

But if we talk about him as a character... Very delicious soup

If you talk with your friends

Please, if your friends are being abusive to you or someone else don't even LET them say how their trauma made them this way. No. Nothing allows you to be an abuser. Call them out and stop them and make them talk to the therapist. Like, surely, there are extreme situations like severe mental illnesses or extreme neglect where we should be more forgiving but babying adults won't do you any good and won't make them recover

Yeah, I guess this is what I forgot to say. When I say "it wasn't that bad" what I mean is that I would be more forgiving to people who had it worse. It's more of a personal measure where I can tolerate stuff from people who had particular traumas or from those who suffered greatly (it's not my place to be a bitch here). I can forgive 14 years old or a poor person for stealing stuff but not the 25-year-old man who got no need for money and is not a kleptomaniac. I would be more forgiving to Shigaraki than to Dabi because Shigaraki was groomed a whole lot. Same for Toga, who is not even an adult or Twice who is a poor orphan. But that doesn't mean I would forgive them completely. All of them are shitty people. It's just that they had fewer resources and possibilities to not be what they became while Dabi had more but he acts like he is extremely hurt and the biggest victim which is like... There will be people like this in your life, please, don't make friends with them, they WILL abuse you

I talked a lot damn. It's adhd I can't shut up

#asks #bnha #bnha manga spoilers #todoroki touya #bnha dabi #killing people is a legit coping mechanism #I mean I possibly do sound dismissive I am very brute in my talking but I really can't be bothered #all I am saying that I am not dismissing neglect what I am dismissing is the idea that is is bad enough to justify Dabi's reaction #neglect was bad Dabi's reaction is disproportionate though #you. don't get to kill people because your Dad didn't love you #you do get to kill people if those people killed your family #just so you understand #I got tired of talking

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 4 years ago

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You say the story of Rescue Team frustrates you? How come?

Rant ahead. Rant ahead about a game I unironically love, but I spend far too much time overthinking the plot of, hence my grievances.

Maybe I just held it to unfair standards on account of playing it for the first time after Explorers of Sky. Which is easily the greatest pokemon game ever made, accept no substitutes. Nah, Rescue Team DX is addicting, the music is incredible as always in these games, and the gameplay has been massively overhauled and made far superior to the original, which while fun, was pretty buggy. And the game does have some pretty cool characters, too. Like...whatever I may yell to the heavens about Albus Dumbledore from HP, make no mistake that he’s an exceptional and three-dimensional character. Same goes for Snape. And that applies to this game as well.

The main reason this game’s story irritates me comes down to Gengar and Alakazam. Again, they’re very well written characters...but I hate them. I despise both of them. I don’t know what it is, but Alakazam rubbed me the wrong way right from the start. Him and his whole team are so self-important, so arrogant. They condescend the MC and act like they’re the ruling body of the town square. Alakazam goes around telling people that he knows everything. That’s a god complex if you ask me. At several points, the characters make decisions based on the assumption that he is stronger than the MC, which you as a player never get to challenge. (Think of Leon from Sword/Shield, but a million times worse.) The Partner character is so in awe of them, so enamored by them. Yet behind MC’s back, Alakazam knows (or suspects) them to be the human of legend and doesn’t tell them “for their sake.” Which gives me strong Nozomi (SMT IV: Apocalypse) vibes, since later on he ignores all responsibility for having been "complicit" with the MC's secret.

The Fugitive Arc doesn't make any damn sense. First of all, Xatu claims that the disasters, all of the trouble, are being caused by the Human from the Ninetales Legend. Ninetales later debunks this. When I first played this game, I legitimately thought Xatu would wind up being some kind of secret villain, that he had lied, and that the Fugitive Arc was all started by him. This doesn't wind up being true, and we never get an answer for why he thought the Human of Legend was responsible for the state of affairs, nor did anyone question his being wrong or acknowledge his role in all this. But the one who really started everything was Gengar. He doesn't really annoy me until the Post-Game (I'll get to that) but everyone else's reactions to Gengar's story bother me. He is a known liar, a known trouble-maker who no one likes. It's well known that he has a vendetta against the MC. He has no proof whatsoever of his allegations. And everyone just buys it, despite MC now having a great reputation, because...I guess MC didn't actively deny it? Which the player was given no agency in? And it doesn't stop the accusation from being ridiculous?

Enter Alakazam. Apparently, everyone held a town meeting that must have taken all of ten seconds, to decide what to do about MC. They held this meeting without MC or the Partner present, because having them there would make too much sense I guess. Team A.C.T. prepares to...I guess kill MC? As well as the Partner, even though they're completely innocent. Before Alakazam hesitates and decides to give the MC a day to run away. Hold on, if he is so convinced that MC has to die to save the world, how do he justify letting them go? I guess the same way he justifies how he "knew" MC was the human of legend this whole time and said nothing about it? He bids MC to run, and throughout the entire Fugitive Arc, his team is the looming threat. Which was quite frustrating for me, already a Diamond Rank and probably higher leveled than Team A.C.T, because I would have been happy to settle things with Alakazam right then and there. It is beyond frustrating that the story denies me this chance. Not to mention, half of the town shows up to say goodbye when MC and the Partner take off. Like...okay, at least half of the town believes in MC. How in the hell is this even happening? Why do we have to flee when so many characters are on our side? When there's no proof? Why is Alakazam's word just considered law? If he “knows everything” how come he doesn’t know that Gengar is human as well, if he could sense MC’s humanity?

You don't know how badly I wish there was a fight with Team A.C.T. when all was said and done. And the game could have done it, too! Just have it take place at the top of the Mt. Freeze, before Ninetales shows up. They have a skirmish that takes place in a cutscene, but even in the remake - there's no boss battle. Why not? It's not like this dungeon has a boss battle otherwise. Wouldn't it have been a fitting conclusion to this arc? Maybe I'm biased, maybe I just think it would have been cathartic to kick Alakazam's ass, to make him put his money where his mouth is...because again, the arrogance. He demands Ninetales tell him what happened, and that "depending on your answer, I may be forced to eliminate MC" Ah, slow your roll there, buddy. Ninetales already broke up the fight and made it clear that it's not going to happen. You're a guest in their domain. On top of that, Team A.C.T. basically forbids you from going to Magma Cavern to challenge Groudon. As if you haven't just proven yourself capable of braving dangerous dungeons. As if, after they chased you halfway around the world and were proven completely wrong, they have any right to talk down to you or tell you what to do. Again, I so, so wish we could have fought them and taught them a lesson.

In general, this is a consistent thing with the other characters, following the Fugitive Arc. Everyone focuses on how happy MC and the Partner must be to have their names cleared, (Again, the Partner was accused of nothing. Like, literally nothing.) and no one stops to address that everyone in the Town Square should be falling to their knees and begging our forgiveness for what they put us through. Several of them tried to kill us. Upon returning to the Town Square, Gengar acts like MC is turning them-self in because they don't have any proof, even though he never had any proof to begin with, and it's only after MC is "cleared" by Team A.C.T. that everyone remembers that Gengar is untrustworthy. Reading the words "under the watchful eye of Alakazam" has always made me extremely salty. I don't have much to say about the Mankey brothers but they irritated me as well. Maybe I was just out of patience after the Fugitive Arc but I found myself wondering why we appeased them at all. Initially, we give them the chestnuts because they attack us if we don't. No matter how many times we beat them, they keep attacking if they're told no. I realize it's a staple in Pokemon games to have false yes/no choices, but those are especially noticeable in the games that focus on story. And sometimes the excuses are just pathetic. Meanwhile, the other pokemon continue to treat you as rookies, as kids. You are once again "forbidden" by...um, the other townsfolk, from going on the Rescue Mission until you talk them into it. It's like...guys. You put us through hell. We could have died a dozen times over, because you bought into the mob mentality for no good reason. How does everything just go back to normal after that?

I don't mind Gengar at first. He's a villain, and a well-written one. He's got a clear personality and there's hidden depth in there as well. He's one of my favorite characters in the game, easily. And all of the stuff he does in the main story? Stealing the mail, manipulating Caterpie, and the stuff during the Fugitive Arc? That weird psychedelic sequence where he's dragging MC down to hell at the end? (Or whatever that was?) All fine by me. He's a villain. He's doing bad things. But sweet Arceus is Gengar annoying in the Post-Game. I wonder if this must be how Merula Snyde Antis feel, over in the HPHM Fandom. Because the MC has absolutely no motivation or reason to help him out. He just demands that they act as his bodyguard, offers nothing in return, and won't leave you alone until you say yes. Buddy, my team has like thirty pokemon at this point and they're all hanging out in the Friend Areas a few feet away. You think you can intimidate me? The only reason I'm helping is to progress the storyline. And throughout this entire storyline, you have to help Gengar even though he hasn't earned it.

He does not deserve forgiveness, or a reconciliation with Gardevoir. What if I don't want to help him because I don't think Gardevoir would want to see him? What if I think that it would do her no good to see him? He's unrepentant and awful, the story does the bare minimum to suggest that he's changed. Now I will admit one thing: I love the moment that Ninetales first appears, sees Gengar, and simply goes "...What do you want." Like. Like that was the moment that I put it together, before he went on to tell the rest of the story. I love simple moments that make the big reveal crystal clear without needing to directly tell or show the audience. I've always dug that. But everything that happens after that is frustrating. Gengar demands the curse be lifted, despite having no justification to offer Ninetales. He threatens to attack them, but then clarifies that MC will be the one doing the fighting. Excuse me? Why would I ever do that? MC just found out the truth about Gengar, what he did to Gardevoir, and then how he pinned it all on them during the fugitive arc. Gengar, why would I attack Ninetales after this, instead of attacking you? Tell me I don't initiate battle against you right now? Thankfully MC doesn't have to actually fight Ninetales, but they are still forced to testify at Gengar's "trial" and it's a forgone conclusion because no matter what answers you give, it's treated as MC acknowledging his growth and he is forgiven at the end.

Oh, I’ve just thought of something else. MC isn’t given a reason for why they have to leave the Pokemon world, or why they were able to return. Explorers gave a reason. Gates to Infinity and Super Mystery Dungeon made a whole post-game story out of their reasons. Here? We get nothing. MC’s “role” has finished and so they have to return to the human world. Never mind what they want. Not until after the dramatic moment where they have to leave has passed, anyway. That voice at the end who suggests that we may be able to see our partner again just by “wishing.” Who the hell was that? What did they mean? Look, by Pokemon standards, the Rescue Team story is quite substantial. By Pokemon Mystery Dungeon standards? It’s...probably the weakest story. I mean, to be fair, Super Mystery Dungeon had the endless schoolhouse arc that added up to nothing in the second act. But hell, that was still fun. And I suppose the Fugitive Arc and Gengar’s “redemption” were fun too. Just frustrating as well.

#Pokemon #Pokemon Mystery Dungeon #Pokemon Mystery Dungeon Rescue Team DX #pokemon mystery dungeon rescu #Team A.C.T.#Pokemon Team A.C.T.#Pokemon Games

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detective-werewife · 4 years ago

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@nureyev-steel-institute brought up the idea of a Jupiter Tungsten/Juno Steel crossover on @straighttpp, and it was gonna plague me until I birthed some abomination on it. So there you go. Working title: Local trans lesbian beats the shit out of bigot detective.

@dont---just-dont i hope it satisfies your thirst for cursed materiał

CW: lgbtphobia, misoginy, general bigotry, violence, straight tpp

One thing I learned about the galaxy is that planets have wildly different cultures. I'm not just talking about geography, politics and art: entire sets of values and morals may vary from one place to the other. Sometimes you take your rights for granted, and you don't realize how privileged you are until real life smacks your face with the sobering reality that you've been sheltered your whole life. My name is Juno Steel, and as awful as Hyperion City is, at the very least I've never had to deal with... People like Jupiter Tungsten.

"You did what?!" Nureyev and I had the same scandalised expression on our face as the jagged man in front of us shrugged. It was uncanny how much he looked like me. Skin tone aside,and not considering the fact that he was almost as tall as Nureyev, it was like looking in a mirror.

"Yeah, Peter tried to seduce me, so I had to kill him. I have a reputation, what if he turned me into a homo?" His eyes darted to us, and he made a face like he had just bitten into a mustard-covered lemon. "Speaking of homos... Can you please stop holding hands? I'm not a homophobe, of course, it just makes me uncomfortable."

I tilted my head, squeezing Nureyev's hand tighter and getting noticeably closer to him. "Why the hell would you be afraid of homes?"

Nureyev surprised me by bursting into laughter. It wasn't joyful, more like the hysterical wheezing of a broken man.

"You've never been to the Outer Rim, love, have you? Homophobia means hating on queer people because they're queer."

Jupiter crossed his arms with a scowl. "Oh, so you can say it and it's no big deal, and when I say it, the pc police is at my fucking throat? That's bullshit. People can't even take a joke nowadays. You men can understand, right?"

I gritted my teeth and my indignation overrode the logical part in my brain telling me that maybe what I was about to say wasn't gonna be taken well by a homophone or whatever. "Actually, I'm a lady, thank you."

Jupiter widened his eyes and I could see the rusty gears in his brain frantically whirring to make sense of what I was saying. "Shit, so you have a vagina? But you don't look like a woman. At all."

I was about to kiss Nureyev on the lips simply out of spite and throw hands, when I felt a weight on my shoulder.

"Darling. Anything the matter?" Buddy eyed Jupiter up and down, with a puzzled expression. "Who's your friend?"

Jupiter grinned and stepped towards Buddy. "Barbara! Baby, did you miss me?"

Buddy tensed up, and surprise turned into cold disgust. "You must have mistaken me for someone else. My name is Buddy Aurinko, I'm the captain of this ship."

"Playing hard to get? I'm into that." Jupiter cackled, getting even closer. "A woman as a captain? That's funny, Babs."

It was only a moment: one second Jupiter was standing straight with a cocky grin on his face, the next he was doubled over, trying to make sense of the fact that Buddy Aurinko just punched him in the stomach. "OUCH! That's not hot at all! Men don't like violent women."

"You little-" I turned my head to see Vespa brandishing a knife, Jet's strong arms the only thing separating Jupiter from a violent, gruesome, and frankly deserved death. "Let me go! He insulted my wife!"

"Lesbians? Now that's hot! Any chance you two want to make out?"

Jet plucked the knife away from Vespa and released her into the wild. "He's all yours."

We collectively turned around as soon as we heard the first hit. None of us really wanted to give Jupiter privacy as he was violently beaten up, but we figured it was the least we could do.

"Mistah Steel? Are you okay?"

I shrugged. "Just shaken, I guess. I feel like I've seen a glimpse of a very dark timeline. I could use a drink." Behind us came the cathartic sound of kicks hitting ribs and whimpering pleas.

"Would ice cream do the trick?"

I looked at Jet. "You know what? Yes. Let's go for ice cream."

"No no no no no please don't-"

We couldn't resist turning around to the sight of blood trickling down the face of a very frightened man. None of us felt particularly sorry for him.

Vespa spat at him. "Transphobic piece of shit."

Jupeter widened his eyes in confusion and disgust. "Wait, you're a-"

He didn't finish his sentence. A well delivered blow to the head knocked him out and shut him up.

"Jet, darling, can you please throw this pathetic excuse of a man out of our ship? I need a Rocky Road."

As Jet picked up the unconscious man, Nureyev pulled me in for a kiss. "I really hope you won't kill me, just because I tried to seduce you." He smirked. "Your reputation and all."

I laughed. "I was a homo way before I met you. Now let's go, I'm hungry.

#lord forgive me for i have sinned #Releasing this thing into the wild like a feral Roomba #Straight tpp #the penumbra podcast #tpp #Jupiter Tungsten

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emachinescat · 4 years ago

Text

Does It Count as Eavesdropping if You’re Comatose?

A Psych Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 28 / alt. 3 - coma

Summary: They say people who are comatose can still hear what is going on around them. This is what Shawn heard.

Characters | Relationships: Shawn, Henry, Gus, Juliet, Madeline, Lassiter, Jack, Despereaux, Buzz, Woody, Chief Vick | Shawn/Juliet

Words: 3,898

TW: coma

Note: I really hope you enjoy this piece. It was one of the most emotionally taxing, cathartic, and fulfilling pieces I’ve written in a long time. I hope that comes across when you read it.

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Shawn?

Where’s the doctor? I need to speak to him. Busy, my ass! My son is in a coma. I get that you’re just doing your job. Just… find me someone who can give me an update. … Please.

Hey, bud. I, uh –

Shit.

Shawn, for the love of – what the hell did you think you were doing? Going off on your own like that, not telling anyone where you were going or what you were doing. You knew these people were dangerous, and you still… I know I taught you better than this.

Why, why do you never listen?

***

Hey, Shawn. Don’t think that just because you’re in a coma right now that we’re going to let this go. You’ve pulled some stupid-ass stunts in your time, but this … this takes the cake. And you know you’re supposed to share any cake you get with me. Fifty-fifty split.

We’re partners, Shawn. Why did you go in alone?

Well, all I have to say is that you better wake up soon. The doctors say they are cautiously optimistic that you’ll have a full recovery if you will just wake up. We’re all well aware that you are the laziest time-waster in Santa Barbara, but just this once, will you prove us wrong?

…

Please, Shawn. You’re my best friend. I … I can’t lose you. Just. Just come back, okay?

***

The doctors said that you might be able to hear what we say to you. In my experience, doctors always say that, but, I don’t know. It seems a little weird, don’t you think? I mean, the thought of you lying there, so still that you might be … you know. Anyway. To think that you could actually be hearing everything I’m saying right now is…

It’s actually a little bit embarrassing. Gosh, why do I always ramble like a moron when I’m nervous? This is worse than the movie theater, the first time I asked you out. Remember that? Now that was humiliating.

I know your dad and Gus have probably already given you enough lectures to fill up a novel, so I won’t yell at you for being an impulsive, stupid idiot. Not yet.

For now, Shawn – his hand is really cold; is that normal? Should I call the doctor? No? – just know that I love you, with all my heart.

And that if you don’t wake up soon, I’ll kill you myself.

***

Mr. Spencer.

Shawn.

I… I apologize for not coming to see you sooner. It’s no excuse, but we’ve been really busy. God knows how you did it, but you somehow managed to still get us the evidence we needed to take these guys down, even on death’s door. These monsters have been tormenting a lot of very good people for far too long, and until you… did what you did, our hands were tied.

I suppose what I am saying is thank you.

It was incredibly stupid, and I – we all – wish you had never done it, but… thank you.

Wake up soon. That’s an order.

Oh, hi, Henry – I was just stopping by for a moment. How are you holding up? Yes, I –

***

Hey, Goose.

I would have been here sooner, but I was stuck in New York. I was in for a conference, and my flight got delayed because of snow, but… but you don’t really want to hear about that, do you?

You look good, considering. From the way your father talked, I thought you’d be wasting away. But your color is good. You don’t have that gray pallor I’ve seen so often in those who have given up.

That means you’re still fighting. And that’s good.

If you’re wondering where your dad is, don’t worry. Juliet and Gus dragged him to the cafeteria for some actual food – or as close as you can get to real food in a hospital. Your father… That man, Shawn, I just don’t think you know how much he cares about you. Not that it’s your fault. Henry has never been good at showing how he feels.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I married him, so long ago. Maybe I thought I could fix him. But you can’t really fix people, can you, Goose? Not the way you’d like to.

The doctors are doing everything they can to fix you, Shawn. So don’t give up.

Oh, here comes your father –

He’s fine, Henry – did you eat something? Gus, did he actually eat something? What did he eat? Henry Spencer, coffee is not food! Good grief, I’ll be right back...

***

Oh, Guster! I… I didn’t know you would be here. I’ll just… I was in the wrong room, that’s all. Yeah, I was just visiting an old friend of the family. Who? None of your business, actually. Just a friend, who is not Spencer.

What do you mean, I should stay since I’m already here? Guster, I have important things to do, cases to solve, people to see! Well, I suppose… Just for a minute, do you understand me? This is ridiculous… Spencer butts his nose into my case, breaks the whole thing open, and damn near dies in the process…

Guster – where the hell are you going? You can’t leave me alone with Spencer! … What do you mean, talk to him? Are you insane? I don’t want to talk to him when he’s awake, why would I –?

You don’t have to shout. I’ll stay while you step out.

But I won’t talk to him.

…

Well, Spencer, this is a fine mess you’ve put yourself in.

I mean sweet justice, man, do you ever think about what you’re doing? About how it will affect other people? The people who love you?

Not me, of course. You know I could care less about you. But my partner, your girlfriend, for some unfathomable reason, has chosen to be with you. To like you for – man, this is hard to say – to like you for who you are. I mean, have you met you? That’s something that should never have happened, especially not after all the stupid stunts you’ve pulled over the years.

But it did. She… Juliet, she cares about you. A lot. If you could see just how much she’s hurting right now…

Spencer, I once told you that if you hurt my partner, I’d kill you. Well, you’ve gone and done it. But I’m a fair man. Well, I can be a fair man if given the right circumstances. Okay, fine, I’m not exactly fair, but I do care about Juliet, so I will give you an ultimatum: If you go ahead and wake up, if you put a smile back on her face, then I will let you live. But you’ve got to do it soon, got it? No lollygagging like you usually do. Just…

Guster! You cannot just sneak up on a man like that! No, I wasn’t talking to Shawn, don’t be ridiculous. I’m on the phone with someone … Bluetooth.

What? NO! My eyes are not “misty.” Good lord, man, not everyone is a crybaby like you. No, I’m not staying any longer! Dammit, Guster, I don’t care –

***

Hey, Shawnie!

Look, this is a little awkward, I know, especially since I haven’t really been in touch since the whole Buchard’s treasure incident, but when your father finally got ahold of me, I rushed right over. Bygones, and all that, am I right?

Anywho… I brought you a penny. I know it’s not much, but this one’s special. It’s a 1943 bronze Lincoln. One of the rarest out there. I’ve been holding onto it for a while, but I thought you could use a little luck. Well, a little more than a little, but…

Anyway, kiddo. I hate seeing you like this. I’m getting ready to go cliff diving in Peru, but I’ll be here with you in spirit, you got that? Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.

Or do. I guess if you’re doing something stupid, then you’re not sleeping anymore.

Damn it. I’m not good at this stuff.

See ya around, kid.

***

Hey, Shawn, my man! Long time, no see, huh? Do you mind if I eat something while we chat? Want a bite? It’s your favorite…

No? Well, more for me, I suppose.

Hmmmm… your color looks less gray than last week. Maybe the doctors are right, maybe you really are recovering, but… I don’t know. Gah, I really wish they’d let me take a crack at you – ah, I mean, examine you, just in case, but… Apparently “someone who spends all day with the dead isn’t the right person to diagnose a living person, blah blah blah.” Between you and me, friend, I think they’re hiding something from us. It’s a conspiracy. … Not like the Chief Vick is actually a time traveler conspiracy, mind you. A real one.

Ah, whatever. Whatever happens will happen, am I right, Shawn? I have to say, you’re excellent company today! I do miss your witty retorts, but you’ve got that comforting presence I’ve come to expect from my friends in the morgue. They only get chatty when I haven’t slept for four days straight.

Huh, you normally would’ve laughed at that.

Anyway, keep on keeping on! Whatever happens, whatever direction this thing ends up going, just know I’ve got your back. And if you don’t make it in this world, well… let’s just say I picked out the perfect body bag to carry you into the next. Spoiler alert: I embroidered this one myself!

Oh, and don’t forget! I’ve called dibs on your autopsy, should it come to that! Gosh, I can’t stop wondering if your heart really is going to be two sizes bigger than most. I know it’s scientifically improbable, but you just love so damn much…

Ah! Oh, Henry, you scared me! I was just – no, I don’t have the body bag. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to – well, you know. Little joke of the trade, hehe. You’re not laughing – Shawn would have.

Okay, okay, I’m getting out, I’m leaving! But if anything happens, you know that I – OW! Okay, okay, yeah, got it. Geez Louise, you’ve got a tight grip. Did you arm wrestle in high school?

***

Hey, Shawn. How’s it going?

I mean, you’re in a coma, so I imagine it’s not great, but… I dunno, maybe it is. Maybe it’s nice, wherever you’re at.

Say, I wonder if you’re in the place your psychic visions come from. When you wake up, do you think you’ll be even more psychic than before? That would be so cool…

Oh, Franny and Mrs. Pickles say hi. She wanted to bake you a pie – Franny, of course, not Mrs. Pickles, he’s a cat – but I told her you were on a feeding tube, so she made me a pie instead. It was blueberry. One of the best pies I’ve ever tasted. She told me to tell you that if, I mean when, you wake up, she’ll make you a pineapple upside down cake. A whole one, just for you.

You’ve just got to wake up first, Shawn.

I … I really hope you wake up soon. I miss seeing you around the station. Heh, I even think Lassiter’s missing you. He doesn’t say it so many words – or any words at all, for that matter – but he’s different. Angrier, and I wasn’t even sure that was possible! And he keeps glancing over at the front doors, like he’s expecting you to come waltzing in at any moment.

Or, I dunno, maybe he ordered a pizza, but I’m betting he’s missing you, deep down.

We’re all missing you. Get better soon, okay, buddy?

***

Well, kid. It’s been five weeks. You’ve always been a slowpoke in the mornings, but this is getting ridiculous.

I’m running out of things to talk about. Bet you’re not too broken up about that, huh? Never did like to listen to what your old man had to say. Still… you listened when it mattered. Sometimes.

I’m thinking about retiring again. Karen’s trying to convince me to stay. She says that she’s always got a place for me, that they may be bringing in a couple of temporary consultants in the next few weeks, to help lighten the caseload. There’s a criminal profiler, a young woman who really knows her stuff, but Karen’s been holding off on hiring her. Honestly, the girl’s good at what she does, but she doesn’t hold a candle to what you do.

Then again, she’s not an attention-seeking moron who runs head-first into danger without thinking of the consequences, but… she’s still not you.

Anyway, I told Karen I’d think about it, but I don’t know. I’m getting old, kid. I thought I wasn’t, I still felt pretty young, but recently… I don’t know. The world just has a little less color in it than I remembered, and that’s what growing old looks like, isn’t it?

If I retired, would you wake up? If you didn’t have me “hovering” over you all day at work, would you finally come back? I mean, I accepted the job in the first place to keep you safe, and that went to hell in a handbag. Maybe I’m not so good at that job, after all.

Anyway, kid, you need to get off your lazy ass and wake up.

Believe it or not, I’m really starting to miss hearing your voice.

I love ya, kid. And I want you back.

***

Shawn, you will not believe what came in the mail today!

Seriously, guess.

Come on…

Dang it. I really hoped that would get you curious enough to open your eyes.

Anyway… something really did come in the mail. Well, sort of. I found it on your desk in the Psych office when I came in to check on things. I’ve been advised that it might be a good idea to stop paying rent for an office I’m not using, but that feels like letting you go, like I’m giving up on you, and I’m not ready to do that. So I’m going to keep paying that bill, okay?

But as I was saying, this envelope was just sitting on your desk! Just your name on it, too. At first I thought you were finally getting your Hogwarts letter, because it’s in a really fancy envelope. It wasn’t, by the way. Damn, I’m really rambling today. Sorry. I’m just … tired. But I wanted to read you this letter before I head out to see a few more clients. Here we go:

Dear Shawn,

It has come to my attention that you have been gravely injured and are in a coma in Santa Barbara Hospital. My contact has informed me that you’ve been in this state for nearly two months now. I am devastated to hear about this, and hope that by the time this letter finds you, you have awoken and are back to your normal self. If not, then I can only hope that your friend Mr. Guster will be kind enough to read you this letter.

I regret that I was unable to visit you myself, but as I am currently wanted in no less than four countries, I thought it best to stay away from any place that is crawling with police officers. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but between your lovely lady friend and her grumpy assistant, along with all of your other friends at the SBPD, you have an officer of the peace in your hospital room nearly around the clock. And I know what you’re thinking – I made my name sneaking in and out of impenetrable places. You would be right. Perhaps I cannot face seeing you in such a terrible way with my own eyes.

You must recover soon! I stole a lovely Van Gogh in your honor, but there was no way I could have mailed it to you without its being confiscated by the authorities. I do think of you every time I see it upon my mantle.

Sincerely,

Pierre Despereaux, Gentleman & Art Thief

Did you hear that, Shawn? Your iffy role model Despereaux is even worried about you. I know that you would – for some reason – do anything to make that man proud. So what do you say? You ready to wake up yet?

…

Dammit, Shawn. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

***

Hey, there, Goose.

I know it’s been a while since I’ve visited, but I’m actually on a conference tour right now, and your father is keeping me up to date on all developments. You look nice today – your father just gave you a shave, and though it’s not the most even of cuts, it makes you look more like yourself.

So, your father called me yesterday in near hysterics. He said that you had shown the first signs of waking – when your nurse took your blood, you pulled away. For the first time since all this started, you reacted to something in your surroundings. Of course, I flew right in.

You haven’t responded to anything since, though. Shawn, I –

You know I love you, right? I realize that I’ve never been the best at this sort of thing – at being a mother. I know I didn’t always make the right decisions. Even now, I…

I miss you, son. If you can hear me at all – and I know that you can – please, please, just… whatever is trapping you in your own mind, whether it is fear or trauma or pain or … please, just. Come back to us. I –

Oh, Henry, when did you get back? No, you don’t have to leave, I – No, no, I’m fine, I told you I’m fine, I –

– It’s all right, Maddie. I’ve got you. You don’t always have to be strong, you know. –

***

Okay, Shawn, I know I normally try to keep things light and positive, but I don’t think I have it in me to do that today. I’m sorry, I just…

Today sucked, you know? Like, really sucked. Well, if I’m being honest, the past seven months have sucked. But today was extra special.

I won’t burden you with all of the details, but work was difficult today. Lassiter and I got assigned a tough case, and, well, it didn’t end up the way we’d hoped. Long story short, we uncovered a dirty cop. It was, um… do you remember Lawson? He worked in narcotics. Turns out he’s done some things … hurt some people. He wasn’t always accountable out in the field, and some things came to light. Anyway. It’s a mess.

And then there’s this whole thing with you. I just … every time it looks like you’re making improvements, you just … you just retreat back into yourself, and I feel like I’m losing you more every day. I promised you when this all started, on day one, that I would wait for you, that I would be patient, and I’m trying, but…

It’s not that I want to leave you or anything. Not at all. My patience is just wearing thin, and I can’t sleep and night and every day I wake up terrified to look at my phone, because what if I have a message that you’ve woken up, but that you don’t remember me at all? Or worse, what if I get a message that you’ll never wake up again?

Our bed feels empty. I sleep with Mr. Snuggles every night, though – do you remember Mr. Snuggles, you know, the bear you won me at the fair when we started dating? He’s soft, but he’s wearing a bit thin. I guess holding a stuffed animal like it’s a lifeline every night for over half a year will do that, but I’m afraid he’s going to break soon.

I think…

I think I’m already broken, Shawn, and I can’t –

I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to… I just miss you.

Did you know that I kiss you every night before I leave? Nothing fancy, just a single, light kiss on the lips. Sometimes I pretend that you’re the damsel in distress and I’m Prince Charming, and I almost manage to convince myself that when I pull back, your eyes will be fluttering open to look at me, like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. But every time, you stay asleep.

Maybe this time, you’ll wake up. Can you do it for me, baby? Please?

…

Well, it was worth a try. I miss the way you used to kiss me back. I’ll try again tomorrow.

I’ll never stop trying.

I love you, Shawn.

***

I just don’t get it, Mr. Spencer. The doctors say he’s recovered from his injuries almost perfectly. Even the head injury, on the surface, has healed. Why isn’t he waking up? It’s been eleven months!

If I knew, Gus, I’d be the first to tell you, but I have no idea what’s going on inside that thick head of his.

I’m sorry. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, too. I shouldn’t be –

Gus. Just like I told Jules, we have to be here for each other. That’s all we can do. That, and be here for Shawn when he wakes up.

If he wakes up.

Don’t say that, Gus. You know Shawn. He’s the most stubborn person either of us knows. He’ll wake up. He’ll make it through this.

How long are we going to keep telling ourselves that? He’s been comatose for almost a year, Mr. Spencer. Every time he shows signs of coming back, he just… doesn’t. How long do we keep waiting? Two years? Five? How long until we’ve reached the point of no return? Will we even know it when we see it?

Gus, the point of no return doesn’t happen until he stops breathing, and that’s not going to happen, okay? We stick by Shawn until our prayers are answered or are no longer necessary. Got it?

You’re right, I’m so sorry. Of course I’d never give up on Shawn, I’m just so tired –

Shhhh!

I am pouring my heart out here! I let you cry on my shoulder yesterday, and you won’t even let me –

First off, I wasn’t crying, and even if it was, I wouldn’t be doing it on your shoulder. Secondly, I could have sworn I saw – yes! He’s moving! Do you see his hand, Gus? Gus!

I … I dunno Mr. Spencer. Could be another false alarm.

Maybe, but… this feels different. Shawn? Shawn? Can you hear me, bud? Can you open your eyes?

He’s stopped moving. His heart rate’s normalizing. I think –

“D-dad?”

Oh my – thank GOD, Gus, get a doctor, get a nurse – call Jules – Shawn, Shawn, can you hear me?

“Dad?”

I’m here, Shawn, I’m here. Open your eyes for me – there you go. Gus has gone to get the nurse. He’ll be back with someone in a second.

“Jules?”

She’ll be here, she’s just outside. Thank God you’re awake, I –

“I h-heard, Dad.”

What?

“I heard. Everything.”

You did, huh?

“Yeah… do you a-always sound like a dying lawn mower when you cry?”

Dammit, Shawn, can’t you let me enjoy having you back for one second before you ruin it?

“L-love you, too, Dad.”

…

Welcome back, son. It’s good to see you smile again.

“Yeah, you too, dad – weird… But good.”

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years ago

Text

Déjà Vu (Or are we losing our minds?) VII -Modern!Shirbert

A/N: Based on that one tumblr post that I lost but I hold dearly in my heart -Danny

Words: 1,408

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Seven: Blythe's Flowers.

It's been very rare to have known you,

very strange and wonderful.

-F. Scott Fitzgerald.

“Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen!” Gilbert said as soon as he opened the door. “Hope you had a great night– Winter won’t defeat us, guys!” He dropped his bag behind the counter and put on his apron, ready to start the day.

It was then that an extremely cute, disheveled woman, barged into his flower shop and yelled:

“I need to say ‘fuck you’ in the most lavish way possible,” She slammed fifty bucks on the counter. “Make the most offensive bouquet you can think of.”

___________________

Done was an understatement. Anne was sick of this push and pull situation with her exboyfriend.

He’d lied, cheated, and then played the victim part all too well for his own good, and she was about to pluck it all out. She had the screenshots, she had the love letters that were filled with lies. She had everything, and she only needed to add the cherry on top.

“Um- Hi,” The man behind the counter said clumsily. “I- uh, I… did you just say you want to give someone an offensive bouquet?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” She said defensively. “I’m not the bitch in this story! He had it coming for months!”

“Alright, okay,” He raised his hands. “None of my business…”

The man looked around the shop like he had no idea where to start.

“Uhh… Oh! Okay so, did he cheat?”

“Excuse me?” Anne blinked.

“Well, I have foxglove over here…” He walked around the counter to show her the pinkish flowers. “They're all about insincerity… I guess it doesn’t need to be about cheating…”

“Oh but he did!” Anne growled, looking at the flowers as if they were making fun of her. “For five fucking months! Can you believe it?”

The poor guy stepped back at her outburst, raising his eyebrows in slight panic and grabbing a bunch.

“Okay, foxglove it is…” He mumbled. “I also have geraniums, but I consider their looks a bit too friendly for this situation, though they represent stupidity in some cases…”

“Stupidity fits nicely in my bouquet,” She sentenced.

“Sunflowers are perfect for this!” The man said, excited about finally getting a hold of the situation. “False and haughty people...”

“I thought I was the only flower-nerd in town,” Anne couldn’t help a little smirk to show up at the man’s eagerness. “Of course, that was a silly thought considering you own a flower shop.”

“If you’re gonna do something, you better do it thoroughly, right?” He shrugged, picking more flowers as he walked back to the counter.

“Yes,” She agreed. “Where does one learn so much about flowers and their meaning, though?”

He stopped for a second and looked at her like he’d never been asked that question before.

“I…” He frowned. “Huh, well… books?”

“That makes sense,” Anne grinned. “Flowers are one of the most beautiful creations on earth, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” He nodded. “They’re fresh, vibrant, and they smell good!”

“They feed the bees!”

“They feed me,” He snorted, grabbing a sunflower and talking to it. “Thank you for that, Madame.”

Anne beamed at the sight. ‘What a dork’ she thought.

She shook her head then. No! She was there because a man had broken her heart, she wasn’t going to allow another man to have his way with her so soon after Roy. Not today, Satan.

___________________

Did he seriously talk to a flower in front of the pretty costumer?

Yes, and he would be cringing about it for the rest of his life.

“So,” He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. “This guy… is he an exboyfriend?”

The woman stood in silence for about ten seconds. He was about to apologize and say it was clearly none of his business when she let out a scoff.

“I mean, yes. Obviously,” She stated. “I wouldn’t be buying a bouquet that says fuck you to my father.”

“Well, some people have shitty parents, and sometimes saying ‘fuck you’ to their faces only makes things worse, so...”

“My father is lovely,” Her voiced softened. “But I do get your point… I guess that if you have a knack for theatricality, insulting your parents without them knowing must be cathartic.”

“I agree, though my dad was also great,” He smiled, then looked down at the bouquet he was making. “This guy, however…”

“Roy,” She sneered. “He’s a twat.”

“I see,” Gilbert eyed her carefully. “I’m sorry if I’m being too snoopy, but why are you paying for this when you could just delete his number and keep going?”

“Because he’ll propose to one of my college friends today,” She had that dangerous glint back in her eyes. “And I’m about to give her the best engagement gift she could’ve asked for.”

“Oh,” Gilbert tilted his head. “Was she… uh, the one that..?”

“I don’t know,” The girl brushed it off like that really wasn’t her priority. “For all I know, he’s been sleeping with different girls while dating me, so she could very well be one.”

“Ugh,” Gilbert grimaced. “that’s exactly how you get syphilis…”

“Right!?” She replied heatedly. “I went to the doctor as soon as I found out, he’s so gross! Luckily I was fine, but I hope he gets rabies.”

Gilbert let out a childish laugh.

“That’s not an STD,” He replied stupidly.

Seriously, just kill me already, Gilbert begged silently, but she smiled.

“A girl can dream…”

“Well, all done,” He said after two minutes of carefully mingling the flowers.

She examined the bouquet, an astonished smile on her face.

“It’s amazing! If I didn’t know what it meant I’d say it’s beautiful...”

“Anger can be pretty too,” He replied simply, the image of her sudden intrusion and her frown in his mind.

“You’re right,” She grinned, then rummaged through her pockets. “How much, then?”

“Oh no,” Gilbert frowned, lifting a hand. “Just take it.”

___________________

“W-What?” Anne blinked in surprised.

“I won’t stand here and watch you pay for this,” His eyebrows were scrunched down, but his mouth was slightly turning into an amused grin. “It’d be rude.”

“Rude?” She let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s your job!”

“It’s for your exboyfriend,” He replied. “I won’t let you spend money on a person that sounds like trash!”

“I can’t accept it for free!” Anne rolled her eyes. “I’ll have my gratification later, when Lauren finds out what an absolute ass her fiance is!”

“Wait, what?” The man tilted his head. “Didn’t you say he was going to propose today?”

“Well yeah, but it’s not exactly a surprise, they’re making a whole lunch date to make it official–” She shook her head, realizing how surreal it was to share all this private information with a stranger. “Listen- uh, What’s your name?”

He was about to reply when a second costumer entered, distracting him from the chat.

“Hello,” She watched as he straighten his posture and smiled warmly at the person. “I’ll be with you in a second,” then he turned back to her. “Listen, whatever you’re doing, I hope you don’t hurt the girl too much, she’s not to blame–”

“I know that!” Anne replied in slight outrage. “I’m not making this to rub it on her face, I’m trying to make her see he’s not what she thinks he is!”

“Okay, fine!” He whispered back in the same tone, raising his hands in defeat. “Just making sure…”

“Here,” She tried to shove the fifty bucks on his hand. “Please, just take the money.”

“I won’t,” He chuckled, softly pushing her hand away along with the bill. “Tell you what, don’t pay me in cash. But please, do come back after you’ve done your whole romantical heist to tell me how’d it go, you can’t leave me like this.”

His eyebrows then raised in expectation, a pleading smile on his face as he patiently waited for her reply.

“I…” Anne hesitated, then bravely offered, “only if you let me buy you lunch so we can talk about it during your break- if you have a break, I mean, I don’t see anyone else working here…”

His eyes shone at the mention of a shared lunch, wich she found endearing.

“See you later, then,” She mumbled, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about her offering. She grabbed the flowers and stopped once more. “Oh! Sorry, I almost forgot- what was your name, then?”

He smiled widely, extending one hand for her to shake before leaving.

“Gilbert.”

Taglist.

@ninizkd @http-itsrebecca @fuckthisshitimoutyall @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @little-boats-on-a-lake

#twoidiots writing #anne with an e fanfic #anne with an e #anne shirley x gilbert blythe #anne shirley cuthbert #Gilbert Blythe #DV fic #shirbert #shirbert fanfic #awae

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gascon-en-exil · 4 years ago

Text

A Game of Thrones 10th Anniversary Season Ranking: Part 2

Link to Part 1

Time for the bottom half of the list. The four seasons here will surprise no one, but the order might.

#5 Season 6

You can tell what I most what to talk about here...but there's an order to these things.

S6 actually has a bunch of great ideas, but they drown beneath the most slapdash plotting and character work the show has seen yet in order to set the stage for the narrower conflicts of the last two seasons. It's notorious for bringing back characters who haven't been seen in a season or longer only to kill them off (Balon Greyjoy, Osha, Hodor, the Blackfish, Rickon, Walder Frey) or awkwardly graft them back into the main plot (Sandor Clegane, Bran). There are plot threads that ought to be compelling but are too rushed in execution, like the siege of Riverrun, Littlefinger's hand in the Battle of the Bastards, or Daenerys's time back among the Dothraki and then finally getting the hell out of Meereen. Arya hits on the only interesting part of her two-season sojourn in Braavos - a stage play, of all things - only for it to stumble at the end with a disappointing offscreen death and some incomprehensible philosophy ahead of the start of her murder tour of Westeros. There's also so much cutting off the branches, enough to be conspicuous; the final shot of Daenerys leading an armada of about half the remaining cast she assembled partially offscreen says that better than anything else. Well, not anything....

Highlight: Without exaggeration, the opening of S6E10 is easily my favorite sequence in all of GoT. The staging, the music, the mounting suspense even as it becomes increasingly obvious what's about to happen, the twisted religious references particularly in Cersei's mock confession to Unella, Tommen throwing himself out a window because he can't deal with the reality of how terrible his mother is, how Cersei gives absolutely no fucks whatsoever about murdering hundreds of people at once in a calculated act of vengeance largely prompted by her own poorly thought out actions - I love it all. It's the single most masterfully-executed act of villainy in the whole show - Daenerys torching King's Landing probably has a higher body count, but the presentation there is all muddled - and if I had any doubts about Cersei being my favorite multi-season major character they were silenced in this moment. The explosion of the Sept doesn't sit perfectly with me, because I liked the Tyrells and because of what I said about deaths like theirs and Renly's in the previous post under S2, but I think that unease only cements the strength of this sequence. It's an overused phrase in fandom these days, but GoT at its best is all about moral greyness that gives its audience room for multilayered reactions. Cersei nuking the Sept and making herself the sole power in King's Landing, which in a sense is just a more overt example of the kind of character/plot consolidation elsewhere represented by Daenerys's armada, is one of those events that's impossible to approach from a single angle if you care about any of the characters involved. And hey, it's not in the books (yet, presumably), so unlike Ned's death or the Red Wedding the GoT showrunners can take the credit for realizing this one.

Favorite death: Even leaving aside the Sept and related deaths there's a lot of good ones to choose from in S6. Ramsey is cathartic but too gory for me, Osha's was a clever callback but a little delayed, it's hard to pin down specific deaths when Daenerys incinerates the khals, and Arya only gets half credit for Walder Frey and his sons when she saves the rest of the house for the opening of S7. I'm thinking Hodor, not so much because I enjoy his character or the manner of his death but because it's a clever bit of playing with language (that must have been hell to render in other languages for dubbing) wrapped up in some entertainingly murky consent issues and some closed time loop weirdness. It's all very...extra? Is that the word for it?

Least favorite death: Offscreen deaths continue to be mostly letdowns, in this case Blackfish and the Waif. Way to botch the ending of Arya's already near-pointless Braavos arc, guys. Speaking of Arya, this spot goes to Lady Crane, whom the Waif somehow kills with a stool or something. It's a dumb way to send off an entertaining minor character.

#6 Season 8

I swear that I'm not putting S8 this high solely because of Jonmund kind of sort of happening. I've never been very interested in either of them and the sex would be far too bear-on-otter to suit my pornographic preferences, but even so the choice to close out the series with them is hilarious.

I really don't need to elaborate on why S8 is down here; everyone who's ever watched the show has done as much in the nearly two years since it wrapped up. I do however need to explain why I've ranked not one but two seasons below it. My biggest argument here is that I don't believe it's fair to critique S8 for problems it inherited from earlier seasons. A non-comprehensive list:

Mad Queen Daenerys: unevenly built up beginning from S1 and continuing in some form through every following season

The questionable racial optics of Dany's army: also seeded as early as S1 and solidified by S3 with the Slaver's Bay arc

Cersei only succeeding because she makes stupid decisions and then lucks out until she doesn't: apparent from S1, directly lampshaded by Tywin in S3, fully on display with the Faith Militant arc of S5-6

Jaime not getting a redemption arc or falling in love with Brienne: evident with his repeated returns to Cersei throughout the show as one of the most consistent elements of his character, particularly in S4 and during the siege of Riverrun in S6

Tyrion grabbing the idiot ball/becoming a flat audience surrogate mouthpiece: started in S5 around the time the showrunners ran out of book material for him and wanted to make him more of a PoV character and his arc less of a downward spiral, although I've seen arguments that changes from the books involving his Tysha story and Shae set him on this trajectory even earlier

The hardening of Sansa's character: began in earnest in S4 and never let up from there

The strange ordering of antagonists: set down by S7's equally strange plot structure - the Night King had to come first with that setup

CleganeBowl and the dumber twists: from what I've heard the whole thing of writing around fans on the internet guessing plot twists started pretty much when the book content ended, so S5-6 maybe?

Yes, there's plenty to criticize about S8 on its own merits...but just as much that was merely the writers doing what they could at that point with deeply flawed material.

Highlight: This may sound cheesy, but the better parts of S8 are almost all the cinematic ones, whether that's E2 being a bottle episode with tons of poignant character send-offs before the big battle, a handful of deaths with actual satisfying weight like Jorah's and Theon's, and an epilogue that incorporates both closure for individuals and the broader uncertainty of messy socio-political systems that GoT has always been known for before working its way back to the Starks at the very end for some tidy bookending. Even imperfect moments like the Lannister twins' death and the resolution of Sansa's character felt weighty and appropriate based on what had come before.

Favorite death: Forget about the audio commentary attempting to flatten Cersei's character; Cersei and Jaime Lannister have an excellent end. Cersei especially, as the scenes of her stumbling her way down into the catacombs as the Red Keep crashes down around her really show off how her world is abruptly falling apart and how she retreats into her own self-interest at the end in spite of her demise being at least partially of her own doing. There's some stupid moments associated with these scenes, like Jaime dueling Euron to the death and CleganeBowl, but I can excuse those when the twins end up dying exactly where you'd expect them to: in each other's arms, in a ruined monument to their family's grand ambitions that, like Casterly Rock itself, was taken from another family.

Least favorite death: Quite a few dumb ones in S8 have become forever infamous. Missandei sticks out, and for me Varys too just as much because of how the writing pushes him to do the dumbest thing he could possibly do purely for the sake of killing him off ten minutes into the penultimate episode. But no one belongs here more than Daenerys Targaryen, killed at the height of a rushed and uncertain villain reveal by a man who takes advantage of their romantic history (who is also her family, because Targaryens) to stab her in a moment of vulnerability - pretty much only because another man tells him that Daenerys is the final boss. Narratively speaking that might be the case, but even so this is the end result of multiple seasons of middling-to-bad buildup. Not even Drogon burning the symbolism can salvage that. Also Fire Emblem: Three Houses did this scene and did it better.

#7 Season 5

...Yeah, we're going to have to go there.

Sansa's rape is not a plot point that personally touches me much. It's terribly framed in the moment and the followup in later seasons is inconsistent at best, but it's not a kind of trauma I can relate to. On the other hand, in the very same episode Loras is tried and imprisoned for homosexuality, and Margery faces the same punishment for lying for her brother. That hits much closer to home, not just for the homophobia but also for the culture war undertones of the not!French Tyrells persecuted by a not!Anglo fanatic who later reveals himself to be the in-universe equivalent of a Protestant. The trial is just one part of Cersei's shortsighted scheming, just as Sansa being married off to Ramsey is part of Littlefinger's, and both of them get their comeuppance in the end...but it's unsettling all the same. I especially hate what the Faith Militant arc does to King's Landing in S5, swiftly converting it from my favorite setting in GoT to a tense theocratic nightmare that only remains interesting to me because Cersei is consistently awesome. What's more, pretty much everything about S5 that isn't viscerally uncomfortable is dragged out and dull instead: the Dorne arc, Daenerys's second season in Meereen, Arya in Braavos, Stannis and co. at Castle Black. The most any of these storylines can hope for is some kind of bombastic finale, and while several of them deliver it's not enough to make up for what comes before, or how disappointing everything here builds from S4. S4 has Oberyn, S5 has the Sand Snakes - I think that sums up the contrast well.

Highlight: S5 does get stronger near the end. As much as his character annoys me I did like the High Sparrow revealing his pseudo-Protestant bent to Cersei just before he imprisons her, and there's a cathartic rawness to Cersei's walk of atonement where you can both feel her pain and humiliation and understand that she's getting exactly what she deserves (and this is what leads into the climax of S6, so it deserves points just for that). The swiftness of Stannis's fall renders his death and that of his family a bit hollow, but it's brutal and final and fittingly ignominious for a character with such grand ambitions but so little relevance to the larger story. The fighting pits of Meereen sequence is cinematic if nothing else, and even the resolution to the Dorne arc salvages the whole thing a tiny bit by playing into the retributive cycles of vengeance idea (and Myrcella knows about the twincest and doesn't care, aww - no idea why that stuck with me, but it's cute all the same). Oh, and Hardhome...it's alright. Not great, not crap, but alright.

Favorite death: I don't know why, but Theon tossing Myranda to her death is always funny to me. Maybe because it's so unexpected?

Least favorite death: Arya's execution of Meryn Trant is meant to be another one of the season's big finale moments, but the scene is graphic and goes on forever and I can't help but be grossed out. This is different from, say, Shireen's death, which is supposed to be painful to witness.

#8 Season 7

I can't tell if S7's low ranking is as self-explanatory as S8's or not. At least one recent retrospective on GoT's ruined legacy I've come across outright asserts that S7 is judged less harshly in light of how bad S8 was. If it were not immediately obvious by where I've placed each of them, I don't share that opinion.

Because S7 is just a mess, and the drop-off in quality is so much more painful here than it is anywhere else in the series except maybe from S4 to S5 (and that's more about S4 being as good as it is). The pacing ramps up to uncomfortable levels to match the shortened seasons, the structure pivots awkwardly halfway through from Daenerys vs. Cersei to Jon/Dany caring about ice zombies, said pivot relies largely on characters (mostly Tyrion) making a series of catastrophically stupid tactical decisions, and very few of the smaller set pieces land with any real impact as the show's focus narrows to its endgame conflict. As with S6 there are still some good ideas, but they're botched in execution. The conflict between Sansa and Arya matches their characters, but the leadup to that conflict ending with Littlefinger's execution is missing some key steps. Daenerys's diverse armada pitted against Cersei weaponizing the xenophobia of the people of King's Landing could have been interesting, but there's little room to explore that when Cersei keeps winning only because Tyrion has such a firm grip on the idiot ball and when Euron gets so much screentime he barely warrants. Speaking of Tyrion's idiot ball, does anyone like the heist film-esque ice zombie retrieval plotline? Its stupidity is matched only by its utter futility, because Cersei isn't trustworthy and nobody seems to ever get that.

And how could I forget Sam's shit montage? Sums up S7 perfectly, really. To think that that is part of the only extended length of time the show ever spends in the Reach....

Highlight: A handful of character moments save this season from being irredeemable garbage. As you can guess from my screencap choice, Olenna's final scene is one of them, even if Highgarden itself is given insultingly short shrift. S7 also manages what I thought was previously impossible in that it makes me care somewhat about Ellaria Sand, courtesy of the awful death Cersei plans for her and her remaining daughter. The other Sand Snakes are killed with their own weapons, which shows off Euron's demented creativity if nothing else. I like the entertainingly twisted choice to cut the Jon/Dany sex scene with the reveal that they're related. And, uh...the Jonmund ship tease kind of makes the zombie retrieval team bearable? I'm really grasping at straws here.

Favorite death: It's more about her final dialogue with Jaime than her actual death, but again I'm going to have to highlight Olenna Tyrell here for lack of better options. She drops the bombshell about Joffrey that the audience figured out almost as soon as it happened but still, makes it plain what I've been saying about how Jaime's arc has never really been about redemption, and is just about the only person to ever call Cersei out for that whole mass murder thing. There's a reason "I want her to know it was me" became a meme format.

Least favorite death: There aren't any glaringly bad deaths in S7, just mediocre or unremarkable ones. I still think the decision to have Arya finish off House Frey in the season's opening rather than along with their father at the end of S6 was a strange one that doesn't add much of dramatic value.

#Game of Thrones #GoT

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nonasuch · 5 years ago

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also i wrote another 1500 words of ben solo vs. the darkest timeline and I have no chill and no patience so here you go:

The recruiting campaign started slow and quiet, taking them through parts of the Inner Rim that had never wavered from the Republic. Ma wanted to build a support base that could muster troops and amass supplies on their own steam, and without drawing too much of the First Order’s notice. Ben knew that was how Ma liked to work: tell her people what was needed, and trust them to do it right.

The First Order didn’t work that way, of course. There were reports already of worlds stripped bare for metals and water, shipyards driven to their limit, whole populations pressed into service. It was mostly vague, though, mostly broad strokes. Not much news of their internal politics ever made it to the free parts of the galaxy, and what there was came mostly from a small-but-steady trickle of low-level defectors.

Apparently the new Supreme Leader wasn’t big on having his praises sung, at least compared to Snoke.

Ben wasn’t the one who suggested Naboo; that was Connix, who was shrewder about politics in his own universe, too. “It’s time for a statement,” she said. “They know we’re building up forces, so let’s show we’re not afraid to do it in public.”

Ma didn’t like it, Ben knew. She always felt a little guilty about recruiting from Naboo. Ben had never agreed with her about that. Sure, they were towards the pacifist end of things, historically, but it was a wealthy planet that could afford to help, and didn’t need much convincing. They had a weird mix of guilt and pride, there, that came from producing both the old Emperor and the mother of the Rebellion, and there had always been plenty of Naboo recruits in the Rebellion and the Resistance.

She agreed to it, eventually. They took the Falcon, and about half of the little convoy they’d managed to build up so far: not really a fleet, yet, but on its way there.

“While we’re there,” Ben said, “are we visiting Grandma?”

Ma gave him a sharp look. “I haven’t done that in years,” she said. “But if you want to.”

She couldn’t make time for it right away. They had a bunch of audiences with the current queen and the ruling council, which meant a lot of very formal dinners that Ben was thankful to be excused from. Apparently they were impressed by Rey and found Finn and Rose just terribly inspiring. Nobody mangled their pronunciations enough to upset the Gungan councilors. When Ben went walking in the lower city, there were a lot of people agreeing with each other that something had to be done, that Naboo had never turned its back on the free galaxy before and they weren’t about to start now.

After a few days of that, Ma could take an afternoon off to visit the tombs of Naboo’s queens.

Ben’s grandmother had a mausoleum that was almost half again as big as any of the others, a florid pile of early-Empire excess. It was, frankly, pretty ugly from the outside, but one of the first queens under the New Republic had ordered all of the Imperial symbols and regalia stripped out, and the result on the inside was spare and clean and peaceful.

The lid of the sarcophagus was carved to look like Padmé lying there atop it, eyes closed, hair fanned out around her face, hands resting on her round belly. When he was a kid, Ben had studied her, looking for a resemblance; he could see it in Ma, but not really in himself. Now Ma was so much older than her mother had ever been, with lines on her face that Ben couldn’t imagine in the smooth, serene marble.

At the foot of the tomb there was a brass-colored bowl, with a blue flame burning forever in it. Ma knelt down in front of it, and Ben knelt down beside Ma. He watched her unpin her hair, pluck a few strands free, and coil it back up again. Ben yanked out a couple of his own -- he hadn’t cut his hair yet in this universe, and he probably needed to -- and handed them to Ma.

She wound them up into a little knot, and dropped it into the blue flame, and lit a stick of incense to cover up the burnt-hair smell. “There,” Ma said. She brushed a bit of incense off her hands, let Ben brace her as she stood. Ben had done this with her a dozen or so times, and she never wanted to stay any longer than she had to.

But there was something Ben wanted to try. It had only ever worked the once, at home, but -- Ben had a feeling. “I’m going to stick around,” he said.

“If you like,” Ma said.

Alone, Ben sat down on the floor again, his back to the tomb, and listened to the Force. It was calm here, with hardly any living sentients nearby. There had been a time, once, when people came here to heap the floor with offerings of flowers and fruit, to spill out their grief and anger at what had been lost to the Empire. But that was long ago, and the Force had long since carried all of that emotion away. Ben could just pick up the echoes, if he tried, but they weren’t what he was looking for.

You don’t belong here, said a voice.

Ben opened his eyes. “Hi, Grandpa.”

You know I’m not really your grandfather, said Anakin Skywalker. For one thing, my grandson hasn’t listened to me for years.

“I know,” said Ben. “I’m sorry about that. Things turned out -- better, for me.”

Yes, said Anakin. He looked like the man he’d been before his Fall. Younger than Ben, except around the eyes. The Force is always bigger than we expect it to be, isn’t it? Turns out there’s enough room for everything to happen, somewhere.

“Yeah, I was surprised about that, too,” said Ben, as dry as he could make it. He didn’t get a laugh, but the corner of his grandfather’s mouth ticked up, just a little.

So, grandson who listens to me, what do you want to know?

Ben shrugged. He had his big heart-to-heart with his own version of Anakin already, and it had been weird and cathartic and nothing Ben ever wanted to repeat. “I was hoping -- do you know how I get home? Or even how to just, I don’t know, send a message, tell them I’m all right.”

But Anakin shook his head. Sorry, kid. For a moment he flickered, blurring into the way he’d looked at the end of his life, bald and scarred. There are paths in the Force to everything that’s ever happened, or could happen. But I’ve been dead for a long time. If I left this universe I don’t think I’d find my way back. And if I were going to go -- nothing against your universe, but there are other ones I’d look for.

“That’s fair,” said Ben. He could imagine the kind of universe Anakin would look for. Maybe one where, if there was still a tomb here at all, the effigy on the lid was a woman with more lines on her face than her daughter. How big a change would that universe need, to exist? As far as Ben knew, the only thing separating Ben’s universe from this one was that he hadn’t lost his shit at Luke and burned down the Temple.

Was there a choice some other Anakin made, or didn’t make, that sent his whole galaxy down a brighter path? Which one was it?

“Do you know what he did, that I didn’t?” Ben asked. “I mean, besides the obvious. Why he did -- that -- instead of anything else he could have done.”

I think you’d have to ask him yourself, Anakin said.

“If we’re ever in the same star system, I’m going to be too busy trying to fucking kill him,” said Ben. “So if you’ve got any suggestions for how to stop wanting to do that, I’m all ears.”

I’m definitely the wrong person to ask about that, said Anakin. I think you might actually be this galaxy’s leading expert in not falling to the Dark Side.

“No,” said Ben. “Ma has more practice.”

Yeah, but you were pushed harder.

“Tied for first, maybe,” Ben allowed.

Sure. If you like. Anakin pushed up off the floor -- Ben noticed that, standing, his blue, semitransparent feet floated about a half-inch above it -- and said, I wish there was more I could tell you. But he’s been closed off to me for a long, long time.

“I get it,” Ben said. Which wasn’t exactly true, because Force ghosts never made any fucking sense, not really. But he knew that this wasn’t where his answers would come from. “So, uh. Should I go, or…?”

Leia’s waiting for you, Anakin said. He reached out to the tomb, his spectral hand floating a half-inch from the peaceful, unlined marble face. It’s okay. I’m going to stay for a while. May the Force be with you, Ben.

“Thanks,” said Ben. He left his grandparents to their rest.

#i have already written the ending and i think i know what goes in the bits between this and that now!#wish me luck with. yknow. actually writing it #ben solo vs. the darkest timeline #star wars #i wrote a thing

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unicyclehippo · 5 years ago

Note

In the last Talks, Laura said she hadn't checked in about the Gentleman and his people trafficking deal, if he was still doing it. What if Beau figured out he was doing it still and confronted him so he wouldn't disappoint Jester?

the gentleman is entertaining at his table when the drifting waiter makes their way over with a new glass of wine and a brief, whispered word into his ear. the gentleman arches a brow at whatever is said, drags a thoughtful finger over his goatee.

[[MORE]]

‘gentlemen,’ he interrupts the conversation with the word, smiles winning around at his amassed guests. ‘if you’d excuse me for a moment?’

‘they might, aye, but what about the ladies?’ the dwarven lady—impressively muscled, impressively bearded—tosses a wink his way and smiles a toothy smile. ‘ah’m only kiddin’. we want ye to scarper—yer the only one we cannae take for all he’s worth.’

the gentleman laughs, quite genuinely. he stands, spreads his hands in a warm, welcoming fashion. ‘guests, i shall return shortly. until then—drink, dine...and gentlemen—do lose well.’

the sound of laughter follows him up the stone staircase that wraps around to the second storey of his den. it isn’t until he steps into his study that he allows his smile to fall away and the invisible form of his informant reveals themself, stepping up to his side.

‘through here? how did they—teleportation?’

‘doesn’t look like it. looks like they came through the tunnels.’

‘one of ours, then, to know the way in.’

‘not...exactly.’ under the gentleman’s stare, dunn continues. ‘a known entity, yes. but she’s a monk.’

‘of the reserve?’

‘yessir.’

jester’s friend, he thinks but doesn’t say. of all his close agents, dunn is the most level-headed, but the gentleman is not in the habit of pointing a knife at someone he doesn’t wish to be killed.

they make their way quickly through the tunnels to the gentleman’s quarters. his real quarters, not the false office he keeps by the bar. the door opens silently, hinges kept well oiled, and the gentleman’s gaze slips past the shelves of blood in their phials, past stacks of curious items, past several towers of gold and platinum, past the desk and chest of his most useful correspondence, to the familiar monk who stands in the centre of his trapped floor, unharmed.

‘thank you, dunn. i can take it from here.’

the hesitation is apparent to the gentleman and to the monk, who looks between them, no doubt looking for some kind of clue as to their relationship, dunn’s standing within his empire.

‘yessir,’ dunn says, and turns neatly on their heel.

the door closes behind, and babanon dusal—who wears the name so rarely it has begun to feel more like the mask than that of the gentleman—steps carefully from the entrance to his desk. he leans against it, folds his arms.

the monk doesn’t even follow his movement, not even when his stopping at the desk puts him out of her peripherals.

‘you had best have something very important to tell me,’ he warns silkily after a moment to let her sweat. ‘or else i may take this as some kind of...threat.’

‘you’re supposed to.’

‘beg your pardon?’

the monk—beauregard lionett, of the lionett family, kamordah, first child of thoreau lionett, the originator of the vineyard and brand—takes something from her pocket. a small phial. red inside. she throws it down to the floor, watches as it shatters with a crash and smear of red across the flagstones.

‘i said,’ she tells him, voice mild, ‘this is supposed to be a threat.’

‘fascinating way to go about it. trapped in there. destroying my belongings.’

‘the blood is jester’s,’ she corrects, and turns so very slowly that the trap doesn’t activate.

babanon feels a stirring of unease, glancing down at the red stain, the glass fragments.

‘i kinda have some father issues i’m working out at the moment,’ beau continues, mouth stretched in a grin that almost encourages him to laugh along. it doesn’t meet her eyes. those are flat and bitterly cold. ‘but i’m not quite done with that, so trust me when i say i’m fully invested in kicking your ass if it comes to that. he’s got ego too. i reckon it’d be cathartic.’

‘as terribly intrigued as i am to hear about your family drama, i’m far more interested in hearing how you found your way here.’

she shakes her head. ‘you think you’re all that. you’re nothing special. you’re the head at the top of a whole lotta worker bees and some are better at covering their tracks than others.’

‘for example?’

‘two in particular. a young human guy called suck my dick, and a half-elf lady called you piece of shit.’

‘ah. must be new hires.’

her eyes flash. a muscle that runs up the side of her cheek and temple jumps as she clenches her jaw tight; after a moment, a slow breath curls out from her mouth.

‘think of it as a threat, if you want. i think it’s a threat too. some of us would call it a warning, if they knew i was here.’

‘they don’t?’ it would be far easier to get rid of her if no one knew she was here.

beau must be able to read the thought on his face, or else her line of logic goes in much the same way as his own, because she says, ‘i wouldn’t try shit, if i were you. they might not know where i am but they’re expecting me back. and jester can get scry-happy when she’s worried so any minute now she’ll see where i am—and who i am with,’ she adds, and moves so very quickly that the trap that explodes behind her doesnt manage to catch her in the blast. she is at his throat—ignoring the prick of his poisoned blade at her gut—before he can blink, strong fingers pressed at some very sensitive points that have his own fingers useless, numb, around the hilt of his blade. ‘i don’t want her to see this, just as much as you don’t, because i don’t want her heart to break when she finds out you’re nothing like she thinks. one thing—one thing—she asked of you,’ she hisses. ‘don’t trade in people. something not even the lowest of the fuckin’ low would stoop to.’ she shakes him hard, throws him away from her as the numbing sensation wears off. ‘it hasn’t even been a year and you’ve broken that promise.’

‘the war has ended. profits are—‘

‘more important than your daughter?’

babanon remains stubbornly silent. he has worked to build this group up from dregs—and yet, despite all the work and the sacrifices, he cannot deny the connection. his own weakness.

‘what do you want? i presume since the traps did nothing, you have enough to have me arrested seven times over.’

beau fixes him with that cold stare. she makes a good partner to his daughter—he hadn’t missed the way she described her rebuke, all shards of blue ice.

‘i don’t give a fuck about you or your crime empire. i’m not here to arrest you.’

‘then why?’

‘i want the second phial. of jester’s blood.’

‘i don’t know what you—‘ a bladed item of some kind bites into the soft of his shoulder, thrown so fast the monk’s movement was nothing but a blur.

he throws his dagger and she steps out of its path, flings the other star of metal.

‘we each gave two phials,’ she says cajolingly, not the slightest bit winded or concerned by the rivulets of red that drip down each of his arms, down his hands, to drip drip drip upon the stone. she holds up a hand, wriggles two such phials toward him. ‘see? both of nott’s.’ these, too, she sends flying into the wall to crash. it won’t be long until the blood turns brown and dry and would be useless to anyone trying to use the samples. ‘but i found only one for jester. give me the second.’

babanon stares her down. considers his option. ‘what do i get?’

she favours him with a withering stare, one that makes it clear how very stupid she thinks he is being.

‘i won’t tell her what you’ve done. what you’ve agreed to. end the deal, denounce it. she never has to know.’

‘i—‘

‘they stole her,’ beau snarls. ‘kidnapped her. locked her up and killed her friend. slavers! how can you keep working with them?’

he bows his head very slightly. won’t meet her eyes as he lifts his hand to the silver chain around his neck, the small phial of red hanging from it.

‘end it. give me that blood. and fuckin’—‘ she hesitates and then presses on. ‘you need to actually earn her time—don’t just listen to her and send her off to have a drink. talk to her. be a dad for fuck’s sake.’

#cr tag #tagging my stories #prompt fill #very tired sorry i hope this is good

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mirrorfalls · 4 years ago

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The Alchemist When He’s Full of Metal, Vol. 15

(Vol. 1, Vol. 2, Vol. 3, Vol. 4, Vol. 5, Vol. 6, Vol. 7, Vol. 8, Vol. 9, Vol. 10, Vol. 11, Vol. 12, Vol. 13, Vol. 14)

So.

Today.

I swear to God, this was a complete accident of timing. If I’d started my readathon a week earlier, a week later - I would’ve recapped this volume some other Friday and not given it another thought. There’s literally nothing I could say about the War on Terror that its actual victims haven’t said a hundred times better on this very site (never mind actual, legitimate news sites and memoirs), so for all our sakes, I’ll try to keep the direct comparisons to a minimum.

Also kept to a minimum: my paltry attempts at jokes, because there ain’t nuthin’ funny about this.

I’ve seen several people criticize Mangahood for not fleshing out Ishval enough, and fair’s fair, someone here should’ve at least gotten a name. Scar’s scrapped his name/general identity by devoting himself to Murder Alchemy, fine, but what’s the excuse for his brother?

On a larger scale - not-yet-Scar’s “[Amestris acknowledges our faith?] That’s not respect - it’s politics!” rebuttal is absolutely beautiful, quite possibly the smartest line in a series that’s cranked out no shortage of those. But it also raises a lot of questions Arakawa doesn’t really have the space to answer: how long has Ishval been part of Amestris? Was it there from the founding? A colony annexed fifty (twenty? Ten?) years ago? How does its (combat-ready) population stack up? Where’s the language barrier? And most important of all, how were they treated before the war? Because I seriously doubt tens of thousands of people would start a full-scale rebellion over one kid getting shot.

(Related to that, I have to question the wisdom of setting this whole flashback during the last days of the war, when the bloodletting’s at its highest and everyone’s long out of fucks to give. Mustang’s how-could-we-have-fallen-this-far speech isn’t easy to take seriously - even as a mistaken viewpoint to be proven wrong - when there’s not even a hint of what they’ve fallen from. Was there ever a stage of the war that was (or could be passed off as) legitimate peacekeeping, or was it all-you-can-kill from day one? And if the latter, how stupid must he have been to not realize it for seven years?)

... well, those are about all the complaints I can drum up, because the rest of this volume is gold. Bone-chilling-

-heartbreaking-

-intermittently cathartic-

-but more often hopelessly rage-boiling-

-”if I stopped for every moment here that works like gangbusters I’d need a month to write this post”-

-gold.

The doctors Rockwell get to be people and not just aspirations. Scar's birth lands as a grade-A tragedy while feeling not just logical but inevitable (a lesser writer would probably have made him the forward-thinking intellectual before everything went to shit; but no, he was already a grumpy alchemy-hater to begin with, and Arakawa makes you feel for that). The Homunculi kick their villain cred up a thousand notches after multiple volumes of taking it easy on the heroes...

... and then there’s this asshole.

One of my most-hated archetypes is the kind that boasts “Well, at least I’m not a hypocrite!” as his only redeeming feature, but God damn it... Kimblee somehow makes it work. Maybe because he’s the only character on the front-lines who’s on the same page as the reader - i.e. understanding everyone is here to serve a military dictatorship that isn’t obligated to do shit for “the people”.* If memory serves, he’s going to be taking Barry’s place as Token Evil Teammate for quite a few volumes ahead, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to where he ultimately ends up.

Oh yes - and I should cap off with something more about Mustang, shouldn’t I? This whole volume did its damnedest to play him up as Scar’s equal-and-opposite, wrapping up with a direct contrast between his lofty, protect-all-people idealism and Scar’s very personal nothing-left-to protect vendetta - overall, it’s not even close to a fair fight in memorability or sentimentality, but if nothing else, I’ll be remembering this page as well as any of Scar’s scenes.

They’ll remember you, O Hero of Ishval. Now and forever.

*And on that note: I wonder if the Amestrian military is more inherently sympathetic to a Japanese perspective (thus making “it’s run by genocidal monsters” a more upsetting twist) than an American one. I would never call American media “pacifistic” overall, but it does - for largely amoral, Cold War-rooted reasons - encourage kids to be suspicious of countries whose leaders go around in uniforms and medals 24/7.)

#Lego reviews stuff #Fullmetal Alchemist

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