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catlady5001 · 4 years ago

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My submission for nana’s gen contest!!! @queenangst

Ao3 link!!

Full story under the cut!!

Izuku walks through the shining halls, one hand nervously holding his backpack. The other holds a map of UA’s campus, and it’s supposed to tell Izuku where to go.

He sees the general studies classes lining the hall on either side, the business course just behind him, but where are Izuku’s classes? He nearly gives up when he overhears a girl at the far end of the path asking a hero -Snipe, Izuku’s brain exclaims- where the support course is located.

“Just down that hall and to the right,” Snipe says with a vague gesture.

The girl smiles, “Thank you!” She heads down the hall and Izuku races to follow. She walks into class 1-H just as he turns the corner.

Izuku walks in soon after and he can’t help but cringe away from the noise. A pink-haired girl has somehow caused an explosion already, and another kid is scolding her. Two similarly-dressed students are arguing about who copied who. Powerloader (Powerloader!) watches it all with a resigned air.

Izuku looks around the room, trying to find a calm spot in the chaotic storm, and eventually he sees the girl from earlier, reading at one of the corner tables. He doesn’t know if she’ll let him sit with her but it’s worth a shot, right? She doesn’t even know he’s quirkless yet!

“Can I sit here?” He asks quietly.

“Hm?” She looks up from her book. “Oh, yes!”

“...thanks,” Izuku murmurs. He can’t believe it was that easy. He slides out the chair across from her and pulls out his own notebook. She looks at him for a second longer, then turns back to her own book. They read in their quiet corner of peace until Powerloader-sensei draws their attention, and class begins.

That afternoon finds Izuku sitting against a tree, pencil in one hand and an apple in the other. He glances up when the cafeteria door creaks open. He lets out a small, relieved sigh when it’s just Yaoyorozu. Out of all of his classmates, she’s the one he’s happiest to see, especially since Hatsume stayed behind at the lab.

He waves. She smiles, closes the door with a soft click, then walks over to Izuku, bookbag in hand.

“Good afternoon, Midoriya,” she greets. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

“No, not at all!” Izuku eagerly assures her. She’s been kind to him all morning, even after the disaster that homeroom had been.

He holds his breath for a moment, anxious that she’ll bring it up.

She doesn’t, instead leaning against the tree, halfway turned to face Izuku. “So, Midoriya…”

Izuku bites his lip and takes a small sip of water as she thinks.

“You’re interested in quirks, right?”

Izuku’s eyes widen. “Yeah! I’ve loved them for as long as I can remember. They’re just so interesting!”

“I agree. Do you know what my quirk is?”

“I know the basic gist,” Izuku says. He tries to tamp down his excitement, too afraid of scaring her off, but his anticipation shines through anyways. “You can create anything, right?”

“Kind of,” Yaoyorozu says. She’s grinning though, so Izuku can’t have been too far off the mark. “Anything I know the chemical composition of, I can make..”

“That’s so cool,” Izuku breathes. Yaoyorozu’s smile widens, somehow. “Can you show me?”

“Yes, but…”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that… well, I haven’t eaten since this morning,” Yaoyorozu starts.

“Is that what fuels Creation?” Izuku checks.

Yaoyorozu nods and rests her chin on her hands. “I meant to grab lunch but I would’ve had to wait around with our classmates.”

Izuku shudders.

This morning had been… it was bad. Powerloader-sensei has everyone introduce themselves. Name, quirk, goal.

It goes fine, for a time. Everyone seems cool, if a little eccentric. Some people -like Yaoyorozu- have quirks that stick out more than others, but they all seem nice. Everything is fine.

And then it’s Izuku’s turn, and nearly everyone has a sudden change of heart.

Yaoyorozu doesn’t, and neither does Hatsume, another girl.

Everyone else glares.

No one is too obvious about it, what with the hero in the room. In between classes, with the teachers gone and out of sight, classmates would jeer and throw spitballs.

Izuku has years of practice ignoring this, but it still hurts.

His classmates only stop when Yaoyorozu or Hatsume step in, but even they can’t do much. Their threats to tell the teachers are met with scorn.

“Izuku?” Yaoyorozu shakes him lightly, and Izuku jerks out of his memory with a start. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Izuku says. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Yaoyorozu notices, he can tell, but she doesn’t point it out.

Instead, she goes on to tell him all about her quirk. She even demonstrates it, once he offers her a bright green apple. Izuku is entranced by how cool it all is.

The pair stays out until someone sticks their head out the window to call them inside. Izuku doesn’t know who they are, but he sees the insignia on their uniform- they’re a member of the hero course.

Izuku turns away hastily and heads in after Yaoyorozu. He tries not to think of the hero course, to imagine what it could’ve been like if he’d been there alongside Kacchan. He doesn’t succeed.

The next three days pass quickly, blending into each other. It’s only on Thursday that anything important happens, and even then it’s scarier more than being fun or educational.

Yaoyorozu and Izuku are outside when the alarms blare. Izuku clamps his ears in a fruitless attempt to drown out the noise, but it still reaches deep into his ears and twists around his skull.

Izuku presses in tighter, and that’s when Yaoyorozu hits him with something. He looks down to see a pair of heavy-duty earmuffs on the ground, and he immediately grabs them, sliding them onto his ears. They don’t keep the sound out entirely, but they do a much better job than his hands did.

Thank you, he mouths at Yaoyorozu. She smiles slightly. After a moment, Izuku holds his arms out, a clear invitation for a hug. Yaoyorozu embraces him and together they wait for the screams to stop.

Reporters, they’re told afterwards. Something about that seems off to Izuku, but he doesn’t question it. UA knows what they’re doing, right?

In any case, that Thursday ends with a feeling of tense anticipation hanging in the air.

The next day is stormy, thunderbolts and lightning raining down. Izuku has to be driven to school, and he steps out of the car just as Yaoyorozu’s pulls up. With a quick goodbye wave, he runs up the stairs, and a moment later Yaoyorozu’s steps slosh after his.

Izuku holds the door open at the top, and Yaoyorozu dashes inside.

“Thank you,” she says. Izuku waves it off and together they head down the hall.

It’s stormy, but today will be a good day.

It is not a good day. It was worse for everyone else, Izuku is sure, but still. In the middle of class, Powerloader answers a phone call, and then he puts Yaoyorozu in charge and leaves.

Everyone is confused, clamoring, but Yaoyorozu doesn’t know what’s going on any better than they do so she tells them to stay put. They don’t really listen, of course; too curious for their own good.

Several people leave the classroom, presumably to try and see what happened, while others stare out the windows. Hatsume works on her inventions with the same gusto as always (though there’s a slight shake to her hands that betrays her anxiety).

All they can do is wait. And it is maddening.

Yaoyorozu tries to make small talk with Izuku, but he can’t concentrate and eventually she too falls silent.

It feels like hours but in reality is only about half of one. The Pro’s return to school, though it’s grim when sirens are blaring in the background, an ambulance fading into the distance.

Izuku hopes that everyone is okay, but he knows even now that it’s too much to ask.

When they return to school on Monday, Powerloader-sensei glosses over the attack. He doesn’t even mention it, really.

Instead he starts talking about the sports festival. Izuku is surprised that it’s still happening. The show must go on, he supposes.

Yaoyorozu is brave enough to actually speak up. “Sir?”

“Yes, Yaoyorozu?”

“Why are we still holding the Sports Festival?” Yaoyorozu holds herself up tall, the picture of composure from the waist up.

Her fidgeting feet are the only thing that betray her. Silently, Izuku squeezes her hand, and she shoots him a grateful glance.

Powerloader sighs and draws a hand across his chin. “The school is trying to keep up morale; trying to show that we won’t be beaten easily.”

Yaoyorozu nods, but the second Powerloader turns away, it’s as if she’s a marionette and her strings have just been cut. She practically slumps over and Izuku scoots closer and hugs her. She leans her head back to rest against his chin.

Powerloader continues teaching in the background while Izuku and Yaoyorozu hold each other tight.

The upcoming Sports Festival is certainly going to be interesting.

“Hey, Izuku?” Yaoyorozu interrupts Izuku’s thought.

“Hm?” Izuku looks up from his notebooks.

Yaoyorozu bites her lip. “What do we want to do about the Sports Festival?”

Izuku tilts his head to the side, and she elaborates, “What’s our game plan?”

Izuku’s eyes light up, and he flips to an earlier page in his notebook. He scoots closer to Yaoyorozu and tells her all about his observations and the possible ways the Sports Festival could go, based on the data of past years.

At first Yaoyorozu looks a bit overwhelmed, but she eventually settles and together they come up with a (mostly) cohesive plan.

They sit for a bit once they’re done, relaxed since they have a fair bit until lunch ends.

After a moment, Yaoyorozu admits, “I wanted to be a hero.”

Izuku starts and turns to her with wide eyes. “You too?”

Yaoyorozu nods. Hesitantly, Izuku asks, “Why didn't you get into a hero course, then? You’re definitely skilled enough to make it in.”

Yaoyorozu twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “My family’s legacy is a support company. Create-It-Enterprise.”

“I’ve heard of them!” Izuku exclaims. “They’re a really big name- oh.”

“Yeah,” Yaoyorozu sighs. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Izuku says tentatively. “I wanted to be a hero too, you know.”

“I’d kinda guessed,” Yaoyorozu says lightly.

“Am I really that obvious? Wait, don’t answer that,” Izuku says, remembering his analysis notebooks. Yaoyorozu chuckles and leans her head against Izuku’s (admittedly lower) shoulder.

“Either way,” Izuku says, “I like it here in the support course.”

“Me too. I’m really glad we’re friends.”

Izuku smiles. “Agreed. You can call me Izuku. Only if you want to, of course!”

“Izuku,” Yaoyorozu says, testing out his name. “I like it. Call me Yaomomo!”

Izuku sputters, then grins. “Gladly.”

Then the bell rings -loudly- from inside, and Izuku and Yaomomo stand up together.

Just as they reach the door, Izuku says, “One more thing.”

“Oh?”

“There’s almost always some sort of four person event, right?”

“Yes,” Yaomomo says. “We’ll have ourselves and I’m sure that Hatsume will team up with us, but what about the fourth person?”

“I’ve got that covered,” Izuku says with an uncharacteristic smirk. Yaomomo smiles and nods. Izuku revels in her trust. He won’t let her down.

It’s the final round of the Sports Festival. Izuku and Yaomomo are facing off. He takes a calming breath, then another and another until he feels ready.

He and Yaomomo planned for this of course, but Izuku had still had his doubts.

When the first round didn’t go exactly as they had expected, he was certain they were going to fail. But he and Yaomomo had forged their way past all the other obstacles, and it’s all led up to this moment.

Present Mic screaming overhead, Izuku and Yaomomo step onto the pitch.

“Are you ready?” Yaomomo calls.

“As I’ll ever be!” Izuku returns. They grin, a private acknowledgment of their shared plan, and then ready themselves when Midnight counts down.

“Three!” The crowd is chanting alongside her.

“Two!” Izuku digs his heel deeper into the ground.

“One!” Across the pitch, Yaomomo’s grin widens impossibly.

“Go!”

Yaomomo and Izuku race towards each other. The crowd calamors above them, eager for an entertaining battle. When they reach each other, the crowd gets even louder. They fall silent when Izuku and Yaomomo just. Stop.

The pair meet in the middle, clasp hands, and then walk out of the arena. At the same time, they step over the line.

They raise their hands in victory, and though the crowd is confused, they can still recognize what happened.

For the first time ever, U.A.’s Sports Festival ends in a tie.

And when each of them receives half of the first place medal? Their smiles become radiant.

#queenangst gen contest #Momo yaoyorozu #midoriya izuku #rarepair friendship #BNHA

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saladejin · 5 years ago

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Call An Uber? | 02

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader | Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary: Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.4k

< masterpost >

»»————- <<prev | next >> ————-««

Bold = English

"You make it sound like we're gonna die."

"Yeah well you will, if you don't move your ass." I swung open my door, tugging the mask higher on my face and swishing my (h/c) hair around to cover the rest partially.

Hopefully any lurking cameras wouldn't sneak a peek of my flustered appearance, because that would be embarrassing in itself. I had worn only the lightest makeup possible today. Of course I didn't want to look like a troll in front of my customers, but now that I was breathing right next to two perfect, ethereal human beings, I suddenly wished I’d made a better effort to impress.

"Quick!" Jimin's abrupt gasp snapped me out of my thoughtless gazing, and I turned around to see Jungkook walking towards me swiftly. Jimin was already heading inside, but had thrown a worried glance back in my direction when he saw my frozen form on the pavement. I instantly started at the sudden pressure on my lower back and jumped forward when Jungkook's large hand pressed me in that direction.

"Sorry, but you probably shouldn't touch me if people can see," I murmured and led the way through the sliding doors into the cooled administration room.

Jungkook's tentative hand jerked away as if he had touched a burning hot iron.

The weather had been quite warm outside, but I hadn't taken too much notice because of the exceptional air conditioning of my car. I whipped my head around one last time to blow a tiny kiss to my precious baby parked outside, as it was still new and had already been through an exciting car-chase of sorts. Even copping a harsh slap to the ass in the process.

I'll be back soon Red.

I turned back around to see the cheeky maknae giving me an incredulous look with one eyebrow raised.

"Don't judge me, it's new."

When Namjoon came to fetch his two younger members, he was definitely far from pleased. As soon as he entered the room all three of us were sitting in, he gave me a quick glance up and down with his expression hardening the closer he looked. Despite his misgivings, the tall man still managed to flash me a strained smile while he dipped his head in a sign of respect. He was truly a kind soul, and I knew he’d probably need to make an initial judgement based off this first look.

The professional demeanour continued as his careful eyes flickered to Jimin and Jungkook. He had already gone through the initial apologies and displays of gratitude as soon as he bowed, but now his expression was disappointed as he beckoned the other two members in the room.

"You two come with me."

Damn, his leader voice was definitely no joke! I felt myself squirm in my seat, probably from the uncomfortable tension suddenly flooding the room. Namjoon looked as good as ever, silvery grey hair styled in a way that just made me speechless, but his usually calm and thoughtful expression was tired and stressed.

Poor guy, he must have torn his hair out over this. I hope he doesn't think I'm insane or something.

I knew there was absolutely no way he would trust me completely on the first meeting, but seeing as though his fellow band members had mentioned their situation and fortunate escapade, his gaze seemed softer than it could've been.

Thinking about what could've gone wrong made me shudder, and I pushed the thoughts away as the two boys I had shared a car with for the past half an hour jumped to their feet. I was sad, but I mean who wouldn't be? I had fangirled over them so many times and once I’d actually met them, it seemed quite literally too good to be true.

I knew they couldn't stay though, and when it came down to it, I was most likely viewed as just another fan. Just another fan that they had happened to meet coincidentally, but still nothing too estranged from a fan meeting event where girls from various backgrounds would provide them with gifts and words of encouragement.

Why would I expect anything different from this?

I forced down the bile rising in my throat and avoided making eye contact with any of the boys, as I couldn't bear to watch them go. Slipping through my fingers, kind of like the moment you begin to wake up from a dream you longed to replay over and over.

The realisation that they’d halted in their movements took me way too long, but as I snapped up to meet Jungkook's conflicted expression, I suddenly gasped. "Oh, sorry!"

I tugged off the mask he had graciously lent me and held it out with a shaky hand in the younger boy's direction. His eyes flashed with recognition and even surprise, much to my own confusion.

"Oh, that...I won't mind if you keep it, I have plenty of others."

I let out a sharp breath and smiled forlornly. "Creepy, you're giving me your clothes now?"

I laughed softly when he rolled his eyes and dismissed me with a joking wave of his hand, bunny smile flashing. Jimin also couldn't help but grin at the maknae's chivalrous attempt and how it had completely backfired.

Someone cleared their throat deeply and I met the pointed look of Namjoon once more, even though his gaze had settled the tiniest bit at seeing his fellow members act comfortably.

"(Y/n)-ssi, is it?"

"Yes, I'm sorry to make you wait so long Kim Namjoon-ssi. You must have been worried sick." I struggled to be as respectful as I could, my eyebrows knitting together in concentration as I spoke. Did I even use the correct honorific? Maybe I should have used something higher because he's the leader of the group. Ah, I don't know!

A chuckle broke me from the horrifying contemplation, and I flinched slightly as Jimin bent down to enter my line of vision. "Don't worry too hard about all the honorific stuff, Namjoonie-hyung will understand."

I nodded with a cringe alighting my features, annoyed at my own obvious floundering with their language. I had been in the country for a couple of months, so why couldn't I just get my act together and converse properly?

"Do...you speak English at all?" Namjoon ventured with a smile that made his dimples pop adorably. I let out a big sigh and ran a hand through my windblown hair while nodding.

"Yep, I'm from (Y/c). But I do understand Korean fairly well, it's just the honorifics and technicalities that trip me up a bit."

Jimin and Jungkook groan simultaneously at the revelation that I was fluent in the language they practiced the most, and I couldn't help but smirk. They must have had some suspicion, as I did't exactly look Korean anyway, but there was always the notion that I could have been born to foreign parents and grown up here.

"I never would have known! Your Korean is still great," Jimin whined lowly and I couldn't help but laugh, the look in my eyes eventually shifting to one of apology.

"That's fine, it's alright to just use 'ssi' anyway," Namjoon nodded and I relaxed my shoulders in relief. The switch back to Korean was somewhat jarring, but it was only fair that everyone in the room should understand the gist of the conversation.

"But hyung, she told us she doesn't mind if you don't use them for her," Jungkook was next to pipe up, and I was surprised he even remembered such a thing at this point in time. I just smiled and shook my head in response.

"I don't mind either way. I'm not fussed at all."

"Yes, well we should be going anyway." Namjoon cut off the conversation and glanced at his watch, looking back around at everyone in the room.

"Thankyou (Y/n)-ssi for taking care of our members, something like this shouldn't happen again."

At the sound of their leader's stern voice, the boys both hung their heads slightly, and I knew that even though the situation had worked out for the best, it definitely was not ideal for this kind of thing to happen when their careers could be put on the line.

"It's alright, Jungkook's mask is the only thanks I need," I decided to joke so that I can see the younger boys smile again, and I was rewarded with the most beautiful pearly white grins yet. Namjoon chuckled and motioned with one hand for the boys to leave the room before him.

Jungkook turned and threw a small wave and bow in my direction. I returned them, and he finally exited the room with a hefty sigh to let out all of his pent-up stress. Jimin followed with the same gestures and I responded with a faintly sorrowful smile. Ah, what I wouldn’t give to just spend a whole day with them. I was then ultimately left alone with the leader of BTS. To say I wasn’t a tad intimidated would be a lie.

"Once again, you have truly done us a service. We are glad to have a fan such as yourself supporting us,” Namjoon spoke after a few seconds of silent tension.

"Thank you, you have no idea how much you guys have helped me already, so please don't feel as though you owe me anything," I quietly respond and watch as his eyes cloud with admiration and respect suddenly.

Maybe he regretted acting so robotic and cold when he came in, but he was the leader and professionalism mattered so much when you were faced with a situation that called for big demonstrations of leadership. Namjoon smiled and bowed again, reaching out to shake my hand kindly before leaving the room to join the others. I knew all that was left was meeting the CEO of Bighit Entertainment.

Yeah, because that's something to just brush over.

God, so much was happening to me today. How could I possibly go back to streaming endless amounts of videos and fangirling over pictures when I had actually spoken with three members of the band itself? I forced down the niggling thoughts of 'that's only three out of seven' and grunted apprehensively.

You're lucky enough as it is, don't be greedy.

The thing is, nothing about my long-distance relationship with the boys was normal anymore, and I wondered if the girls who attended fan-meetings felt exactly the same way. The fact that they were just normal guys with normal thoughts had always crossed my mind when I watched them through the screen, but seeing it in action proved to be disarming at the very least.

Stupid world-famous idols, don't play with my heart like this.

The meeting and disclaimer signage with Bang PD went well in the end, and I was consistently surprised at how kind-hearted and open he was with everything that had gone down. All the staff I had encountered were nothing short of accommodating, and they were continuously apologising for the mess caused. Even though I had told them many times it was truly a blessing in disguise, they remained insistent on the matter.

"Please, I want you to take this as a token of our gratitude." Bang PD smiled warmly in my direction, and before I could refuse he held out a slip of paper. It was a cheque, and my eyes blew wide when my eyes scanned the tiny bold numbers printed neatly on the surface.

"Please, I can't accept this, I already got paid for my service."

Before the short man could shake his head and insist further, a light knock sounded on the frosted glass pane of the office door before opening. In stepped a young woman who bowed repeatedly for her intrusion, her short night black hair bobbing up and down along with her.

"I'm terribly sorry Bang PD-nim, but the donor from Chile has arrived back at the office ahead of schedule."

The founder of Bighit nodded in understanding, clearing his throat to speed up whatever process was happening. He turned back to me with a reassuring glance and I took a deep breath, fully understanding I wasn't really able to refuse his generous offer.

"Right, well thank you once again for your service, I have other things to attend to it seems. It was lovely to meet you."

The cheque still scorching hot in my left hand not going unnoticed, I forced myself to return his smile with a gulp. He gestured softly for the door and followed me out. The young woman looked quite flustered as she shifted from foot to foot just outside the bleak office entryway.

The building's interior was very modern and clean-cut, and I knew it was probably very, very different from the actual Bighit Entertainment building itself. Seeing as it was meant for living arrangements and not vital meetings such as the one mentioned earlier.

I exchanged formalities with Mr.Bang once more before I turned towards the exit of the dormitory building, my big and exciting day coming to a close just like that.

"I'm sorry, but it seems our Spanish interpreter has called in absent today. I've just been informed that the donor came without one," the hushed whisper from the woman reached my ears as I took a couple of steps towards the large glass doors. I heard a sharp click of a tongue and a deep, masculine sigh from behind me.

"Well what are we going to do? I don't know enough Spanish for an entire face-to-face meeting like this."

"Does anyone else in the company?" The woman's voice was growing frantic, as she was apparently about to drown in her sudden bout of panic.

Bang PD's tone was irritated. "Why the hell was this not scheduled better?"

I honestly could not blame him. What kind of interpreter would just call in absent on such an important event? Even if the sickness was life-threatening, there were ways to notify and organise something to compensate for it, or give some warning to reschedule.

A small smile stretched my lips as I twirled around on one of my heels happily, once again facing the distraught looking woman and CEO who were deep in hurried conversation.

"If I mentioned that I was fluent in Spanish, would that help?"

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awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat · 5 years ago

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Supernatural and Good Omens Crossover

“Hey, Cas!” Dean shouted, a strange excitement clouding his voice (and judgement). Sam and Dean locked eyes for a moment, and Sam could’ve sworn for that brief second, he saw the corner of Dean’s mouth beginning to form a small smile. “Cas! You comin’ or what?!”

Castiel entered the bunker’s hall to see Sam and Dean standing in front of the table, a bowl perched hastily, surrounded by some very common ingredients for spells. A virgins blood, the bone of a saint, goat liver... you get the gist.

As Cas edged forward, a blinding light shot up from the bowl, forming a beam-like shape right next to it. “Dean,” Cas said gruffly, and so very tiredly, “what are you doing?”

“Hey, c’mon man,” Dean replied, pouting, “you can clearly see our own personal witch Sammy has the spell book. Not me.” He raised his hands in mock surrender, causing both Cas and Sam to simultaneously roll their eyes.

“We got him,” Sam spoke finally, much to Dean’s content, and further, to Cas’ dismay, mostly because Castiel knew exactly what Dean was doing and he was very much, as the youth say, done now.

Cas recalled a recent incident about the fight he had with Dean. It was late and Dean had just come back from a very exhausting demon hunt, which had turned out to be quite disastrous, what with all the involvement of Hell Hounds.

Sam had gone to bed early that day, saying that he’d catch up on some research to help beat Chuck, but Cas and Dean both knew that whatever Sam was catching up on, it wasn’t research. Dean could hear dialogues sometimes, coming from Sam’s room. Most often, it was “Title of your sex tape”, which always intrigued Dean very much, and googling it turned out to be a very bad idea.

So, Cas and Dean were relaxing in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of whiskey, talking about everything and nothing. Dean suddenly started talking about how Crowley had turned out to be not such a bad guy for a demon. Then Dean thought about how Heaven, Hell, the Empty and the Purgatory were all in utter chaos, which led his train of thoughts towards resurrecting Crowley. Cas had made a mental note that day: late nights, whiskey, demon hunts and exhausting days always gave Dean the stupidest, most idiotic ideas of all time.

“Sammy can bring him back,” Dean had said, to which Cas was certain he had put up quite an argument but the fight turned slightly vicious and both Cas and Dean spent the following week shooting daggers at each other. Cas eventually forgot what he had said, but Dean stood by his statement.

This was the reason why Sam and Dean had been trying to bring back Crowley for several weeks now; trying different spells, different ingredients, different places and hell, one time, different clothes too (if you must know, Dean insisted that they wear a black suit. Yes, it had been a long day and Dean was down two glasses of Whiskey; why do you ask?). Everytime it didn’t work, Dean would spend days on end in his room, eating nothing but stale pizza, watching reruns of The X-Files. Cas was worried it would happen again.

“Cas? You there, buddy?” Dean pushed Cas back to the present with a small but sturdy tap on his shoulder. “We got him, Cas, we got him.”

Cas tilted his head in confusion and frowned, then looked at Sam, who nodded in agreement. They all focused on the bowl in front of them as the light grew warmer and brighter, until a figure began materialising from the beam.

Crowley opened his eyes to see himself in a strange place, a place he’d never seen before, nor considered running away to. Three men stood in front of him, tall and very well built, wearing an absurd amount of flannel. Crowley looked to his left to see a blinding light, and for a second, he thought he was in Heaven again, with that purple-eyed monster.

“Which poor sucker are you wearing as a meatsuit, Crowley?” The man with the scruffy, short, light hair said.

“Wait, wait, what? Meatsuit? Don’t be stupid--” Crowley sat up straight, looking around frantically, he said, “what the hell did you do with Aziraphale? Where is he?”

“Uh, Dean,” Cas began, clearly suspicious, but Dean cut him off.

“Just hold on to your horses for a second, Cas, let me handle this.”

Cas sighed.

“WHERE IS HE? And, and, did you just say Crowley? Nobody, in all of six thousand years, has ever called me “Cr-ow-ley”.” Crowley spoke angrily, then in exasperation.

“Where’s who?” Sam said, understanding something was definitely off.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley hissed, but it wasn’t an angry hiss, it was more of a habitual, slurring-of-words-hiss.

“Who’s he, your side chick?” Dean joked, but by now he was certain that whoever this person was, it was not Crowley. Sure, he had the accent. And if Crowley had been more focused on looking like an overdramatic sass queen, then maybe the black attire too. But this man, or whatever he was, he was not Crowley.

The blinding light grew brighter still, flashing an almost heavenly glow now, as another figure materialised from the beam.

The figure was more angelic than any form Castiel had seen. Michael could never. Cas could feel the figure’s aura deep inside him, resonating with his own grace, a soft humming of something divine.

“Oh, my, you seem to have caught us in quite a compromising position,” the heavenly figure said, his voice lilted, and apparently apologetic.

“You two are holding hands?” Dean spoke before he could stop himself. “If you think that’s compromising, boy do I have news for you.” Dean subsequently made a mental note to never talk again.

“Well I grew impatient and--” Before the figure in all shades of beige could complete his sentence, the man calling himself Crowley jumped to his feet.

“Angel! Where were you?” Crowley had gathered his senses and he was not going to let his angel go anywhere again. “Aziraphale, you gave me quite a fright, you bastard.”

“Wait, can someone explain to me what is happening?” Sam said, his hands raised, angel blade in one and holy water in the other.

“Is that...that’s holy water.” Crowley mellowed down, a frown making its way up his face.

“Now, that isn’t very kind of you, sir. There is absolutely no need to bring in weapons. That would be simply preposterous!” Aziraphale, replied calmly, miracling away the weapons from the tall man’s hands. This seemed to cause a chain reaction, making more weapons surface. Now all three men were clad with some sort of weaponry; very nifty ones too.

“There is,” Aziraphale began again, more sternly this time, “simply no reason to be feral, dear boys.”

“If you’re wondering, I am Crowley. Crow-ley. I am a demon; didn’t fall, though; sauntered vaguely below. And this is Aziraphale. Now boys, as much as I’d like to stay here and make your lives miserable by, I dunno, replacing all the real bacon with vegetarian bacon, I’d rather wrap this up quickly. We just dealt with an apocalypse and I have the alarm set for a decade of sleeping. And trust me, you don’t want to wait for Aziraphale to start with his magic tricks.”

Dean made a face at the thought of vegetarian bacon but quickly got over it, concentrating instead on the fact that this was Crowley too. Crow-ley, apparently.

“So, you’re not Fergus? You mother’s not Rowena? God Dammit Sammy, what’d you do?”

Sam looked as confused as everyone right now, but he could’ve sworn he had called Crowley from this universe. Something must’ve gone wrong.

“Just give us a moment to talk,” Sam said to the angel and the demon, and turned to Cas and Dean.

“And no monkey business,” Dean added, causing Sam to roll his eyes in disappointment again.

“So, my dear, before we go back, don’t you think it would be wonderful if one could, you know, miracle the one with light hair and the one with the trenchcoat together? I would, but it has become a little--” Aziraphale began suggestively, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“What? Angel, they are just friends! Like us,” Crowley replied.

“My dear, we are married,” Aziraphale sighed, deadpanning.

“Wait, we are?! Since when?” Crowley screamed, obviously taken by surprise.

“Since you went to talk to Holmes, quite an interesting chap, about your secret admirer?”

Crowley shook his head, still confused.

“We got married the next day, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed again.

Crowley shook his head yet again, much to Aziraphale’s disbelief.

“You proposed!”

Sam coughed, interrupting Aziraphale and Crowley’s very important conversation about if they got married or not.

“So, here’s the thing: we think that while we were trying to contact Crowley of this universe, you, Crowley, from another universe were summoned here instead. This could be because of two things: Chuck is going insane and he no longer has control over the veils between universes, or two, because Jack (he’s a nephilim), is back, his powers might have overwhelmed the spell. We also think that because of your “compromising position”, both of you got summoned, instead of just Crowley. Either way, you are free to go.”

“Or you could stay for a couple of drinks, if that is okay by you,” Cas said, hoping they’d stay, just so he could get to know them better.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a knowing glance, coming to an agreement.

“It is noon presently; would you have cocoa by any chance?” Aziraphale chimed happily.

_______________________________________________________________________

Hey y’all! I am sure this has been done before but I am currently practicing escapism by writing silly fanfics so please bear with me through this phase.

I’m gonna tag some awesome people: @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @petrichoravellichor @all-or-nothing-baby @telefunkies @jensenackles-ismyreligion @mystybloo @thedepressedexpress

Tell me if you want me to tag you or if you don’t want me to tag you.

Thank you for reading uwu

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fanfalc-616 · 4 years ago

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The eighth chapter of Time For Amnesia AU!

I love cliffhangers >:D

Cole is done eating first, and he mumbles something about training before heading off. With a sigh, Zane goes after him, leaving the other four to themselves.

That is, until Nya gets up. “Jay, we need to finish that maintenance.” She reminds, and the two of them go out to do that.

And so now they’re down to two.

Lloyd glances over at Kai, clearly nervous. After fidgeting for a few moments, he speaks. “Well… if we’re starting over and everything… my name is Lloyd Garmadon.”

“Kai Smith.” Kai returns, eyeing the blond warily. Savior of Ninjago, huh? He certainly doesn’t look the part, so there must be more to him than meets the eye.

The blond cracks a small smile. “I already knew that.”

“And I already knew your name was Lloyd. You told me before, remember?” Kai shoots back, crossing his arms.

Lloyd shrinks back a little, seeming surprised by this. But he recovers quickly, although his smile is slightly more strained. “I guess I did.” He admits.

There’s an awkward pause, and after about a minute of it, Kai decides to speak up.

“Were we dating too?”

Lloyd gives him the most horrified and disgusted expression that he’s ever seen. “Wha- No! No, I- First Spinjitzu Master, you’re basically my older brother! And you keep insisting that I’m only twelve- which isn’t true, but- you, Zane, Cole, and Jay are dating, but not-“ Lloyd cuts himself off with a shudder.

Kai holds his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know these things!” He defends himself. “And you most certainly don’t look twelve, so it’s a fair question!”

“Well, I mean, I’m only twelve if you don’t count the Tomorrow’s Tea.” Lloyd admits. “But you basically assigned yourself as my older brother, and I can’t think of you as anything but that.”

He decides to ignore the whole ‘older brother’ thing for the moment. “Tomorrow’s Tea? Were you aged up magically or something?”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah.” Lloyd confirms. “I can still be a little immature sometimes, but I’ve been working on acting my age.”

Kai stares at him for a few seconds. “What kind of life have we been living?”

A chuckle escapes the blond. “A weird, crazy, dangerous one.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Kai comments, “That’s not making me feel any better about staying on this ship.”

Tension suddenly floods the blond, and he rapidly shakes his head, throwing his hands up placatingly. “I’m- I’m exaggerating a little! It’s not really- uh. We have the danger under control, mostly.”

“... mostly?” Kai narrows his eyes in suspicion. What does he mean by that?

Lloyd winces with an uncomfortable laugh. “Uh… yeah. Mostly.” He agrees.

“You said you were the Savior of Ninjago. Just what have you been saving Ninjago from?” Kai’s not sure he’s going to like whatever answer he’s getting, but he needs to know what kind of danger he and Nya are in.

“Pretty much everything, but it’s not like I do it alone. You guys are the best team I could ask for, and I wouldn't have made it past my first fight without you all… and you in particular.” Lloyd glances away. “Like I said before, you’re basically my older brother. You’re always there to pull my butt out of the fire- sometimes more literally than others.”

“What do you mean, ‘literally’? Did I save you from an active volcano or something?”

He’s definitely taken aback by the excitement Lloyd shows at his words. “Do you- do you remember that?” He sounds thrilled at the idea, a large grin on his face.

For some reason, Kai feels like he doesn’t want to let him down, but he’s not going to lie about something like this.

“I- I was kind of joking. I didn’t think that was an actual thing that could’ve happened.” He admits, feeling somewhat guilty for getting his hopes up.

Lloyd’s smile slowly starts to die. “Oh.” He bites his lip, shoulders sagging.

After a few moments, Kai finds his curiosity getting the better of him. As much as he wants to shut these people out, if he’s really missing memories… he needs to know what life he’s lost.

“What happened at the volcano?” He questions.

Lloyd blinks a few times, seeming surprised by the question. But then he smiles again- not as cheery as before, but still happy. “It’s when you unlocked your True Potential- and when you found out I was the green ninja.”

Kai blinks. “What’s a ‘True Potential’?”

So Lloyd starts explaining, and Kai has to constantly interrupt with questions because he keeps glossing over things that he seems to think Kai will understand, but he eventually gets to the whole volcano thing and how it ended.

“So what you’re telling me is that I had the thought, ‘I don’t have to be the best at everything’ and then I started glowing and stuff?” Kai gives him a skeptical look.

“Okay, it sounds really stupid when you say it like that, but unlocking your True Potential is a big deal. I know it sounds weird, but it’s how you’re able to control your powers.”

Kai blinks. “Uh. So I need to re-unlock my True Potential before I can control my fire powers?”

Lloyd hesitates a moment. “I’m not sure.” He admits. “Normally, yeah, but since we have the Soul Bond-“

“We have a what?” Kai stares at him in shock, trying to process the words.

“Oh… right.” Lloyd gives a nervous chuckle, glancing off to the side. “Um… forget I said that, okay?”

“No, that seems like a big deal, and you need to explain it.” The brunet demands.

Lloyd shifts nervously, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s a long story-“

“We have time.” Kai argues, crossing his arms and staring the blond down.

“It’s really complicated-“ Lloyd tries.

“I’ll pay close attention.” The brunet counters. He needs to know what he means by ‘Soul Bond’.

Lloyd seems to have run out of excuses, and he stutters out a few things he can’t make out, clearly trying to come up with some reason why he can’t tell him.

“Kai- look, just trust me on this, okay? It’s not a story you’re ready for.”

With a huff, the brunet gets up from the table and walks out. Whatever, it’s not like he actually needs to know any of this stuff. He doesn’t need those dumb four years, he’s got plenty of other memories! Yeah, that’s fine. He doesn’t need them. He’s perfectly happy how he is.

Storming out onto the deck, Kai stumbles and stops in his tracks when he sees both Zane and Cole. No, he doesn’t want to deal with them, they have all kind of issues going on-

He freezes when he sees the robot reach over and tenderly lock Cole into a gentle kiss, wrapping a hand around the noirette’s waist to pull him in closer.

The sight makes something in his stomach twirl, but he’s not sure what the hell it is or what he’s feeling, so he does the only thing he can think of.

He runs away, back into the ship and into the sectioned room from before. He has no idea why his heart is racing or what the pang in his chest means, but he does his best to blot it out, sitting down in the red area.

Clutching his knees to his chest, Kai squeezes his eyes shut, unsure of why seeing that is affecting him so much. He’s seen people kiss before, but he’s never felt like this! He’s never reacted with a racing heart and flushed face, never reacted with shortness of breath and a pang in his che-

Oh.

Is he…

Is he in love with them?

#ninjago #fanfiction #ninjago fanfiction #fanfic #time for amnesia au

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creepy-spooghetti · 4 years ago

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A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 4 - Take Me Away, A Secret Place

———

The morning eventually comes, and it brings the bright, cheerful sunlight with it, much to Y\n's relief. The golden rays shine in through her window pane, forcing her to press a hand to her eyes and give herself a chance to adjust to the light invading her vision. She's kept herself awake for the whole rest of the night, starting from when she woke up from that horrific nightmare at around eleven-thirty and absolutely, under any circumstances, refused to go back to sleep.

Troubling subjects have been laying heavy on her mind for the past six hours, and no matter what she does to rid herself of them, it never works. At least, it hasn't yet. She's tried scrolling through the internet, watching YouTube videos, she even started another painting, though she only managed a few brush strokes before she scrapped it altogether and fell to the floor in a tired rage.

She isn't going to deny the fact that she's mentally exhausted, from both the lack of sleep and anxiety that's been creeping through her nerves the entire day thus far. After around two hours of laying in bed, she decided to get up and go downstairs for a glass of water. Then she decided against it, mainly due to the fact that she already had a perfectly good bottled water sitting right beside her bed. She considered wandering down to watch some TV, or eat some food, or virtually anything she could do to get her mind off of what had happened, but also blew off that idea fairly quickly.

She didn't want to be the reason for her grandparents waking up, especially because of a stupid little dream. Even though she, herself, knows that it wasn't just a 'stupid little dream'. Whether it has a deeper meaning or not, it terrified her, and that's all the convincing she needs to not want to have one like it, or one even worse. She just fears that she would be scolded for having such childish agitation over something that, in all reality, can't even physically hurt her.

Well... the things in her head can't hurt her. But what she saw... was that really in her head? Sure, one could blame paranoia, panicked delusions, a tired, frantic state that made her hallucinate something that wasn't really there. Like sleep paralysis, though she knows for a fact that she wasn't experiencing sleep paralysis.

So what was it? Maybe a strangely-shaped tree bent by the light in the right way to make it look scary? Some type of humanoid animal? Or perhaps it was just her imagination playing tricks on her, after all? She isn’t entirely sure, but she does know that whatever it was, it was unsettling and very out-of-place.

And then there’s the nightmare. That is the second time in barely three days that she’s had a nightmare like that. Sure, bad dreams are no stranger to her; she’s been experiencing them since she was a little kid, though they became more common after her life started to fall apart. But none of them were like that. Her mind had never been in such a gut-wrenching, sinister state before, and it deeply concerns her.

What would make her think up such a scenario? Her cousin, one of her very best childhood friends, being dead? Right before her very eyes? She’s thought, maybe it has something to do with the odd conversation that she shared with her grandfather just a day prior? But he didn’t say anything that should ever make her think anyone was murdered. Especially Wyatt.

Although it’s still a mystery to her, she knows that nothing like that could’ve happened during her long absence… right? If it had, someone would have called her dad to inform him, then he would have told her. He isn’t the best person or the best father by any stretch, but surely he wouldn’t keep her in the dark about something so horrific, right?

She’s tried to forget about it, even though she knows that it’s likely going to be something that sticks with her for quite a while, and she’s tried to calm herself down. It was just a dream. Nothing more. She hasn’t anything to worry about. It was just a startling vision that her mind created to scare her. It’s all the stress finally getting her, that’s all.

A feeling of dread and terror has settled inside of her stomach, and though it has faded considerably since she awoke, it’s still there and very present, plaguing her mind, repeating the nightmare over and over again in her head, making her miserable. As if it’s saying, “The worst has yet to come”.

She will ask Nana and Pops. She will get to the bottom of why her aunt, uncle, and Wyatt never, supposedly, come down to visit. Once she gets them to answer, finds out why her grandpa was acting so suspicious yesterday, gets it through her head that it isn’t as bad as she’s made herself think it is, then maybe, just maybe, she won’t be bombarded with such terrible thoughts each time she tries to sleep.

She blinks, adjusting to the bright, bulbous orb that slowly appears from behind the trees, and watching as the stars fade away, the moon following close behind them. The sky changes from a deep, royal blue to a vivid maya in the span of only a few minutes.

Her eyelids feel heavy, and even without checking the time she knows it has to be around six-thirty to seven in the morning based on the low place that the sun rests in the sky. She leans her back against the wall, letting out a soft, distressed sigh and allowing her eyes to shut for but a brief moment. Any more and she would drift back off to sleep, and she doesn’t want to do that. Not any time soon. Not until she’s been reassured that nothing like what her dream suggested actually happened.

Rubbing her eyes to rid herself of the drowsy feeling still messing with her senses, she sits up fully in her bed, finally able to convince herself that now would be a good time to go downstairs and start her day. Quietly, of course, so she doesn’t wake her grandparents.

Maybe she can make them breakfast like Nana has done for her so many times, recently and in the past. She’s never been a very skilled cooker, but she can make simple things like scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast. What’s the worst that can happen? Okay, she can set the kitchen on fire, or make the stove explode, or overcook/undercook everything and give the residents of the household food poisoning, but she prefers not to think of those unlikely—but possible— outcomes.

With a small mental protest, she wearily rises out of bed, walking over to her closet to find some decent clothes for the day and changing into mentioned clothes before heading toward the bathroom, although somewhat cautiously. She’s still on-edge about the events that took place mere hours ago, and she figures that she probably will be until she can get another, more light-hearted subject on her mind. Like making breakfast for two people she loves. It sounds like a fool-proof plan to her, and she fully intends to stick to it.

She isn’t exactly sure what time they wake up, but her guess is somewhere between seven-thirty to eight, or even eight-twenty-five. The hall is still considerably dark, thanks to there being no windows around to light it up a bit, and it makes her nerves spike as she hurries to the targeted room.

Once there, she closes the door quietly and turns on the light, her eyes falling on the mirror straight in front of her, and she leans against the sink, studying her reflection with a blank mind. Her hair has most definitely seen better days, though that’s something easily fixable. Her eyes are the problem.

They look almost completely drained of energy, and the dark rings right beneath them make it clear that she didn’t rest well the night before. She dips her head down after turning on the faucet and splashes cool water against her face, hoping to get rid of some of that ‘I just woke up and I’m exhausted’ look that her reflection stares back at her with.

Her eyes get wider and already, she feels more alert and aware of her surroundings; the exact thing she was wanting to accomplish. She then does everything she deems necessary before she goes back out, snatching her phone from off of her bed and her Bluetooth wireless earbuds, and trekking down the stairs, taking joy in the fact that natural, bright light is shooting through the windows and illuminating the majority of the main floor.

She spots Marshmallow sitting atop a chair, seemingly content grooming himself and only sparing her a short, unphased glance as she appears at the bottom of the staircase. Smiling lightly, she makes her way over to him and squats to his level, currently not caring if she interrupts his self-given bath, stroking his head in greeting and giving him an affectionate kiss on his cheek.

“Hey, little buddy,” she says, her voice lowered as she gingerly scratches his chin. “You having a good morning?” His mouth latches around her finger, not hard enough to make her bleed but she’s certain his sharp teeth will leave indents for a few minutes once they’ve left. She pulls her hand back and rolls her eyes. “Yeah? Me, too.”

She stands back up and straightens her posture, catching a glimpse of the front door before she looks back down at him curiously.

“You ready to go out?” She points at the door, and he seems to get the gist of what she’s saying because he releases a meow of protest and stretches his body out. “Well, I know it’s early.” She crosses her arms. “That doesn’t mean you can’t go hunting or whatever.” Marshmallow jumps from his position on the chair and walks toward his empty food bowl, looking back at Y\n expectantly. “Oh, c’mon. You’re perfectly capable of going out and getting your own food.”

She’s met with a loud and, frankly impatient, meow, and she huffs but begins her small journey to the pantry nonetheless.

“Fine, fine. You win.” When she arrives, she gazes idly through the various cans of food, bags of flour, and boxes of cereal and rice and beans, trying to locate the bag of branded cat food she knows has to be in here. “Last time I was here, they kept it in this room…” She mutters to herself, bending down to look beneath the shelves. Her eyes land on a red and white bag, the top ripped open and a metal scoop resting inside.

Instantly recognizing it as her desired item thanks to the large cat head printed on the front, she takes the handle of the scoop and dips it farther into the brown pebbles of cat food, walking back out soon after and dumping it in Marshmallow's bowl. He lets out a satisfied meow and sticks his nose into it briefly, as if checking that it isn't fake, before seeming content enough and beginning to eat it.

Y\n pats him on the head and returns the scoop to its rightful place inside of the pantry, closing the door behind her and going to the kitchen. She turns on the overhead light, enabling her to see a lot better than she could previously, and grabs different ingredients from the fridge, including a carton of large eggs, cheese, water, vanilla extract, syrup, and a pack of bacon. Then she moves to collect salt and pepper, a loaf of Sunbeam bread, cooking oil, a whisk, a mixing bowl, three separate skillets, and three plates.

Happy that Nana has all of the stuff that she needs in order to create this easy and, hopefully, good-quality breakfast, she puts in her earbuds, turns on some music, and begins by mixing up the scrambled eggs and putting a few strips of bacon on a skillet. Not having made breakfast in quite a while, she's a bit rusty, and it takes a few moments to remember what exactly she's supposed to do, though she gets the hang of it pretty quickly, and in around thirty-five minutes, she has the food all ready to eat and is washing up the used dishes after dividing everything up and pouring them onto plates.

I wonder when they'll get up... she thinks, glancing at the food then at the staircase that leads up to their bedroom. Breakfast will get cold if they don't come down soon. As if on cue, she hears a set of heavy footsteps from upstairs as they stop by and go into what she assumes to be the bathroom. Drying her hands, she grabs two of the three plates, walking into the dining room and setting them on the rectangle table before going to get the third one. As she passes the door again, she sees Marshmallow sitting and pawing at its surface, not-so-subtly implying what he expects of her.

She inwardly sighs and looks down at him with a raised eyebrow, resting a hand on her hip. "Really? Now you want to go out?" She receives a 'meow' in response, and she rolls her eyes but unlocks the door nonetheless, Marshmallow standing and backing away to ensure he doesn't get hit by it swinging open and then waiting for her to push the screen open. On his way out, he rubs against her leg and lightly flicks his tail in her direction, a gesture she takes as appreciation before he jumps off the porch and disappears around the corner of the house.

Around that time, she hears a door on the second floor open and that same pair of footsteps walking closer to the staircase, and she turns her head to look behind her, seeing her grandpa cautiously making his way down, making sure to hold onto the wooden rail for support. She shuts the door and plasters a smile across her face, stepping forward to greet him once he reaches the floor, though he speaks before she can.

"Hey, hummingbird!" he says, glancing at the clock hung on the wall beside the door to check the time before meeting her gaze. "What are you doin' up? It's only seven-forty-eight." Her smile turns slightly timid and she holds back a yawn, instead opting to keep her response simple so she doesn't make him worried and shrug her shoulders.

"Uh, well... I just, thought I'd get up early. Make breakfast..." Then her eyes widen and she signals toward the dining table on the opposite side of the living room. "Oh yeah, I made breakfast! Is Nana gonna be up soon, too?" He shakes his head in the negative, giving Y\n a friendly pat on her shoulder and walking toward the table.

"Nah. She didn't sleep very well last night, she probably won't be up for a couple of hours yet." Y\n glances at the plate of food laying on the island in the center of the kitchen, feeling a pang of pity erupt throughout her chest. She grabs it and places a sheet of plastic wrap over it diligently and puts it on a shelf in the fridge, hoping that Nana will feel like eating when she does finally get up.

She fills two glasses with milk and brings them back into the dining room, giving one to Phil and the other she keeps, taking a seat in one of the four identical chairs placed around the table. "How come? Was she having bad dreams?" Part of her wonders whether or not her grandma is suffering the same symptoms as herself, though she seriously doubts it. But it never hurts to ask, she supposes.

"Heh, no." He takes a bite of eggs, taking his time to finish his reply, and she takes his silence as an opportunity to begin eating, as it seems like she won't have to be in any hurry to say anything for a few moments. She has to admit, she didn't do a bad job with making the food. The eggs could use a bit more salt, but other than that, she's quite proud of how it all turned out, especially since she hasn't made a proper meal in several months. "Just aching joints, mostly. That and stress."

She lifts her eyes curiously at this, and he continues looking down at his plate, taking steady bites and not seeming to acknowledge her questioning gaze, nor what he had said. After around thirty seconds of silence, she breaks it, wanting to know what would possibly be stressing her grandmother out so much that it interferes with her sleep. "What do you mean stress? Is there something wrong?"

Only now does he meet her eyes, his face morphing into one of realization, and he furrows his eyebrows. "Well, yeah..." His voice wavers ever-so-slightly, and it's so precise that even Y\n almost doesn't notice it. "I mean, w-with your parents, and everything."

"Why would my parents stress you guys out?" She can tell that at least part of his statement isn't 100% true, though she doesn't want to pressure him and instead be easy with it. After all, if he wants to tell her, he'll tell her. "They're my problem, not yours."

"Darlin', if your parents aren't treating you right, that makes them our problem, too. Especially your dad." Perhaps she just isn't used to people willingly getting involved in her personal life, but those two sentences sound so strange to her. They also sound touching, so much so it makes her heartbeat speed up. "We're not going to stand aside and let you be neglected and mistreated."

She swallows, trying to keep the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes at bay, and takes a shaky breath. "Well... thanks, Pops..." Her tone is soft and genuine, probably the most genuine it's been in quite a while, and she sends him a grateful smile. He briefly returns it, turning his attention back to his food and continuing to eat.

A couple of minutes pass, and silence is all that's heard as the two enjoy the meal, Y\n's mind swarming with thoughts. How could she have forgotten how pure her grandparents are? How has she gone nearly half of her life without their wholesome influence? How could her father just get rid of almost all connections with them and act like they don't even exist? It's a totally shameful thing to do, and that fact is only just now making itself apparent to her. How could he? After they raised him? After they gave him and Aunt Darcy all of their love? How could he just stop talking to them like that?

It's bad enough that he refuses to visit with them, but then he goes and forces her to do the same thing? How could her father be so utterly selfish that he abandons what should be two of the most important people in his life? It doesn't make any sense to her. Then again, her father hasn't really made much sense since all of this pointless drama started, so she guesses it won't get much more sensible from here on out.

At least her aunt still treats them like her parents. Or... she did the last time Y\n was here. It's unknown what she does, now, which makes the dream she had flash into her mind. Just what happened between her aunt and her grandparents? Taking a composing breath through her nose and biting the inside of her cheek somewhat nervously, she speaks, again. "Pops... can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Y\n. Ya don't have to be shy around me." She averts her gaze to a wall, gathering her thoughts and attempting to form a coherent sentence.

"Well... you said, yesterday when I asked about Aunt Darcy, that you'd tell me later." She tries to keep her voice raised enough so he can hear her well, as his ears aren't 'what they used to be', as he's told her. "And... well, it's later, so..."

She sees him stiffen and stare down as if trying to sort through his thoughts, and she waits patiently, if not anxiously, for his response. It's clearly a serious matter that he feels hesitant to discuss, but surely it can't be anything like what her dreams suggested, right? No, absolutely not. She would've been informed a long time ago if something like that had happened. They probably just lost touch. Maybe they moved far away from here and they feel sad talking about it.

"Y\n..." He catches her full attention when he starts, and he almost seems to crumble under her apprehensive gaze. "I think you should wait and talk about this with your grandmother. I'm afraid I'm not the best, uh..." He rubs the stubble on his chin and releases a humorless laugh. "I don't explain things very well."

"Please?" She really doesn't want to resort to begging, but she has to know. If her mind is going to be put to ease, it needs to know that her dream is nothing more than that; a dream. What she saw isn't real, and it will never be. So she can relax and enjoy the rest of her vacation with her grandparents. He opens his mouth like he's about to further argue his point, but she beats him to it. "I don't care if you're not good at explaining things. Just tell me? Please?"

He stares across the table at her for a good minute before finally letting out a defeated sigh and sliding his now-empty plate to the side in order to give him room to rest his arms comfortably across the wooden surface in front of him, muttering something about how 'she'd have to know eventually'.

"Look, Y\n..." He looks like he's currently straining himself for the correct words to say, and she doesn't take her eyes off of him. "...around a year and a half, two years ago..." He meets her e\c orbs, his own holding great pain and hesitation. She subconsciously squeezes the fork within her hand, her lips parting slightly in anticipation. What happened? Did they get into a fight? Did Aunt Darcy and Uncle Marvin get divorced? "...Wyatt disappeared. And... and Darcy and Marvin were murdered."

Her breath hitches as her mind tries to comprehend this newly-delivered information. No, no... that couldn't have happened. All of it was a dream, nothing more. Her mind didn't predict anything. It couldn't have. No, Pops has to be joking... but what if he isn't? She leans forward in shock, eyebrows raised and heart skipping a beat as she forces one single word out of her mouth. "Wh-what...?" It comes out as a whisper, and he runs his fingers through his white, thin hair.

"I-I really shouldn't be telling you this."

"How...?" She fights the tears in her eyes and gulps, nervous to hear his answer. He only shakes his head.

"That's too descriptive, I don't think you need to—"

"Were they stabbed? S-strangled? Shot?" She isn't sure why, but she wants to know. Despite how painful it will be. She tilts her head in distress and considers the way he stares at her, seeming to contemplate what she said. Her eyes are pleading, desperate, and her bottom lip quivers vaguely.

"They... they were stabbed. Probably by the javelin that Marvin kept in the living room, because it was missing, a-and the wounds were... messy, they said." She drops her fork and shoves her plate aside, resting her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands as she comprehends all of this. How could this have happened? These are things that are only supposed to take place in movies, on crime shows, not in real life. It isn't supposed to happen to her family.

"And... and Wyatt?" Her voice is muffled and quiet as her stomach quickly becomes queasy.

"Nobody knows. He just... vanished." Her heart gets caught in her throat and she releases a small sound similar to a whimper. "There are theories that he... that he killed them and then took off to get away from the law." She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut and gripping strands of her hair.

"H-he wouldn't. He loves them..."

"I know. I think that's an absurd theory, myself." He rests a consoling hand on her arm in an effort to bring her comfort. She barely even registers the touch and focuses on the thoughts running rampant through her mind. How could her aunt and uncle be dead? How could her cousin be missing? How could anybody think he had anything to do with it? "I knew this would be a lot to handle, I'm sorry, darlin'."

"Wh-why didn't I know about this?" She lifts her head just enough to meet his eyes, her voice unsteady. "If it happened that long ago, why was I kept in the dark?"

"Trust me, we tried to tell you. We tried to tell your dad, your mom, but neither of them listened to us. They ignored our calls, wouldn't let us get on the phone with you. You deserved to know, and I'm sorry it's taken us this long to tell you." She can't stop her hands from shaking as a tear rolls down her cheek.

"Y-you mean Dad... Dad didn't care that his sister was dead?" Bitterness and a form of disbelief lace her voice as her eyes seem to bare holes into the table in front of her.

"He didn't want to believe it. I think he convinced himself it didn't actually happen and refused to acknowledge any of it." A rich, overwhelming fear washes over her and nearly makes her throw up as she bites her lip, so hard it almost draws blood, though she doesn't pay attention to the pain. Her eyes narrow in on Phil and she removes her hands from her face to get a better view of him, and so her voice wouldn't be indistinct.

"You... you're not joking, are you?" He shakes his head slowly, and goosebumps form along the skin of her arms.

"No... I'm so sorry. I know you were close with them..."

"I, uh..." She stands to her feet, grabbing her dishes and not having the stomach to finish her breakfast. "I'm gonna... go. Out, f-for a walk." As she walks around the table and past Phil, he lightly takes hold of her wrist to get her attention, and she glances down at him with glossy eyes.

"...I didn't want to scare you, or make you feel so bad, Y\n. I just... didn't want to lie to you."

"N-no, it's okay," she says, though her tone implies otherwise. "Thank you. I-I wanted to know." Before he can say anything else, she easily pulls away from his grasp and heads toward the kitchen, dumping her scraps in the large trash can before washing the dishes, putting them in the drainer to dry, pocketing her phone, and going toward the front door once again. "Um, if Nana wakes up before I'm back, please tell her that there's food in the fridge."

Not waiting for a reply although not exactly expecting one, she exits the home, shutting the screen behind her and speed-walking toward the white gate. She finds herself in a hurry to get some privacy, be in solitude so she can express herself more clearly without fear of being judged. Though tears now stream freely down her cheeks, she tries to hold them back until she's concealed in the thick greenery of the forest, and she takes the very same path she did yesterday, and many times before, this time not paying attention to what she steps on and what she doesn't.

She stumbles several times over the thorny plants and uncut weeds until eventually making it to a tamer area of the trail, wrapping her arms around herself and letting out squeaky sobs. Is it just a terrible coincidence? Her dreaming about Wyatt dying then finding out his parents was murdered and he's missing? Or is there something deeper going on? She can't seem to think past the fact that her aunt and uncle are dead, or the fact that her cousin just seemingly vanished without a trace and has yet to return.

Since she's arrived here, her dreams have had a menacing, eerie atmosphere to them, though she assumed it was just the stress of everything manifesting itself into the form of something specifically created to put fear in her heart. She didn't think they meant anything more, not so much so that they invade her mind during the day, every day, without end. But... was she wrong?

How can they be gone? Just like that? Her eyebrows furrow and her eyes narrow in both incredulity and anger. And how could Dad know but not tell me? I'm his freaking daughter, for goodness sake! And they're his sister, his brother-in-law! His nephew! How could- how could he just act like nothing happened!?

A pathetic whimper escapes through her lips and she shakes her head, quickening her pace and keeping an eye out for a connecting path in particular that she and Wyatt used to take to get to the river. They used to take that path, together, when they were kids. That would never happen again. Because he's missing and probably won't ever come back.

Oh God... this means Nana and Pops are the only ones left... She sniffles and sucks in shallow, sharp breaths as she comes to this realization, slowing down absentmindedly. She was my only aunt, he was my only cousin, Marvin was my only uncle... they were my closest relatives that actually gives a crap about me.

Seeing as how her mother's parents disowned her when she was only seventeen because she got impregnated by a man who was, at the time, twenty-two, she never got to meet them and didn't hear too much about them, outside of insults and general hate. Her mom's sister, Giana, didn't visit a lot, and when she did she was always snobby and selfish, and it was apparent to Y\n that she didn't really care for her niece very much. She was clearly only after the money that Y\n's father and mom had at their grasp.

In other words, her mother's family left much to be desired. At least her dad's side of the family loves her, which is something she's beyond grateful for. But now part of them is gone. Only her grandparents remain. Does her father even care about that? Has he ever stopped and thought, 'ya know, maybe I should stop acting like a scumbag and spend time with my parents before it's too late', or 'I should be there for my sister's funeral'? Doubtful. If he did it was a mere idea that he quickly brushed aside and labeled as 'ridiculous'.

Y\n wouldn't be so angry with him had he at least let her still see them, at least a couple of times a year, maybe on holidays, but that simply isn't the case. If she had been allowed back here years ago, she would've been able to spend quality time with all of them before that horrible event occurred. But now it's too late. All thanks to her selfish jerk for a father.

She releases an infuriated scream and turns to kick the nearest tree, causing a bird that was sitting on a branch previously to fly away in alarm, likely thinking that it's under attack and wanting to get away before it gets hurt. She could care less about the winged creature at the moment though and continues to kick the tree a total of three more times before collapsing on her knees in a sobbing, shaking, and heartbroken heap.

Even if she tried, she'd be unable to keep her negative emotions to herself. But she doesn't want to. She wants to cry, cry until she can't anymore. Nobody's around, she's completely alone. What harm will it bring? Salty tears slide down her face and hit the ground with a tiny splash each time, and she leans forward and rests her forearms on the grass beneath her for some sort of stability.

She can hardly believe this information, no matter how many times it runs through her head. It seems surreal, almost like a dream. But this isn't a dream. Right? It would be amazing to wake up and find out that Marvin and Darcy were alive and well, and Wyatt was still here, living a happy life. But that scenario is very unlikely to be true. Still, she hopes. Maybe it's all in her mind. She pinches the skin on her arm and instantly winces, waiting to wake up in her bed. But she doesn't.

She crashes further to the ground and her pained wails become louder. Why them? Why some of the sweetest people in her life? Why did they have to go? Why couldn't it have been a bad person? Someone whose only goal in life is to make others suffer? Why couldn't it have been her own parents instead of Wyatt's? As terrible of a thought it sounds, she can't seem to make herself think any differently.

Who would do such a thing? Who would murder somebody with a family that they love, that loves them in return? Have they no empathy? No compassion, no remorse, whatsoever? Clearly not. A sudden snap of a twig draws her attention and she cranes her neck to the side, gazing through swollen, glassy eyes and trying to see past the trees and find whatever is the source of the noise. Seeing nothing and brushing it off as an animal or her imagination, she turns back toward the ground, attempting to gather her bearings to continue her walk in peace.

After a couple of minutes, she catches her breath, calms herself down enough to be somewhat aware of her surroundings, and leisurely rises to her feet, wiping the remainder of the tears away with the back of her arm and beginning to walk forward, once again.

She spots a familiar trail, shrouded by even more briars and thick plants, that she remembers to lead to her and Wyatt's old 'Hangout', as they used to call it, where the water is just clear enough to be considered 'clean', where a small mountain covered with boulders rests, where a large oak was planted beside the river many years ago and made the perfect place to sit and play cards, share stories, or just stare down below into the beautiful scenery and beyond.

That was the way it used to be, almost eight years ago, and that's the way she hopes it is, now. Maybe it will be just like a painting frozen in time. Maybe it hasn't changed at all. Guess I'll find out...

She struggles to swat away the plants and duck under branches, looking extra closely for low-hanging spiderwebs that happen to be in the direct path of her head. Her heart aches, there isn't a doubt about that. But below that aching, below the pain, there's anger. Pure vexation, all directed at her father. Yes, she knows he wasn't the one who killed them, but he's the one that kept her from seeing them. Perhaps she should focus all her negative energy around the actual person who caused their deaths. But she can't, not right now. The real villain, in her eyes, is the man whose self-centered personality, along with his total disregard for other peoples' feelings, made the last of her childhood and beginning and middle of her teenage years miserable.

Her mother isn't innocent in this either, with her cheating on her own husband, disacknowledging that her daughter even existed most days anymore, and overall disloyalty toward her family makes Y\n angry. Makes her strongly dislike her. But Y\n's mother had almost nothing to do with these family issues, no. Her father caused that all on his own. She's sure the only reason her mom didn't communicate with them is because he told her not to.

Y\n recalls turning to her mother for answers when she couldn't get anything out of her dad, and she only responded with, "You'll have to ask your father", or "I'm not the one you should be questioning about that". Every single time. So she stopped, after all, what's the point in asking about something if all you get is vague, useless answers in response?

She looks back when she gets the sudden feeling that she's being followed, and flinches in surprise when she meets the chestnut eyes of a fairly normal-looking boy, with messy brown hair and an innocent-looking face. He seems to be around her age, perhaps a couple of years older, and he puts his hands up in defense as if taken off-guard by her startled reaction.

He's taller than average, and she takes a cautious step back when he begins speaking. "O-oh, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." His voice is deep and has a mature sound to it, and she furrows her eyebrows in slight suspicion. Who is this guy? How long has he been there?

"Were you... following me?" Her tone holds wariness, and he sends her a friendly smile to show her he means well, though she gets the feeling that maybe it isn't as sincere as he makes it seem.

"Uh... yes? But—you don't have to get creeped out or anything, I'm not a stalker." She raises an eyebrow and takes another step back, trying to make as much distance between herself and this random person as she can in case he were to try and attack. "I just moved here and was exploring around, then I saw you walking around and figured I'd say 'hi'."

She considers his posture, his appearance, his upright demeanor, before meeting his eyes again, her muscles relaxing and deciding he seems genuine enough, though she won't let her guard down completely. She isn't extremely concerned about the way she must look to him, and he isn't commenting on it, much to her relief. "...Really? Where do you live?"

"About a mile north from here." He nods his head in that direction and sticks his hands into his hoodie pocket habitually. "My mom thought I should get out and get familiar with the area."

"And how do you like it?" She tilts her head, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. He shrugs.

"It's nice. Pretty quiet most of the time, but it's a good area to unwind, I guess." She nods in response, and he takes a step closer, something that doesn't go unnoticed by her. "What about you?"

"I'm here visiting some family while my parents are away on business." She said the term 'family' instead of 'grandparents' without even thinking about it, something that makes her chest tighten when she realizes that very thing.

"Cool. You been here before?"

"Not since I was a kid."

"How come?" She narrows her eyes up at him and her voice hardens slightly, not willing to give a stranger a lot of personal information about herself. Maybe it's the fact that she hasn't interacted much with anyone outside what was necessary for quite a while and it's making her feel overly-cautious about meeting new people, but something about this person seems strange. She can't quite put her finger on it, all she knows is that she feels weird around him.

"Family issues." There's a certain tension that begins to form between the two of them, and she shuffles on her feet uncomfortably, not sure if this guy wants to maintain some type of conversation with her. She was never the best at reading people and knowing what they were thinking. A few moments pass.

"So... where are you going?"

"Um..." She glances behind her, to the unconquered trail that she was taking before he appeared, and jabs her thumb backward to show him. "There's a river and a tree and stuff down there, I was just seeing if it's the same as I remember it being."

"I don't mean to be the annoying know-it-all, but..." He uses his eyes to signal around them in an obvious manner. "There are trees everywhere." A huff exits her nose and she rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, well. There is one tree there that's more special than the ones here." He chuckles lightly and nods.

"Fair enough. Mind if I tag along?" She presses her lips together after hearing this seemingly harmless request, thinking it over. "Hey, I know that face. Don't worry, I'm not gonna slaughter you or anything when we get there."

"Heh, no, I wasn't—" She runs her hand through her hair and grapples for words that won't make her seem paranoid or stupid.

"You were." He grins mischievously, walking closer to her, and she steps to the edge of the path in response, still not fully trusting of this evidently nice individual. "It's okay. Look, I'll even go first so I can't stab you in the back." She bites the inside of her cheek and watches as he passes her effortlessly and stops a few inches ahead. "You were following the trail, right?" She nods. "Then c'mon and we'll 'get familiar with the area' together."

"I'm already familiar with the area," she says, hesitantly following behind him when he starts walking.

"Okay, okay, then let me get familiar with the area and you will just... stay familiar with the area, I guess." She can't stop the amused smirk that etches itself across her face as she falls in place next to him, though keeps a fair distance between the two of them. As 'fair' as the distance can be, at least. She's content that she's found something that will hopefully distract her for a little while just so she won't have to think about the current horrors of her life. "So what's your name?"

"Y\n." She briefly meets his eyes and repeats his own inquiry. "What about you?"

"Nice to meet you, Y\n. I'm Jack."

#Creepypasta #Marble Hornets #Creepypasta fanfic #x reader #fanfiction #Y\n L\n #Reader insert #Eyeless Jack #Jack Nichols #Creepypasta x reader

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nny11writes · 4 years ago

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Shadow Weaver, One Good Thing, and Moral Shades of Gray

Some Season 5 rambling for whoever wants it regarding Shadow Weaver, her actions, and the end of her character arc.

I might revisit this later more from her perspective, that scene (you know the one) felt very complex to me and I have a few different feelings about it, this is one of them.

Spoilers below the cut!

Okay, I really loved Shadow Weaver this season. I’ve loved her every season, she’s such a great character and her concept, animation, and voice acting all work flawlessly together to breathe some real life into her. I just love her! Great bad guy!

And this season? No one is letting her fucking breath without body slamming her.

It was one of the things I loved about her interactions with everyone, that she’d say something and immediately get told off. No one was falling for her shit. And you can see the way she’s super annoyed and confused, amazing how much a mask can portray, “Excuse ME I’m a GOOD GUY now?????” No one was forgiving her, no one liked her, they barely even tolerated her. I feel like it was wearing her down. I haven’t re-watched yet, but I think we saw Weaver with or near cups several times, but regardless, for sure when Catra found her she was drunk. She was half fucking slurring as she drank at what could be the end of the world. It was a rather pathetic sight, and now the joke about Shadow Weaver being drunk at 8AM makes more sense. This is just some stuff to keep in mind as we mosey along.

Noelle has talked before about shades of moral gray in the series and how people can shift and move along that line, and how people can also still be good people making bad choices or bad people making good choices.

I think Shadow Weaver is being used to display that. She is a few baby steps away from the beyond Vanta Black of Horde Prime. She is not a good person, she is not a hero; even if some of the things she’s done are good for others or could read ‘heroic’.

There was also a running theme this season of “One Good Thing”.

Catra is an obvious one, “I just want to do one good thing in my life!” And she goes from thinking she’s made a heroic sacrifice of sorts by saving Glimmer to getting the chance to actually move forward. And even if her steps faltered, Catra moved forward and did far more than just one good thing.

Hordak had a few moments of getting to see him lower his walls with Entrapta, but the thing that stuck out to me was his face as he held a happily cooing Adora. “Oh…okay, I guess- I guess this baby is mine? WAIT NO, CAN’T DO, ABORT, NO EMOTIONS, EMOTIONS ARE FOR HORDE PRIME, GET THIS THING AWAY FROM ME!” (Okay so that wasn’t all just his face, but that’s the gist). Hordak didn’t kidnap Adora, he went where sensors showed a portal would be and found a baby. He could’ve left her there, he could’ve done a lot of things, but he had a one good thing moment where he chose to take that baby with him. Cradled close. It’s a kind action in some ways, and not in others. I think Hordak hoped the baby might have an answer or solution to the portal (talk about high hopes buddy). But I think he also didn’t want to leave a baby to die alone in a field. It’s not a big great declaration or heroic moment, but it is still a good thing. Hordak’s one good thing.

I think Shadow Weaver has always held a twisted sort of care and love for Adora, and I also really think that Shadow Weaver would have held just as disgusting and awful a brand of ‘love’ for Catra if Catra had done/been what she’d wanted (which let’s be real was unrealistic and was a bar she would’ve kept moving). Shadow Weaver’s love is not pure. Perhaps as Light Spinner it could have been. As Light Spinner she was still an awful person willing to use anyone including children to get what she wanted. She wasn’t a good person. But even bad people can feel true love for others. I’m not saying that her love was pure or was always good intentioned as Light Spinner, just that I think she had the capability for it. But once that entity/parasite consumed her? Once she let her lust for power overwhelm her basic humanity? No. I don’t think her love would have been good in any form FOR SURE after that.

So her insistence that, “Didn’t you hear? I’m one of the good guys now.” rings just that much more hollow and cracked. Her motivations have always been selfish and her choices rarely take other’s into account beyond ‘how can I use this to my advantage’. Her kindness is faked, her goodness is incidental, her love is poison, everyone else knows that. Everyone else treats her the way they should, cautiously at best and hostile as needed. But Shadow Weaver doesn’t get that. She truly believes that she’s a good person now and is baffled that no one else will believe her and if frustrated/upset that she can’t even go ‘pure evil’ because she doesn’t have the legs to stand on for it. “I’m a good guy,” fuck you.

I think this shows with Catra. She’s still an absolute bitch and a half to Catra, and again I’m not saying what she did or said was good or right. But I think Shadow Weaver had a few moments of legit thinking, “Okay, fine, gotta tone this shit down because I’m a good guy.” She was always in control of her behavior and this was such a fine razor to cut with. It’s like the idea of an abuser who just “loses control” and destroys things then apologizes. It’s never their things they destroy and they don’t help to clean up or replace anything. The apology is a lie. They never lost control, they knew what they were doing. Same with Shadow Weaver. It was disturbing to watch her interact neutrally or her warped ass version of nicely with Catra. Because we all know it’s not that Shadow Weaver was out of control before, so we know she could have acted this way the whole time. It still wouldn’t have been good. But I think going from torturing kids and threatening them with death, to basically cold indifference is a half step forward and a full step sideways. It still would’ve caused harm, it still would’ve left destruction in its wake but a different kind of it. I don’t know, I just thought this was a wonderfully god awful way to show that. It also shows that she thinks she can either smooth things over or control the situation, which good luck with that.

Got distracted a hot second there, my example in this is actually when she grabs Catra to cover her mouth. It’s a move that if literally anyone else had done it wouldn’t have felt so fucking skeevey. But it’s Shadow Weaver physically touching Catra, her favorite chew toy. Catra has a very justified reaction to that, and you can still see the wheels turning in Weavers head. “Ungrateful, I’m trying to save you, I’m a good guy!” Fucking hell this lady.

So here we are, with a genuinely awful and bad person who believes they’re a good person now and trying to pantomime what they think a good person would do. With her very twisted version of “love” and the realization coming ever closer that she’s not in control of anything, no one trusts her, and no one likes her. I think she absolutely is thinking about her legacy right here, I think she is definitely trying for one last manipulation to put a big underscore on “Shadow Weaver was a good guy”.

I also, however, think she manipulates so well because she always draws a grain of truth into what she’s saying.

My example of this is her “You remind me of myself and I wanted you to be better, stronger than me.” Bullshit. Catra might have reminded Shadow Weaver vaguely of herself, but the rest is pure bullshit. Shadow Weaver doesn’t hate herself and certainly never did shit to make Catra a ‘better and stronger’ person. It’s 90% lies, but that 10% helps her sell her abuse.

So I think in her final moments there, Shadow Weaver does some complex mental gymnastics. She knows that Adora has to make it to the heart for anyone to survive. She knows that Adora loves Catra and that Catra loves Adora. She may know that if she doesn’t save Catra it is very likely that Adora will very likely not survive. Adora has always been ‘distracted and pulled down’ by Catra, so now she needs her ‘crutch’. I think Shadow Weaver also knows that once this is all done, no one will have a use for her and I don’t think she wants to face a world where she has no power and no control.

So she steps forward and puts one last manipulative play into motion.

And I think she sells it with a semi truth.

I’ve always thought it was interesting that even after joining the Rebellion that Shadow Weaver seemed so dismissive of Catra. Even as Catra was steam rolling them in Season 4. That Shadow Weaver didn’t even have a moment of, “Well damn, don’t like you still but I guess there was something competent and worthwhile underneath it all.” I can’t even remember if she mentions Catra at all by name when they aren’t in the same room together.

I think that Shadow Weaver was impressed, to some degree. She had always seen Catra as a pest, a gnat flying in her face and distracting Adora. Worthless, small, weak, and dumb. I think seeing how far Catra actually does make it is impressive to her. Not “oh wow that’s amazing!” impressive. More like, “huh, okay then” with a side of bitchiness. I think she never mentions Catra directly because of that. She hates Catra. She doesn’t want to admit she’s impressed by anything Catra’s done. She hates her and hates it and hates the whole thing.

So when Shadow Weaver removes her mask (definitely to play on them seeing her as a person first and not a monster) (although I think it also is a very good way to remind the audience that monsters are human too and that is far scarier to deal with, think about those photos of Nazi’s smiling on their weekend away from work where they helped kill thousands) and says, “I am so proud of you, Catra.”

90% is a lie, 10% is truth. Shadow Weaver might not think that’s the ratio, she might really be buying her own line. That’s something to explore another time perhaps.

And then she goes out in a blaze of glory with no need to face her own bleak and uncertain future, ‘protecting’ Adora, who she holds a dark and twisted affection for, and secures her legacy as a good guy. One final, “I fucking told you so”.

Shadow Weaver’s death is not a redemption. I think she hopes it is, and knows that even if it isn’t, Catra and Adora can never deny the impact she had on shaping them. That they’ll never really be free of her, and therefore no one else will either.

She will never truly have to face the consequences of what she’s done. For all that the other characters shut her down, no one gave her the true blue knock down drag out no holds barred VIBE CHECK she deserved. And without that this ending is very unsatisfying for some. For others that missing piece adds.

My take?

She’s a bad person, doing her One Good Thing, not realizing that it doesn’t take her from bad to good. Her sacrifice is, in this way, in vain. She’s a bad guy and will be remembered as such. She did her one good thing.

She’s still a monster.

#Shadow Weaver #She Ra #SPOP #spop spoilers #spop spoiler #season 5 #s5 spoiler #s5 spoilers #she ra season 5 spoilers #she ra season 5 spoiler #I love Shadow Weaver #she is an excellent bad guy #is this my first fandom breakdown/meta?#...#it might be

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nxncydrews · 4 years ago

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midnight in salem: a review

Your girl finally beat Midnight in Salem last night and...I have thoughts. Feelings. Concerns. But also hope? This review is like a year late but whatever. Overall, I didn’t hate the game nearly as much as I thought I would, and I was fully prepared to loathe it. Spoilers are under the cut for anyone who hasn’t played it yet! (also...it’s long lol)

The general gist of it is this: Midnight in Salem is an okay game. There are some glaring issues that I’ll talk about in more detail, but there is a foundation that I feel is strong for the future. Even with the problems I saw I don’t think MID is the weakest in the series (MED and RAN still claim those spots). Let’s break it down.

Good: the mystery. Although I guessed Teegan’s role in the fire early on, I thought the overall storyline was compelling and that they did a good job of intertwining the characters and motivations in ways that wasn’t super obvious. The one problem I did have with the story is I felt like I couldn’t follow up with characters as much as I wanted to. For example, you can go upstairs in the museum and discover pretty early on that the Parry family changed their name from Parris but you can’t ask Teegan about it until she brings it up much later in the game—and even then it’s not something you prompt, it’s something she just gives up. I also think I found out about things in dialogue before I was supposed to as though branches of the dialogue tree were incorrectly crossed. Despite that, I think the mystery was good...just needed a little more refining to pull it all together. There were also a few threads that didn’t get tied up (do we just assume that Jason mimicked Olivia’s smoke bombs because he watched her in the square?).

Bad: the linearity. The thing that I loved (and hated) about past games was that you could hit moments where it wasn’t always clear where you were supposed to go next. With MID, however, you were led from location to location with little reason to return to other places when you finished the single task you needed to do. You would start at the Parry’s house, go to town square, make one trip out to Hathorne House, go back to the town square and repeat the next with a random trip to Lauren’s shop instead of Hathorne. And with the lack of locations to begin with...it just felt like it was a small game without much to do. That said, some of my favorite games have had a much smaller setting (TRT, for example) and did it well. So perhaps this issue could’ve been fixed with more complexity added to the puzzles and additional side quests.

Good: the voice acting and characters. Look, I loved Lani as Nancy Drew and she will always have a special place in my heart, but the new voice of Nancy has won me over. She’s got the exact type of energy I imagine and had a more modern voice. I do think she was one of the weakest voice actors in the game (random lines seemed to feel out of place emotionally, but that could just as much be on the editing team as the voice actor), but I still liked her overall. The rest of the voice cast was also great, which helped to carry a script that I felt was weak at moments—there were times when the dialogue was just...bad. The characters as a whole felt unique and fun, and I really loved the interactions between Deirdre and the Hardy Boys. I would argue that the strongest part of the game is the characters, even if I do think they could’ve gone further with some of the friendships and relationships that were hinted throughout the game (Judge Danforth and Jason, Mei and Jason, Teegan/Olivia/Lauren, etc). I also liked that the characters felt more alive...moving around, in multiple places, etc. The positioning of characters when they followed you was...unfortunate at times. Deirdre scared me every time I turned around and navigating the tunnels at the end of the game was nearly impossible with how characters constantly blocked your view.

Bad: the graphics. This is obviously something that has been complained about since the beginning, and it’s for good reason: the graphics were lackluster. I have a pretty good laptop so I was able to play on high settings, but even then they weren’t nearly as good as I was expecting for how long they worked on the game. The character models are one of the most glaring issues: choppy and awkward animations, a lack of texture and shadows, and those really freaky eyes. The environments, though slightly better, still felt as though they were built from unity assets that the developers picked up off online stores and threw together. I couldn’t stand looking at the leaf piles on the ground or the street outside the Parry house because they were so incredibly flat. The final puzzle scenes felt better to me, as did Olivia’s shop and even the graveyard, so it’s clear that they can do better, but that level (or even higher level) of detail needs to be present in everything. The lighting is another huge issue—it was extremely flat in most parts of the game and took away a lot of the mood that could’ve been set. That said, I think graphics can be improved....if they put in the money and resources.

Good: the puzzles and interact-able objects. The puzzles that we did have in the game were fun and varying, which I think is important in mystery games. Some of the controls in the puzzles were really frustrating (more on the controls later), but there wasn’t a puzzle that I flat-out couldn’t solve. I also liked the way we could rotate objects and see all sides of them but again, the controls were a little frustrating.

Bad: the number of puzzles. There just wasn’t enough puzzles for me, particularly puzzles that directly affected the storyline. For example, you can find a ripped-up note in the trash can in the Parry house but it’s never referenced again and you don’t actually need to do it to solve the mystery. Same with the piece of the flyer you find in the scarecrow. I think I saw a reddit thread or a post here that suggested things with book sorting or doing stuff with displays in the museum as additional puzzles and I 100% agree that they’d be great (and easy) additions to the storyline. Or maybe even helping Olivia with doing her store inventory (as we see on her list that she clearly doesn’t want to do it).

Good: the mini-games. I loved the pumpkin quest and making johnny cakes (though I wish we could’ve actually made the various recipes and not have done the flipping part 6 times). I also loved making the herb mixtures! I honestly don’t have any complaints here. I think there was a good amount of them and they were fun to come back to.

Bad: the controls. While I appreciate what HER was trying to do with the controls, I really don’t think they worked. The “looking around” in a scene is cool in theory, but the actual act of dragging around an object was tedious and frustrating. The movement through the town square was really annoying, too—it took me forever to get from one side to the other. I think the yellow glow around the cursor when you found something to interact with could be a little more prominent, too. I think if HER wants to continue using this setup then they need to fix the cursor sensitivity to deal with how slow looking around a scene can be when dragging. I think we also could’ve done with a way to read the logs of conversations because I definitely missed a few things when I looked away for a second.

Good: Deirdre. Shannon. I love her. So much. She’s absolutely fantastic. Her snark was great and I really appreciated how they gave her autonomy and actively contribute to the case. I would’ve loved for her to be playable (like maybe we follow her to do research on the town or search for the will), but I can’t complain about the amount we saw her. Her scenes with the Hardy Boys were some of my favorite in game....and I really hope we continue to have her as a phone contact in future games (if not see her in person again!).

Bad: no charm. Despite some high points with characters and the mystery, overall this game just lacked the charm of the past. I know some of this stems from moving to Unity and the subsequent changes to graphics and models, but I really feel like so much of the uniqueness to the games was stripped away as well. There are some easy changes that I think could fix this, starting with the UI and dialogue display and working to improve the lighting and character models. Nancy Drew needs a small amount of grittiness, I think, and a clean, modern look just doesn’t feel right.

Good: throwbacks to old games. I appreciated that there were some throwbacks to old games mixed in as you went and that some of our old familiar easter eggs popped up (Koko Kringle candy, for one!). I like to think that the black cats in Olivia’s shop were throwbacks to Suki from SAW (though that one is unlikely) and there was also a mention of a Waverly Academy, though I think this was either a mistake or unintentional because the letter is for an art school and Waverly was a boarding school. I was hoping for a Kate Drew reference when on the phone with Carson, but alas. Here’s hoping they continue to bring past games into new ones.

Bad: the lack of depth. I felt like overall the game only scratched the surface of what it could’ve in terms of bringing in more history and complexity. The lack of puzzles and overly-linear story made it a pretty quick solve and the characters, though interesting, could’ve done with more interaction with each other. More puzzles, more history, and more side quests could’ve helped with this immensely. (Oh, and get rid of the ridiculous side love triangle and manufactured drama with Ned and Nancy. That’s something worth it’s own post, however.)

tl;dr I wouldn’t go so far to say that MID was a roaring success or met the expectations I had for the game, but I do think there is hope for the future if we get more games. The mystery was solid and there are some good things that came from it, but they’ve got a lot of work to do to bring the next game back to the quality level that we saw in past eras. If anything, this did make me want to play through all the old games in order again, which I haven’t wanted to do in years.

Time to go open photoshop and make all the Mei/Jason and Frank/Deirdre graphics and get back in the edit game!

#mid #midnight in salem #clue crew #nancy drew #midnight in salem review

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pianoandcookiedoughlover · 4 years ago

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oof i’m emotional over this new episode of jamie johnson (5x11)

tw // panic attacks

wow.

sorry, i’m actually just . . . really overwhelmed by that episode.

okay, preface: i get panic attacks myself. i haven’t had many and i would by no means call myself a seasoned veteran in them (literally what does that even mean) but watching that scene with boggy towards the end reminded me of some of my past ones and . . . i’m just so glad they told a story like that in this show - i think it could help so many kids, or at the very least, provide awareness.

now, onto the actual episode.

something i thought was really well done in this was the contrast between the build up to boggy’s panic attack (piling on of all these stresses) and when he was actually having it. here, we have startling red lights, abrupt camera changes and dissonant electric guitar playing:

but when he is in the midst of the attack, the lighting has become much duller and less bright, softly waving camera movements (that makes no sense but hopefully you can get what i’m saying) and the muffled noises, as though you’re underwater.

for me, what is really frightening about a panic attack is the loss of sense of reality. you have built up all of these stresses and pressures that have been plaguing you for a while, and when it suddenly culminates, it’s like your world takes on a less tangible form. this is my experience, at the very least. i’m sure everyone goes through slightly different things, but all of them are equally as terrifying and difficult to go through.

i think the production of this really lends itself to this concept, which i really appreciated. the stress is very real and panic inducing, represented by that striking environment that is created at the start of this episode. but as it all becomes too much, that dream-like, intangible state comes in, demonstrated through how that scene was produced.

it was nice to see zoe stepping up to help boggy not only during the panic attack, but throughout the entire episode. it felt like she was the only one attentive to the fact that he was in a really bad state and was actually trying to listen to him. i’m also glad that they related it to her mom, since we have had a bit of insight into her character and what she has to deal with on a day to day basis.

jamie afterwards saying this:

pissed me off a lot. because he has been a god awful friend - i can’t even call him a friend, to be honest - to boggy. why on earth would boggy trust jamie? jamie’s been berating him, blaming him for his accident, treating him like a slave, and now he’s saying that he’s there for him? yeah, no. and while this is not solely jamie’s fault, he’s an integral factor in it all. not only that, but this is not something you just talk out with your friends and it’s over. boggy needs professional help, and i’m glad they’re promoting that. friends are a good support system, but aren’t a replacement for proper help and shouldn’t be used that way.

unfortunately, the damage has been done, and there’s really nothing that he could’ve said that i think i would’ve been happy with, because he screwed up so much in this entire season with boggy. i did find it interesting that now he’s sort of in a similar position as his dad in taking on the guilt of hurting someone he’s close to.

i will say that i thought it was good that jamie’s giving boggy space to allow him to get better. and i’m glad to see boggy moving to accepting the fact that even he makes mistakes, and that’s not a bad thing (”not bad for a practice!” after finally opening his a levels and seeing that he passed with a c).

every time boggy talked about how he had to do things right, how everyone expects him to . . . i also felt that. there’s a horrible pressure that comes with fitting in a role like that, in whatever environment. he has to realize that no one expects perfection and that his worth is not based on how perfect he is. what the team appreciates is him trying. i would love it if we got to see him go to a therapist, but with only two episodes left and no mention of him in the next one, i kind of doubt it. hopefully that will be explored further in season 6, because i think it’s a pressure that so many kids struggle with and it’s not even something he can alter with a snap of his fingers. it’s a mindset that approached everything with for so long, it’s going to take a while to turn into a healthier one. it reminds me of what my 9th grade biology teacher would say - take the time to learn things properly, because if you learn things the wrong (or in this case, unhealthy) way, it will take twice as long to learn the correct (healthy) way (she definitely said it better than that, but you get the gist). it’ll be a process, but i really hope we get a complete arc with him and we get to see him move towards a better mental health state.

i think that’s it for this episode . . . oh, wait. right.

how could i forget about this nightmare?

freddie and eric are being complete clowns and when they were fooling around (NOT like that) during the game i just about lost my shit. they’re being immature as hell, liam egging them on is not a good look (character development? out the window) and alba is now getting punished for them being dumbasses.

(i really liked this shot as well)

and THE DOG. so cute but WHY DOESN’T AISHA’S MOM KEEP HER ON A LEASH???????

essentially i have such distaste for this love triangle we shall speak of it no longer.

i’m glad that we got to see aisha being a queen and flat out rejecting both of them

what a legend

. . . hey, wait a minute, what’s this?

what the hell is this

anyway

i thought this was a really well produced episode and i thought they handled the panic attack storyline itself (not with the whole jamie thing, i’m still annoyed with him) well.

guys suck and stan the girls in this show + dillon and boggy and elliott (so just not jamie or any of the u13 boys) for clear skin

#jamie johnson #boggy #season 5 #football #panic attack

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t100ficrecsblog · 4 years ago

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an interview with blueparacosm (they/them)

what are you working on right now? right now i’m working on a multi-chapter merlin au (murphamy, duh). murphy as the sorcerer, bellamy as the prince, octavia as the half-sister sorceress, lexa as the painfully vague great dragon, you get the gist.

what’s something you’d like to write one day? i’d love to write a big canonverse adventure story with murphy and bellamy. i love the idea of a story of about 35k words of them traveling together, getting to know each other better, and having all the conversations they should be having in canon. hopping planets, anomaly shenanigans, cave spelunking, bardo breakout, whatever the hell etherea ends up being. mostly just because i want a snow kiss on nakara. i won’t lie to you. just something big and colorful and fun. the works. if i do end up writing it, it’ll be after the show is over and all these new weird settings have been? fleshed? i forget the phrase. surely it’s not ‘fleshed’… ed’s note: they mean ‘fleshed out’, probably.

what is the fanwork you’re most proud of? definitely “alone with you.” i’m used to writing kind of absurd and fast-paced stories and “alone with you” stands out to me as one of my more genuine fics that takes its time, and i was really surprised by how well that change of pace went over with people who read it. i really wrote that one for myself, it was almost a vent fic about depression and comfort and nature and solitude and other loser dork shit, and so to see that people resonated with its themes was so heartwarming and encouraging. i even had a few people tell me they were laying around, reading it outside, feeling comforted and calmed by the mossy rock of it all. so i suppose it’s my favorite because of the great response to it, and because it was so different from anything else i’ve written and was basically just me testing the waters to see if people would mind if i spent more time on imagery and character development and yet, apparently turned out actually readable. who would’ve thunk?

why did you first start writing fic? god, i must have been 14? so when s2 was airing, and i’d never read or written fanfic or even been part of a fandom, i just loved murphy so much that i had to talk about it with someone, so i joined twitter and inevitably found ao3. and i found i loved fics and i’ve always liked writing but didn’t know what to do with stories after i’d written them, so i thought i’d try my hand at writing and posting something. i think i got a pretty good response on my first few fics (orphaned since then because… good god) for a 14 year old with shitty grammar and a weird writing style and terrible dialogue but a lot of enthusiasm, and i thought it was so much fun to share my ideas and get nice feedback from others, so i kept going. :)

what frustrates you most about fic writing? i’ll be real with you dog: i never feel good enough. i swear i could write a fic with 1000 kudos and 1000 lovely comments and i would still think i could’ve and should’ve done better. it’s easy to forget we do this for fun and for free and that i could be a hell of a lot worse. at a certain point, i think my understanding of what makes a good story surpassed my actual writing ability, so now i’m scrambling to catch up and write something i’m proud of again. fingers crossed for that merlin au.

what are your top five songs right now? “those who can’t, cheat” by clarence clarity “georgia on my mind” by microwave “eggshell” by runnner “nice house” by joy wave “gay in the south”by susto

what are your inspirations (books, songs, other fic)? my inspirations are usually shows for structure and short stories for tone/style! my attention span is pathetic so i barely ever read books anymore which is … not promising for a wannabe writer and i should probably get that figured out if i want to continue improving but we’ll cross that bridge when i am prepared to admit i have arrived at it. but, mostly shows. i love watching tv and am constantly analyzing shows’ story structure and making notes of what i thought worked and what i didn’t like. getting a masterclass in suspense from black sails right now. all television is educational television if you try hard enough.

what attracts you to writing about Murphamy? what first attracted you?murphamy has such good bones. of course i’d want them to be canon, but their personalities mesh so well in the focused and organized and fun world of fics. there’s just something different about them in that they make every single AU their bitch. there’s nowhere they don’t shine and even if they weren’t already my only concern in the world, their adaptability makes them the perfect control variable for trying out a million different writing styles and lengths and genres. pirate au you got it. wizard au hell yeah. sports au let’s hear it for the boys. canon divergence release the beasts. fuck it i wrote them as witnesses to the crucifixion of jesus christ once and it wasn’t even that weird. they’re my favorite lab rats.

besides Murphamy, what’s your favorite ship on t100? i can honestly say i don’t care for anyone else. there are plenty of pairings i could boogie with and plenty of murphy ships that i joke about but none i’m actively rooting for or seeking out fan-made content about. murphamy or bust. i suppose i liked clexa, sea mechanic, and jonty well enough when they were in their prime but all good and gay things must apparently come to an end.

besides Murphy, who’s your favorite character on t100? oh sweet jasper… sweet jasper come home to me…

would you ever write a sheidheda/murphy fic? what about other rarepairs? i absolutely would. in fact i’ll do it right now. a story about those two going head to head would be a literal gold mine do you think this is a funny silly little game? it’s not. the tension between murphy and an ancient sexy demon is something that can actually be so personal but my mutuals are getting increasingly angrier with me for talking about it. not to say i’m stopping. as for other rare pairs i’ve been genuinely interested in ECHORI lately you know like an insane person. and i loved zev/murphy. it’s a cold, cruel world we live in. wouldn’t be opposed to one last gabriel/murphy hurrah before the show ended either. OH! OH! and someone should write some wells/murphy. not me because i’m writing sheidurphy.

what are some things you’d like to recommend? if anyone has a food lion near them, in the bakery they have these boxes of little sugar cookies and they’re only like four dollars but there’s like 25 cookies in there it’s unfathomable.

also these baller writers on ao3: sapphictomaz, hopskipaway, oogaboogu, sadie18, and maunwocha!

and for my finale i’m gonna plug my murphy playlist, and my murphamy playlist. because sharing is caring and music is good and i’m proud of them.

it was my absolute joy to interview blueparacosm! you can find them primarily on Twitter at slugcities. my favorite blueparacosm fics are: thirty-five paper frogs, an exploration of Murphy and Jasper’s friendship while they’re on the Ring together; the fantastic it’s good to be me, an absolutely poetic examination of prime!Murphy at the end of season 6; fish boy, the heart-wrenching mermaid!Murphy fic; and lastly, the old magic oddities show, a really weird fic that shows off the adaptability of these characters in a wholly new light.

#murphamy #murphamy fic #john murphy #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 #interview

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vocalfriespod · 5 years ago

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Bilingualism is. It just is. Transcript

Megan Figueroa: Hi, and welcome to the Vocal Fries podcast, a podcast about linguistic discrimination.

Carrie Gillon: I’m Carrie Gillon.

Megan Figueroa: I’m Megan Figueroa. How you doing there, Carrie?

Carrie Gillon: Better today. Yesterday was rough. I mean, I’m pretty convinced that I have COVID, even though I have not been tested because I’m not sick enough to get tested. I don’t wanna walk around and infect other people unless I absolutely have to go to the hospital.

Megan Figueroa: Right.

Carrie Gillon: It’s been pretty mild. Then, yesterday, you and I had this awesome conversation with two guests – it’s gonna be in six weeks, probably – and it was an amazing conversation. But then afterwards I had lunch and then I just crashed, and I got much sicker, and I’m like, “Ugh!”

Megan Figueroa: You exert yourself and then there you go and get it.

Carrie Gillon: And exerting myself was just conversation. It’s just – oh, man. It just depressed me.

Megan Figueroa: I know. I have heard that a lot of people, they describe not being able to do any sort of task because it’s just too much. I’m like, “Oof.” I mean, that kind of sounds like the flu but in the way that people are describing it, it sounds like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

Carrie Gillon: For me, whatever this is, it is not the flu because all it did at first was just attack my lungs. I felt like they were on fire. Then, it was just more tight and I had some fatigue but not like flu fatigue. It’s just – I dunno. It’s very different.

Megan Figueroa: Yeah.

Carrie Gillon: Anyway, in better news, we have an email from, let’s see, I think it’s /silʌm/. So, “Hi. Big fan of the podcast. I was actually planning to send a message just last week to ask if you had any plans to do an episode about names, so I was really excited when I saw the title of the newest episode.” By the way, we got this email a while ago, and I meant to read it on the last episode and just plum forgot. That’s why it’s a little bit delayed.

“They’re something I’ve always been interested in and I wanted to share some things about my name(s) in case you found it interesting. I’m Chinese Canadian, Cantonese and Hakka specifically, and like many others, I grew up with a ‘Western name’ that I used in everyday life and Chinese ones that I use with my family. My name is pronounced super differently in Mandarin, Cantonese, and Hakka.” I’m not even gonna try because it involves tones and I really suck at tones. Anyway, there’s three different pronunciations.

“I’d been thinking about ditching the Western name for a while, especially since coming out as agender, since it’s very gendered and my Chinese name is gender neutral. I was hesitant because I didn’t know which Chinese name to use and I wasn’t really used to hearing non-Chinese speakers pronounce any of them. It’s a bit silly but seeing Hasan Minhaj correct everyone’s pronunciation of his name and seeing people reacting” – I think – “positively to that gave me a confidence boost and I’ve been using my Cantonese name full time for most of the last year. People have been pretty good about pronouncing it, although it took me a while to get used to hearing it without the tones.” Exactly! We’re not good at tones most of us who –

Megan Figueroa: Who didn’t grow up with it.

Carrie Gillon: Yeah, especially each tonal language is different too, right, so even if you speak a tonal language, you’re still gonna have to learn a whole new system. However, if you don’t grow up with it at all, it’s just really hard. “I went back and forth on the spelling between S-E-E and S-I for the first syllable and L-A-M and L-U-M for the second, but I think I’ve ultimately settled on S-I-L-U-M, although I’ve only been using this spelling for a couple months so I’ll let you know if I change it.” It’s fun. I love it.

Megan Figueroa: Oh, my gosh. I feel so happy that someone would share that with us. Thank you so much.

Carrie Gillon: There’s a lot more, but I think that’s the gist of it. That’s really great! We need to talk to people who are speakers of any of the Chinese languages. Silum mentions, for example, that people often haven’t heard of Hakka before, which is true. Most people haven’t. I only have because I’m a linguist.

Megan Figueroa: Right. And I haven’t at all and I’m a linguist.

Carrie Gillon: I’m also from an area with a lot more – I don’t know if this person is from Vancouver area, but there’s a lot of people from China in the Vancouver area. You do encounter more things. But they mention a language that I have never heard of before – Teochew? I’m not even sure how to pronounce it. There’s lot of Chinese languages and we’d love to talk with them.

Megan Figueroa: Yes. We wanna talk to everyone.

Carrie Gillon: There’s too many things.

Megan Figueroa: Consider this your invitation if people wanna reach out because there’re so many areas that we have not yet touched at all. Again, another reason why I feel so happy that they would share that with us because, yeah, learned a few things and then I get to hear something very personal about a listener. Awesome. That name episode was fun. It’s good to think back onto to it.

Carrie Gillon: Yes.

Megan Figueroa: Speaking of names –

Carrie Gillon: Ugh! Oh, god.

Megan Figueroa: I know. I mean, I hate to say it out loud to give it any sort of –

Carrie Gillon: I know, but you have to say it out loud to address it, sadly.

Megan Figueroa: So, “Chinese Virus” – [sighs] words matter.

Carrie Gillon: My favorite thing is that he’s like, “Well, we call it ‘Lyme Disease’” – how many people know that Lyme is a place?

Megan Figueroa: Yeah, I didn’t know that. Although, I knew “Lyme” wasn’t spelled like limes that you eat, but I’ve never really looked into why it’s L-Y-M-E.

Carrie Gillon: I’m certain about a decade ago I found out that there was a town called “Lyme,” and then I promptly forgot because that’s how little that matters. “Ebola” also is named after a location. But, note, it’s not an entire country in either of these cases. It’s not “US Disease.” It’s not – I dunno which part of Africa; I don’t remember – “Sierra Leone Disease” or something. It’s not an entire country, it’s just one location, which is maybe still problematic. I don’t know. But we don’t have the same racial associations at least. So, no, Trump, you’re wrong.

Megan Figueroa: And any person that wasn’t just a raging racist would see what was happening. There are literal hate crimes – physical hate crimes, verbal – all of these hate crimes that are being committed against people that others perceive to be Chinese. I’m sure they’re not even very discriminatory on this at all.

Carrie Gillon: No. Basically any East Asian or someone of East Asian descent. That’s all. They don’t know what a Chinese person looks like versus a Japanese person versus Korean.

Megan Figueroa: Any person that actually cared would step it back, but we all know he doesn’t.

Carrie Gillon: He has stopped – shockingly, he did stop call –

Megan Figueroa: Did he?

Carrie Gillon: Yes. He has stopped calling it the “Chinese Virus.” I don’t know why. I think maybe – he said something like, “Oh, it’s not okay to hurt Asian people” or something like that. Ever since then, he hasn’t used it. I’m pretty sure – unless he’s reintroduced it. But he definitely stopped.

Megan Figueroa: Well, who knows why, but the damage has been done because all of his little minions – supporters – are calling it the “Chinese Virus.” That’s not okay. I don’t know why anyone would feel like that’s okay.

Carrie Gillon: Because they’re racist. I mean, it’s not even a question!

Megan Figueroa: I know.

Carrie Gillon: I mean, as bad as that is, there’s actually something that’s even worse, in my opinion. Some people are calling it the “Kung Flu.”

Megan Figueroa: Oh, god.

Carrie Gillon: Yeah. It’s so gross, it makes my skin crawl.

Megan Figueroa: I haven’t heard that.

Carrie Gillon: Well, I haven’t actually heard it. I’ve only read it. But it’s definitely on Twitter, although less so recently. Around the time Trump was saying “Chinese Virus” all the time that was coming up a lot.

Megan Figueroa: Oh, my god.

Carrie Gillon: People are gross.

Megan Figueroa: People are gross. Words matter. That’s racist.

Carrie Gillon: We already have a name for it – COVID-19 or SARS-CoV-2, which is such a mouthful. “COVID” is better, in my opinion. Don’t, obviously – who among our listeners are gonna be calling it the “Chinese Virus”? Nobody. I don’t know what we’re –

Megan Figueroa: We’re just rage venting. Make sure to call people out if you do see it. It’s fucking racist. It’s gross. It implies that somehow some people are more susceptible or – there’s so many implications in calling it the “Chinese Virus” that are so –

Carrie Gillon: Blaming. It’s basically blaming all of Chinese people for a virus that comes from bats. Nobody got it on purpose. No one spread it on purpose. It’s just a thing that happens because we live in proximity to animals and sometimes animal viruses jump to humans. Sometimes, they mutate and then go human to human. It’s nobody’s fault.

Megan Figueroa: It’s definitely a blaming thing.

Carrie Gillon: Anyway, please – [Laughter]

Megan Figueroa: Let’s take a break from COVID-19 for a minute. Got a very special episode today. I talk with Drs. Jonathan Rosa and Nelson Flores. It was an amazing chat.

Carrie Gillon: It was pretty fun. And I wasn’t in this conversation because you guys were gonna talk about Latinx, and then you didn’t talk about it!

Megan Figueroa: I know.

Carrie Gillon: I could’ve been part of this conversation.

Megan Figueroa: I know. I’m so sorry! [Laughter] I thought we were gonna get – yeah. But, yes, you would’ve enjoyed being there, I’m sure. So, I’m sorry about that.

Carrie Gillon: It’s all right. It was very long, so I ended up cutting out a significant portion, which we are going to put in our bonus episode this month.

Megan Figueroa: Yes!

Carrie Gillon: If you wanna get access to that, and you don’t already have access, then you can join us at patreon.com/vocalfriespod at the $5.00 level.

Megan Figueroa: We forgot to say it at the end, so don’t be an asshole.

Carrie Gillon: Oh, yeah! That is true. Definitely. Definitely do not be an asshole.

[Music]

Megan Figueroa: We have Dr. Nelson Flores, who is an associate professor of educational linguistics, and we got a title change over here. We have Dr. Jonathan Rosa, who is now an associate professor because you were an assistant last time we chatted. That’s exciting.

Jonathan Rosa: Yes. I was recently promoted. I mean, now, technically, as to whether the promotion takes place in a couple of months – you know but maybe by the time the episode airs. But, yeah, it’s more or less a for sure –

Megan Figueroa: Okay. Nelson’s at Penn and Jonathan is over at Stanford. But you’re on sabbatical in Chicago right now, right?

Jonathan Rosa: I was in Chicago. Now, I am traveling for conferences and other things, so I’m actually here in the multilingual bastion of Miami – the fraught, let’s say, multilingual space of Miami.

Megan Figueroa: The theme of this almost could be misconceptions because both ya’ll are talking, that means there’s two of you. I think a lot of people didn’t know there were two of you. I feel like a lot of people think that either you’re one person, which is what I’ve seen on the internet, confusing ya’ll. And you said “married” or also “related” you’ve gotten too?

Nelson Flores: Yeah. I don’t think people know what to make of us. I think part of it is that we both have flower last names, and so people get the “Flores” and the “Rosa” confused. I’ve gotten “Nelson Rosa.” I know that Jonathan has gotten “Jonathan Flores.” I don’t think people know what to make of us sometimes because, of course, we’ve very close. We clearly have a lot of love for each other. But we’re also queer, and so I think people are kind of like, “There must be some type of marriage or something.” Just to clarify, we’re not married.

Megan Figueroa: Could it just be a marriage of ideas and love?

Nelson Flores: I mean, we’re academically married, I suppose, but not married in the heteronormative ways that people oftentimes mean it.

Jonathan Rosa: Let me say one thing about Nelson’s and my presumed inter-changeability, or perhaps a couple of things about it. In one sense, I think this is a very common phenomenon that happens with marginalized populations where people who are marked in particular ways based on race, gender, and sexuality, especially, there’s this sense that you’re all the same and you all could be a spokesperson for whatever set of ideas.

I guess, if I’m being generous, then I would say, “Oh, well, maybe because there are so few of us or because we’ve been positioned as the spokespeople for particular kinds of stances or ideas that we get equated with one another.” My much less generous take on this is that it demonstrates the ways that we get recruited to enact or inhabit these tokenized positions where, essentially, the kinds of contributions that we could make are already predetermined and the question is which of us is needed to make that contribution on which day at which time – this sort of thing.

I think it’s a very troublesome situation. It happens with a whole range of colleagues where we get equated with one another and the sense is just that we could all be one another – any distinctive contributions we might make. That has concrete kinds of consequences in one’s professional life but also in terms of broader political struggles. Professionally, when so much of what we’re up to – or the assessment of what we’re up to – is based on whether you’ve made a unique contribution and you’re equated with someone else constantly, then that can be tricky.

But on a much – I don’t wanna frame academics as the most marginalized or something like that or I don’t wanna say that the goal, then, is to secure the individuality of our contributions. It’s more politically that I’m interested in the ways that our contributions to the world or the kinds of struggles in which we could engage are really narrowly defined and constrained and that this equation of us or interchangeability is a reflection of that.

Megan Figueroa: I’m not even in ya’ll’s field and – because I’ve kind of gotten a little bit of a platform now speaking about these things, but I��m speaking about them personally, so I don’t study it in the way that you do – that I’m often included now when people @ you on Twitter. They’ll put me now, too. I love to talk about these things when it’s right for it, and if I’m emotionally available for it, but I noticed that ya’ll might not always be emotionally available for that and you get dragged into it a lot – “dragged.” I say “dragged.” But a lot of times it might feel like that, right?

Nelson Flores: I mean, I think Twitter in particular is an interesting platform. I mean, clearly, I love Twitter. I mean, it’s connected me to people like you, Megan, who I didn’t know before I was on Twitter. It’s connected me to a lot of interesting people, and I’ve learned a lot off of Twitter. At the same time, I think sometimes people take Twitter way more serious than maybe it’s intended to be. There’s this – like, I just write a tweet that’s kind of like an off the cuff tweet, and then people are like, “Send me 10 references to what you just said so that I can read up on it.”

And it’s like, “Well, you know, I’m not in class right now. I’m just writing some tweets.” If you wanna learn more about it, you can certainly google and do some of that work for yourself, but I don’t know if – almost coming from a sense of entitlement in terms of like, “You need to teach me this because your tweet made me uncomfortable. So, you need to further clarify what you mean so that maybe I can feel a little less uncomfortable with what you just said.”

I don’t think that that’s always coming from a bad place. I think people sometimes feel uncomfortable and they wanna know more. I just don’t know if Twitter is actually the best venue for doing that. Maybe they need to do some of the work for themselves rather than expecting people on Twitter to do extra labor and getting them to really understand things that maybe they really need to do the work for on their own.

Megan Figueroa: How does that play out for you in your job as a professor or as an academic that travels to conferences? Are you asked to do a lot of that emotional labor for people when it comes to Latinx issues?

Jonathan Rosa: Well, it’s interesting. I mean, I think that it requires us to do a lot of careful, strategic engagement where you say – yeah, there are invitations that ask you to represent a certain perspective or recruit you to represent a certain perspective. There’re also efforts to invite you to participate in mentoring activities that are based on a presumed shared experience. There’re some of these efforts that feel really substantive and meaningful where you say, “Okay, wait. There’s something that I have to say here that I think contributes to this dialogue or contributes to this bigger project.”

There’re other moments when you say, “Oh, they just want someone else to read the script. They just need another person to read the same script. Am I just gonna be that person today?” I’ll never forget when one of my mentors, Melissa Harris-Perry, who used to have her show on MSNBC, when she was leaving MSNBC based on some fraught relationships there, I’ll never forget when she was very public about saying that she was not going to be anyone’s little brown bobblehead. She was not going to be this ornamental piece and really an object.

I think that that’s the part that’s deeply concerning in some situations where you become an object, and you don’t have anything to say. The on-demand part of it is also tricky because I think we want to make meaningful contributions and we want to engage with publics, but there’s an accessibility issue that could be complex to navigate as well where you’re on the clock or on call or you’re expected to be the go-to person on such and such issue.

I found that has happened to me in certain situations as well where the expectation is that anything related to any language and identity issue I should just speak to casually. I worry. In some situations, some of my ideas about these topics – and this is why I appreciate Nelson’s comments about Twitter. Sometimes, I just wanna be irreverent. Sometimes, I just wanna make a joke about language.

I mean, I said it after the Joe Biden landslide victory on Super Tuesday that one of the things that’s most interesting to me about his success there is it demonstrates how irrelevant language is in some situations because, from many people’s perspectives, he’s been more or less incoherent in a range of situations. Yet, his incoherence has not prevented his political ascendance.

In some cases, I just wanna be flippant about language. And other moments, I’ve done a tremendous amount of research, and I wanna be careful, and I wanna weigh in on a debate in a nuanced way. But I think that the on-call part of things invites people to offer their opinion constantly as though they had carefully developed a serious perspective. In many situations, people haven’t developed that kind of a careful perspective and yet are asked to be the expert on something.

Megan Figueroa: Do you feel like there’s different work going into it when you’re being flippant? Because I feel like, sometimes, I’ll say something on Twitter or even around colleagues and I feel like it takes less emotional toll on me than if I really wanted to get into something. That’s why I feel like I really appreciate Twitter because, when I put something out there, I feel like I’m not actually having to do as much emotional work. I feel like I can get something quick out of there and then maybe someone will learn something.

But it always becomes more emotional. I had a tweet the other day that said – so this gets into the idea of semilingualism, which I wanna talk to ya’ll about. I said that that’s not a thing. You can’t have kids that end up in school and have low skill in both languages. That’s the idea of semilingualism. I wanna get into it with you. And someone retweeted me and was like, “I’d like to know what my language acquisition colleagues think.” And I’m like, “I’m a fucking language acquisition expert.”

I really sometimes wonder, “Oh, are they seeing my last name and all of a sudden I’m not taken as seriously because I’m too emotional about this?” I really, honestly, feel that sometimes. Do you have that happen as well?

Nelson Flores: I have been accused of being a bully.

Megan Figueroa: Which is so funny to me. You’re so kind. But, yes. [Laughs]

Nelson Flores: I think a lot of that stems from precisely my resistance to feel like I need to do the emotional labor of making people feel comfortable about what I’m saying. In particular, as a Latino scholar doing work in bilingual education, I’m particularly resistant to the idea that I need to make white people feel comfortable doing work in bilingual education. I put my work out there. I let it speak for itself. I certainly have never targeted anyone individually and personally insulted them, which is what bullying actually is, right? “Bullying” actually has an actual meaning.

As a gay person, I’ve experienced it personally as a gay person. I know what bullying is and I know that what I’m doing, which is working to dismantle white supremacy in how we think about issues in bilingualism, is not bullying anybody. I do think that there are these strong emotional reactions that people have to my work in both ways. I’ve also had people tell me that it’s given them a vocabulary for making sense of things that they kind of always knew didn’t make any sense and had visceral reactions against but really didn’t have a vocabulary for thinking about.

I mean, in the end, I think what it boils down to is that all researchers have emotional investment in the work that we do. It’s that people who are coming from marginalized positions, oftentimes, that emotional investment is marked in ways that it’s not marked for white researchers, but they also have an emotional investment, oftentimes, in whiteness and the objectivity that oftentimes ascribed to whiteness.

When that’s called into question, and the ways that Jonathan and I have called into question in our work, that oftentimes leads to strong visceral reactions. Oftentimes, people feel personally attacked when it’s really not a personal attack at all.

Megan Figueroa: Let’s ignore my sloppy definition. Will you tell me, Nelson, what semilingualism is?

Nelson Flores: Well, we can trace the discourses of semilingualism back to the origins of European colonialism. That’s something that Jonathan and I wrote about in our 2017 piece, which is essentially one of the primary mechanisms for dehumanizing indigenous populations, African populations, by calling into question their language practices and suggesting that their language practices were somehow illegitimate or subhuman.

Now, the concept of semilingualism itself emerges within the context of the Bilingual Education Act in the United States. It actually emerged originally in Scandinavia, but I’ll focus on the work in the United States. The term itself emerges in Scandinavia. Within the context of the Bilingual Education Act, which was passed in 1968, they were accountability metrics that had to be used to show that these programs were being successful. One of the things that they had to do was assess students to see if they were Spanish dominant or not because if they were not Spanish dominant, then they wouldn’t be eligible for most of these programs.

Some of these students were assessed and their assessment suggested that they were not proficient in either English or Spanish. The discourse that was developed by scholars at the time to make sense of that was to say that they were semilingual, that they didn’t have full competency in any language. That was quickly critiqued by other scholars who said you really can’t describe people that way. That’s not really a thing.

Then, the discourse shifted to the discussion of basic interpersonal communication skills, or social language, and cognitive academic language proficiency, or academic language. The discourse shifted towards they have BICS, or social language, but they don’t have CALP, or academic language. You can trace directly that discourse. I’m not making a leap there. Scholars who originally used the term “semilingualism” shifted towards a discussion of social and academic language.

Whenever we talk about social and academic language today, that’s really the legacy that we’ve inherited – a legacy of semilingualism, of suggesting that there’s something illegitimate about the language practices of racialized bilingual students.

Megan Figueroa: I just had a friend tell me that the latest TESOL conference, a major theme was semilingualism.

Nelson Flores: As a good thing or as a bad thing?

Megan Figueroa: I asked him. I said, “Were they debunking it?” although – even though we still have to debunk it in 2020. But he said, “No. I don’t think so.” He said that his friend was not happy.

Jonathan Rosa: Semilingualism. I think actually my experience with this conversation ties together the previous dialogue that we were just having about the ways that we’re positioned as ideological or overly emotionally invested in certain topics which then is presumed to distort our opinions on these topics. I was writing an article a few years ago that Nelson and I have been in conversation with about ideas related to semilingualism. I was writing about what I called, “ideologies of languagelessness,” that just framed certain populations as deficient in any language that they use. It’s not just certain populations. It’s racialized populations.

I think, for example, Nelson invoked the ways that the discourse of semilingualism emerged in Scandinavia. Part of what’s distinctive about how it gets enacted in the European context versus in the Americas and elsewhere is that it’s framed in the Americas as a highly racialized concept that maps onto a population across generations and is presumed to be somehow inherent to particular populations in ways that really articulate alongside race or in concert in with race.

This notion, for me, of an ideology of languagelessness is reflected in the ways that semilingualism is taken up in the United States, reflected in the ways that particular populations are framed as “non-nons” in the United States, or non-verbal in English and their so-called native language. “Linguistic isolation” is a category that was used by the census for about 30 years to designate certain households as lacking language altogether.

Megan Figueroa: That happens to real populations, too. That’s really offense. There’re deaf children that are actually experiencing language isolation, and yet this is where they’re using that.

Jonathan Rosa: It’s problematic in every direction. There’re people who are really being denied access to language learning and meaningful cultural opportunities that are mislabeled because of these sorts of stereotypes about isolation but also isolation in terms of the ways that it articulates in relation to policy. It’s messed up because it’s intended to serve as a tool for ensuring compliance with the voting rights act – to make sure that you have resources in languages other than English. You need to designate the number of households within a community that require those resources.

In order to access those resources in languages other than English, you have to be designated as “isolated” rather than designated as “using languages in addition to English.” I’ve found that these sorts of stereotypes map across a whole range of institutional contexts. In everyday discourse you hear people say, “So-and-So doesn’t speak English well. They don’t speak Spanish well.” In a school where I was working, the principal, who had a doctorate in education and was a Puerto Rican woman, one teacher said, “She speaks English like one of our ninth graders. From what I understand, her Spanish isn’t that good either.”

When I was writing about this, I said, “These are these ideologies of languagelessness that map onto people regardless of their credentials, regardless of what might seem to be their empirical linguistic practices.” The initial response to that article, when I tried to publish it, from reviewers was that I was ideological, that I was imposing an analysis onto these situations and imposing this idea, this attribution of deficiency that wasn’t really there. But for me, I was observing connections across all of these spaces.

I think that for scholars who are attentive to particular patterns of marginalization – that we’re drawing connections that aren’t observable from other perspectives and so we look like conspiracy theorists, or we look as though we’re over-generalizing, or over-applying, or over-reaching in our analyses when, in fact, I think part of what is so troublesome about normative social-scientific and scientific research more generally is that the kind of empiricism that it embraces recruits you to accept the world as it is and to naturalize that world and then to observe things in such a way that allows us to reproduce that world at the same time that we proport to just be noticing things that are happening within it.

For me, drawing connections across these patterns is essential to my critique of the way that this world has come to be structured. I’ve found that a lot of reviewers are unwilling or not inclined to engage in that kind of a critique.

Megan Figueroa: I had a moment of realization here too that that’s happening to me because I spent a lot of time in psychology because I did study psycholinguistics and do language development. It is fraught with really disgusting views of communities that they’ve marginalized. These are marginalized speakers and they’re always looking for disorder in some way.

I have a background, too, in speech and hearing so there are legitimate concerns to be had about children that do have language disorders, right, but that’s not what’s happening here. These are neurotypical hearing children that people are looking for a disorder at every turn and they’re finding it because it’s easy to find it when you’re looking – you’ll find evidence for anything that you’re looking for.

Every time I say something about this, I do feel like some people think I’m a conspiracy theorist and they’re saying – like, when I say, “Talk to your children however you want and however you feel comfortable with,” people think that that’s – they’re like, “We have all this evidence that suggest that some input is just not as good.” They really want that to live on.

Nelson Flores: Well, I think that connects back to the emotional investment in whiteness’s objectivity. I think that that really throws people off when we refuse to allow whiteness to be framed as objective. If your position is that these ways are better input because they’re more normative and they’re more aligned with whiteness, then say that. I would be okay with you. We would disagree, but at least you’re being honest with what your perspective is, what your ideological position is.

I always say – I own my ideological position. I own where I’m coming from, and I own my locus of annunciation. I just push other scholars to do the same thing. If you’re using discourses that come from the specter of semilingualism, then just own that ideological position and say what you’re essentially saying is that everyone should speak like a normative white person. That’s not progressive and that’s not liberal, so don’t pretend that you’re progressive or liberal if you’re actually promoting an agenda that supports white supremacy. At least don’t be disingenuous and try to proport that what you’re saying is some type of objective representation rather than an ideological one.

Megan Figueroa: Right. Exactly what they’re saying when they say, “No, there is a right way to speak to children,” is there is a white way to speak to children because that’s what we know of all of these studies on language development. I mean, I don’t know the exact number, but it’s in the 90% of – it’s been done on white, middle-class, suburban babies. Yeah. That’s one way of talking to children, but it’s not the only way. We are continually investing in speaking like white, middle-class parents when we say that these studies are basically how it should be for everyone. People don’t really like to hear that. You’re right. I’m realizing this now.

Sometimes, I still feel very naïve because I’m like, “Oh, well, they’ll just hear it once and then that’ll be enough,” like people will stop and reflect. That’s not what’s happening. I’m always a little bit surprised because I’m hoping that it just takes one moment of reflection and then you can start dismantling. We’re really invested in these things, in these ideas.

Nelson Flores: The challenge is that we continue to frame things as empirical questions that are really ideological questions. You can keep trying to disprove an ideology, but if it’s an ideology, it’s kind of, by definition, something that you can’t really disprove because people have really deeply ingrained investment in those beliefs. At this point, we’re not really having an empirical question.

I think, empirically, we have the data that shows that all communities have complex, rich language practices that they engage in, but people don’t believe it because they don’t wanna believe it because they have deep investment in these ideas that certain communities have more rich language practices than other communities. At that point, you can’t disprove white supremacy. If people are invested in white supremacy, then they’re gonna be invested in white supremacy. That’s the challenge that I think we’re trying to highlight in our work is what do we do in that context. How do we intervene in that context?

Jonathan Rosa: Part of, I think, what’s particularly challenging about this ideology is the way that it is associated with a liberal benevolence where the people who are perpetuating it are deeply invested in staking a claim to helping. They see themselves as really participating in projects that are progressive or even projects that are aimed toward social justice, this kind of thing. They really want to understand themselves as addressing the marginalized.

I think when Nelson was talking about having been called a bully in the past or this kind of thing, I think part of why some people are so off put is that even the remote suggestion that linguists – sociolinguists, linguistic anthropologists, applied linguists, psycholinguists – that we have, in fact, contributed to the problem. Many scholars want to understand themselves as the people who are solving problems, but I think one of the things Nelson and I – that brings us together in our work is our deep suspicion that many of the scholarly labels and categories and approaches have in fact emerged from the very systems of power that we’re trying to critique here.

I think we have a long way to go in terms of trying to unsettle some of these assumptions. I encounter this constantly, the sense – Ana Celia Zentella always says – a mentor of mine – always says, “The helping hand strikes again.” In so many of these situations, when we’re talking about bilingualism and multilingualism and standard language and academic language, just educational language learning, it’s the helping hand strikes again. It’s we wanna help the kids. We wanna help their families use more quality language with them. We wanna help them to become proficient users of such and such language.

I think when we keep pushing – and we always push – “What’s your theory of change? What is it that changes?” These families use language in this way, so this school institutionalizes language in this way to change these behaviors. Then, what happens? Then, people have access to a different world? Then, the structure of the economy transforms? Then, stable housing and living wages and political representation – then that emerges from language use? Or are we facing a fundamentally different kind of challenge? Should our critique, should our efforts towards promoting language learning and our engagement with language, be oriented towards those bigger challenges? Or should they be narrowly focused on changing people’s language practices in their homes, in classrooms – really changing the behaviors of the marginalized?

I think this so much of what Nelson and I have been trying to call into question – just fundamentally rethinking the project of educational language learning.

Megan Figueroa: We’re in the epicenter of funding for things like Closing the Word Gap. I’m like, if we spent that money towards universal housing or some sort of universal basic income, it would go way further than spending money on fucking trying to close the so-called word gap. But that’s where people wanna spend the money. That’s where funding agencies are funneling the money because, you’re right, they feel like they’re the helping hand that’s gonna fix the marginalized.

Another buzzword term that I wanted to bring up – “bilingual brain.” Jonathan, what is a bilingual brain?

Jonathan Rosa: It’s interesting. I was mentioning to both of you that I sometimes make flippant comments about these sorts of catchphrases. This notion of the bilingual brain, like the language gap or word gap, I’ve often had a knee-jerk reaction to it where I felt as though it were locating language within a cognitive system rather than within a historical and cultural system. To be clear, I’m really interested in the cognitive dimensions of language, but that’s not the primary focus of my research. It’s something that I’ve certainly studied and something that I respect research in this area.

However, sometimes, when I talk about it, I’m more concerned with the slogans, with the ways that it’s turned into this commodified project. As soon as it becomes a slogan, then very quickly we see which populations will benefit from that kind of a project of turning something into a commodity that you could achieve somehow. If this is a justice project, if part of what we’re up to is trying to address marginalization, then these notions of a bilingual brain, I don’t know how far that will get us.

Now, I was saying to you all that a colleague recently was pushing me on this to say, look, there’re different ways that that kind of notion has been developed within, say, psycholinguistics or within psychology of language versus, say, within neurolinguistics – neurolinguists who understand themselves to be more attuned to some of these cultural and historical issues and are not trying to promote the narrow view of what bilingualism is.

I will say I continue to be concerned, regardless of the meaningful work that people might be doing in these areas. I continue to be concerned abut the ways that “bilingualism” is defined and the ways that languages are separated from one another in order to reproduce this notion of bilingualism. I wonder what languages even count as legitimate in this research. When you’re staking claims to a bilingual brain, which languages are involved? Are they languages like Chatino that my close colleague Emiliana Cruz studies in Oaxaca in Guatemala? Which languages are we staking these claims to cognitive advancement based on?

That’s one piece of – yeah, just this notion of who is a legitimate bilingual such that we could study their brain. It frankly reminds me in my most – perhaps not my most critical take on it – but it reminds me of some of these genetic ancestry tests which proport to find race in your genes but, in fact, have to presume that race already lives in your genes in order to then find it there. If you understand race to be something historically constructed, then it doesn’t live in your genes.

Similarly, you have to presume that bilingualism lives primarily in the brain in order to then measure it – measure what it’s doing there. I think bilingualism lives between people not within people. My neurolinguistics colleagues were saying – the colleague who was pushing me on this – was sort of saying, “No, I understand brains to be across people not just within an individual” and that from the perspective of psychology, often, it's on that individual basis. So, I think that there are interesting debates to have. I continue to be concerned about the slogan though.

Nelson Flores: Of course, I agree with everything Jonathan is saying. This whole idea of a bilingual brain is still, from my opinion, coming from a monolingual perspective in the sense that most of the world is bi- or multilingual. Why are we exceptionalizing the, quote, “bilingual” brain instead of the quote, “monolingual” brain to begin with? Why aren’t we saying, “What are the unique cognitive traits of monolingual people who are the minority of the population?”

Maybe a bilingual brain is just a brain and it’s the monolingual brain that’s actually this weird thing that we need to study. Of course, I don’t actually believe that, but I feel like some of the discourse exceptionalizing bilingualism, when we reverse it and really think about, well, if we describe monolingualism in that way, that would be really strange. Yet, “bilingual” describes more of the world’s population than “monolingual.” What exactly are we doing there?

Of course, connecting to something Jonathan was saying before, the bilingual brain discourse, I would trace its origins to the classic Peal & Lambert study that found cognitive advantages to bilingualism. In that study, they threw out more than half of the sample because they weren’t appropriately monolingual or bilingual. From there on, we already inherited this idea of bilingualism that’s coming from a very normative idea of what bilingualism even is to begin with.

Then, I would add to that whenever we ask the question about whether bilingualism has cognitive advantages, it always opens up the question of whether there are disadvantages. It’s a slippery slope. If we’re willing to ask the question if there are advantages, then it opens up the question of whether there are disadvantages. I think that we shouldn’t do that. We should just say, “bilingualism is,” it just is. Most of the world is bilingual, multilingual, it’s just what human societies are. There are no advantages or disadvantages. It just is. We start from that perspective, and I think that would allow us to ask different questions about cognitive processes of language learning and whatnot.

Megan Figueroa: This is where we got ourselves into trouble because all of a sudden Pete, in all of these polls, people are saying that they think he’s the smartest and I really believe it’s tied to his so-called multilingualism. Then, you’re right that it’s so ideological because Spanish in Pete’s brain is beautiful and amazing, but in my father is somehow a deficit and they beat it out of him when he started school.

It was really frustrating to see that play out on the national stage. I’m like, “That’s what we’re doing” – a lot of academics are doing. We’re perpetuating this by asking these bilingual brain questions or what are the cognitive advantages. It always just seems to steer toward, okay, there’re cognitive advantages for people like Pete but, all of a sudden, it’s a disorder or deficit when it’s someone like my dad.

Nelson Flores: This is why, whenever people ask me to speak on my analysis of multilingualism and politicians, the first question that they wanna ask me is how good their Spanish is. I always say, “That’s actually not the question I’m interested in” because how good someone’s Spanish is is connected to the social status of that person. Whenever we begin to sort people into good Spanish speakers versus bad Spanish speakers, it’s always the most marginalized that are going to be most victimized and receive remediation for it.

I actually never – even though people insist that I do this all the time – I 1.) never evaluate the Spanish of white politicians and 2.) never say that they should never speak Spanish because 1.) I don’t have the power to tell them that they can’t. They can do whatever they want. They’re white. That’s kind of the definition of whiteness in the US. But I don’t think that that type of language policing is productive anyway. I’m more interested in how bilingualism is talked about differently depending on the race and social status position of people. That’s my primary focus in analyzing these things.

Yeah, Mayor Pete, people are like, “Wow! He speaks like a gazillion languages. Isn’t he so smart?” And I’m like, “Well, actually, you could go to many places in the world where people speak those gazillion languages, right, and they’re not positioned as smart in the same way.”

Jonathan Rosa: Part of what’s so striking to me about some of these popular discussions of language – whether we’re talking about Mayor Pete or if you’re talking about Donald Trump – if you’re talking about someone whose speech is seen as more sophisticated or more cognitively advanced and multilingual or you’re talking about someone whose language use from a liberal perspective is often derided as somehow non-grammatical or unintelligent, this kind of thing, that in each of those cases it seems to me again, as Nelson was saying – the discussions of language seem to miss the point in many situations. It’s less about language and more about a whole range of other issues that we’re not paying attention to.

These discussions about a particular politician – non-Latinx politician’s – use of Spanish in the United States often have nothing to do with what they’re actually saying in Spanish or communicating in Spanish. It’s more about the idea of Spanish that positions them somehow as a particular kind of person. As Nelson was saying, we get roped into playing the game when we start assessing how good their Spanish is and suggesting that, no, they should improve their Spanish. That’s not the point. The point is to ask why it is that, based on their position, this ends up being advantageous for them or seems to become framed as a benefit.

Similarly, with Donald Trump, I think a lot of the discussions about his language use miss the point fundamentally when people are saying, “Ugh! We need a more respectable, intelligent person in office.” Well, you’re totally missing the point. Donald Trump is a television show host and a celebrity and he’s very effective at those roles. His performance of being a buffoon in some situations or being a clown in some situations is very politically strategic just like George W. Bush was very politically strategic in his dissimulation in certain ways. He comes from –

Megan Figueroa: In his folksiness, right?

Jonathan Rosa: In his folksiness. He comes from an incredibly wealthy family with access to a range of educational opportunities and then plays off of this persona – an imagined folksy persona. I think we miss the point sometimes when we critique or celebrate language use. We’re not paying attention to the performance that’s happening. We should be thinking about what makes those performances possible, what makes them valuable, and what makes them strategically useful. Perhaps, we should be attacking that system rather than just focusing narrowly on language use.

Nelson Flores: I think that’s something that you were talking about. The idea of Spanish in liberal politicians is an interesting one because, oftentimes, I think Pete did this, and Joe Kennedy and Tim Kaine, where they use Spanish to directly speak to Dreamers, which is interesting because of course the whole narrative around Dreamers is that they grew up in this country and so their English is just fine. Of course, not all dreamers are Latinx and wouldn’t be expected to be Spanish-speaking anyway.

They’re not actually directly addressing Dreamers there. They’re directly addressing white liberals who feel good about themselves because a politician is bilingual. It’s not actually serving what would seem to be the explicit – what they’re saying explicitly is not actually what they’re communicating because they actually don’t need to communicate in Spanish with Dreamers. It actually doesn’t make sense because a lot of Dreamers wouldn’t understand what they were saying anyway. It’s just to show – look at me! I speak Spanish.

That’s where I say, “Well, you don’t get a cookie.” People took my “You don’t get a cookie” as to be like “White people shouldn’t speak Spanish.” It’s like, well, no. If they’re speaking to the Spanish language media and are trying to actually engage a Spanish-speaking audience, that’s great! But to randomly do it in a speech of people who are not Spanish-speaking, to an audience that you’re imaging is an audience of Spanish speakers who most of them probably – or many of them – are probably not Spanish speakers, then that’s disingenuous. That’s more you want the props for being bilingual rather than you’re using your bilingualism to actually communicate with a marginalized community who may actually benefit from knowing more about your policy positions.

Megan Figueroa: Well, I really appreciate both of you being here. I mean, I know it’s hard for you to see each other, I’m sure. I heard that you’ve never skyped together.

Nelson Flores: Yeah! We never skyped together. We text a lot, and I said – on occasion, we’ll talk on the phone if we set it up in advance. We put it on our calendars. But we do audio. I said we’re old millennials. We don’t do the FaceTime stuff. Oh, last thing. Something else that people confuse us. People think I’m an anthropologist because Jonathan is an anthropologist. Just to clear the record, I am not an anthropologist and I don’t really have any particular investment in contributing to the field of anthropology, though I find some of the frameworks helpful.

Megan Figueroa: Okay. Yes. [Laughter]

Nelson Flores: I mean, I get interpolated as an anthropologist a lot now. That’s only because of the collaboration with Jonathan.

Megan Figueroa: Or the fact that they just think you are Jonathan.

Nelson Flores: Right. I think that that’s – I mean, I’m not hating on anthropology. It’s just not my training, it’s not my discipline, and I don’t have any particular vested interest in that disciplinary perspective and its contributions.

Jonathan Rosa: We see you, Nelson. Welcome. [Laughter]

Nelson Flores: I haven’t gone to the dark side of linguistic anthropology.

Jonathan Rosa: We see you Nelson!

Megan Figueroa: Next time we chat in a year from now, you’re gonna be like –

Nelson Flores: I’m gonna be like Boas. Yes, Boas is my godfather.

Megan Figueroa: [Laughter] Well, thank you, again.

[Music]

Carrie Gillon: The Vocal Fries podcast is produced by me, Carrie Gillon, for Halftone Audio, theme music by Nick Granum. You can find us on Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram @vocalfriespod. You can email us at [email protected] and our website is vocalfriespod.com.

#linguistics #linguistic discrimination #sociolinguistics #educational linguistics #Spanglish #transcript #anthropological linguistics

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honeypiehotchner · 5 years ago

Text

Trust -- part thirty-eight

It’s Best Man Speech time! Also, I’m a liar. This chapter is not the last. The next one is. Oopsies! ;)

“Pray silence for the best man.”

You squeeze Sherlock’s hand as he stands to his feet, buttoning his jacket and smoothing it down. He really is nervous.

But to be fair, you’re a little nervous, too. He wouldn’t let you hear the speech—He wouldn’t let anyone hear it, actually. This is brand new to everyone. And while that should be exciting, since it’s Sherlock, it’s a little nerve-wracking.

John is beaming, though, grinning from ear to ear – possibly a little buzzed. But he does really love Sherlock, and you know that, even when he doesn’t want to admit it. You know those two have a bond like no other. The Baker Street boys, as Mary calls them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends. And, um…others.”

Sherlock’s stuttering continues, prompting you reach up and thread your fingers through his. He glances down, smiling a little.

“Telegrams,” you hear your brother mutter, and then Sherlock is back.

“Right, um…” Sherlock picks up the cards. “First things first, telegrams. Well, they’re not actually telegrams, we just call them telegrams, I don’t know why. Wedding tradition. Because we don’t have enough of that already, apparently.”

“Sherlock,” you whisper warningly.

He settles again, nodding. “To Mr. and Mrs. Watson. So sorry I’m unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck, and best wishes, Mike Stamford.”

Ah, Mike. You chuckle.

“To John and Mary. All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big…big squishy cuddles from Stella and Ted.” Sherlock sighs. “Mary, lots of love—Oh.”

John looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“…poppet.”

Mary snickers, leaning forward to catch you stifling your own laughter.

“Oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from Cam. Wish your family could’ve seen this.”

You lean forward at that, giving Mary a look of sympathy as John takes her hand in his, comfortingly.

Sherlock carries on, not missing a beat. “Special day…Very special day…Love…Love…Love…Love…Love. Bit of a theme, you get the general gist. People are basically fond.”

Here we go, you think, wanting to smack Sherlock in the arm, but you decide against it.

“John Watson. My friend, John Watson. John. When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused. I confess at first, I didn’t realize he was asking me. When finally, I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and surprised. I explained to him that I had never expected this request, and that I was a little daunted in the face of it. I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was, for me, as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he placed in me and indicated that I was, in some ways, very closed to being moved by it. It later transpired that I had said none of this out loud.”

The room erupts with laughter, especially coming from John. You laughed loudly, too, because that definitely wasn’t the story you remembered John telling you.

Sherlock begins rummaging in his coat for some cards. “So…done that. Done that. Done that bit. Done that bit.”

He takes a deep breath. And continues.

“I’m afraid John that I can’t congratulate you.”

Your eyebrows furrow. Odd start. Maybe you should’ve forced him to practice the speech in front of you.

“All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. Today we honor the deathwatch beetle that is the doom of our society and in time, one feels certain, our entire species.”

The room stills. You stare down at your hands, a little bit worried for the rest of this, and still regretting the fact that you never took a peek at his speech before today.

“But anyway, let’s talk about John.”

“Please,” you hear John clear his throat, shifting around in his seat.

“If I burden myself with a little helpmate during my adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice, it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me. Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes in truth from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides.”

You tilt your head. That was an insult, wasn’t it?

“It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favor exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their big day. There is a certain analogy there, I feel.”

Is he…serious? He absolutely has to be kidding.

“And contrast is, after all, God’s own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation. Or it would be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity to the family idiot.”

The room rustles again, and you clasp your hands together, willing yourself to keep listening.

“The point I’m trying to make it that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous,” Sherlock pauses to look down at you, nudging your arm so you’ll look at him. “I am unaware of the beautiful.” He smiles only softly, then turning to Mary and John. “And uncomprehending in the face of the happy.”

You smile sadly.

“So, if I didn’t understand that I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend. And certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing.

“John, I am a ridiculous man. Redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship and the love from the woman sat to my left.”

Your breath hitches. You weren’t expecting him to mention you at all.

“But as I am, apparently, your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion.” Sherlock pauses, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Actually, now I can. Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss. So sorry again about that last one.”

You chuckle softly. He’ll forever be apologizing for the time he was ‘dead.’

“So know this. Today, you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man and woman you have no doubt saved. In short, the three people who love you move in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary and Y/N as well when I say we will never let you down and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that.”

You reach up and wipe a stray tear away from your cheek, chuckling a little when Sherlock doesn’t seem to notice he’s gotten the rest of the reception hall crying as well.

“Ah, yes. Now on to some funny stories about John…” Sherlock frowns. “What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John? Y/N?”

“Love…” You shake your head, smiling despite your own watery eyes.

“Did I do it wrong?”

“No, you didn’t,” John mutters, pushing his chair back. “Come here.”

The room applauds while the two of them hug, Sherlock still not understanding anything at all as he tries to continue over the noise. John pats his shoulder and says something to make him stop, but you don’t hear.

After John is settled back in his chair, Sherlock continues.

“So, onto some funny stories about John. If you could all just cheer up a bit, that would…be better.” Everyone laughs. “On we go. So, for funny stories, one has to look no further than John’s blog. The record of our time together. Of course, he does tend to romanticize things a big, but then, you know, he’s a romantic.

“We’ve tackled some strange cases. The Hollow Client. The Poisoned Giant. We’ve had some frustrating cases. Touching cases,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “And of course, I have to mention, The Elephant in the Room. But we want something very particular for this special day. The Bloody Guardsman.”

Ah, you remember. The unsolved one. From wedding planning weeks ago.

“Private Steven Bainbridge had written to us with a concern about someone possibly stalking him. A bloke, no less. Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He’d stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach but there was no weapon. Where did it go?

“Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: A murderer who can walk through walls. A weapon that can vanish. But in all of this, there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?”

Good lord. You definitely should’ve looked at his speech.

“Come on, come on. There is actually an element of Q&A to all of this.” Sherlock clears his throat. “Scotland Yard, have you got a theory?”

“Don’t pick on Greg,” you mutter.

“Yeah, you. You’re a detective, broadly speaking. Got a theory?”

Lestrade crosses his arms over his chest, deciding to entertain Sherlock. “Er, um…If the uh, if the blade was propelled through the um…grating in the air vent… Maybe a ballista or a catapult, uh, somebody tiny could crawl in there. So yeah, we’re looking for a dwarf.”

“Brilliant.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You shake your head.

“Hello, who was that? Tom.”

Sure enough, Tom stands from his chair, Molly sending a frightened look your way. This is going to end badly, it always does when Sherlock gets in one of these moods.

“Got a theory?”

“He attempted suicide with a blade made of compacted blood and bone. Broke after piercing his abdomen, like a meat…dagger.”

“A meat dagger?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Tom sits back down, and Sherlock continues, clearly annoyed. “There was one feature and only one feature of interest in the whole of this baffling case and quite frankly, it was the usual. John Watson. Who while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life.

“There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling. The best and bravest man I know and on top of that he actually knows how to do that. Except wedding planning and serviettes, he’s rubbish at that.”

Everyone chuckles at the slight joke.

“The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly planned murder or attempted murder I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter. The most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware.

“However, I’m not just here to praise John, I’m also here to embarrass him so let’s move onto some—”

“No, wait. So how was it done?” Greg interrupts.

“How was what done?”

“The stabbing.”

“He never solved it,” you chime.

“Yes,” Sherlock nods. “I never solved that one. It can happen sometimes. It’s very…very disappointing. Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night.”

Oh, dear Lord.

This night was the night you, Mary, and Molly got together and had dinner before having essentially a big sleepover at John and Mary’s. Because John was out with Sherlock all night, apparently doing something along the lines of having a beer at every place they’ve solved a murder.

It’s okay, you found the idea weird, too. But Molly said she calculated everything correctly, so they should be fine. Even if it was odd that Sherlock asked her to calculate anything in the first place.

But anyway, while the three of you were drinking wine and sharing idiot stories of your significant others, John and Sherlock were getting absolutely pissed.

“‘Course, there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.”

Apparently, they were only out for two hours before returning to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson said she nearly had a heart attack when she walked out with her trash to find them snoozing on the stairs, drunkenly mumbling to each other.

And then they had a client. Of all things, they had a client that night.

“The Mayfly Man.”

They also got arrested, which Lestrade wasted no time calling you about and starting off with saying, “You’re not gonna believe this shit.” You thought it was going to be much worse than what it was, but at least Lestrade was able to get them bailed out with no problem. And thankfully, it never turned up in the papers.

You still remember after that when Sherlock continued investigating. You were sat in his chair when he had probably six or seven laptops open, talking to all of these women who had encountered the Mayfly Man. John was here as well, helping with the case on his day off.

Apparently, Sherlock had asked a question to the women and immediately every single one of them signed off. You had warned him to let you help, but he didn’t want you to. He didn’t want to come off as too knowing.

“Why? Why would he date all of those women and not return their calls?” Sherlock slams the laptop closed, straightening up and buttoning his blazer.

John snorts. “You’re missing the obvious, mate.”

“Am I?”

“You are,” you nod. “He’s a man.”

Sherlock still doesn’t get it. “So? I’m a man.”

“You’re a different breed,” you chuckle.

“But why would he change his identity?” Sherlock asks the rhetorical question to the wedding guests, not noticing their lack of interest. “He was married. Obvious, really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity and instead of endless nights in watching telly or going to barbeques with the awful, dreadful, boring people he couldn’t stand, he used his wits, cleverness and powers of disguise to play the field. He was—” Sherlock stops, suddenly surveying the room and seeing their tired faces. He turns to you and you shake your head, motioning for him to stop the story.

He nods. “On second thoughts, maybe I probably should’ve told you about The Elephant in the Room.

“However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that’s what made me special. Quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise: Should any of you require the services of either of us, I will solve your murder, but it will take John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that, I should know. He’s saved mine so many times and in so many ways.

“This blog,” Sherlock gestures with his phone, “is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures. Of murder, mystery, and mayhem. But from now on, there’s a new story. A bigger adventure.”

You watch with a smile as Sherlock glances to the happy couple, and then you watch in surprise as he looks to you.

“Ladies and gentlemen pray charge your glasses and be upstanding.” You stand with your glass in hand. “Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is—”

Sherlock freezes.

His glass falls from his hands, but no matter about that. You know that look in his eyes. He’s gone. Albeit for a split second, but he’s gone.

It’s almost like he’s gone to his mind palace.

The glass shatters as it hits the floor, the noise startling Sherlock back into the real world. He blinks, looking down at the mess he made and tries to brush past it.

“Oh, sorry, I—” He shakes his head, clearing his throat.

“Another glass, sir?”

“Thank you, yes. Thank you. Now, where were we?”

“Sherlock…” You whisper.

He looks to you briefly before continuing on. “Ah, yes, raising glasses and standing up. Very good, thank you… And down again.”

You sit down quickly, casting a worried glance in John and Mary’s direction. The rest of the guests follow, confusion coating their faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech. Get off early, leave them laughing. Wise advice I’ll certainly try to bear in mind, but for now…”

“Sherlock!” You hiss as he jumps over the table.

“Part two!” He walks down the middle. “Part two is more action based, I’m gonna walk around, shake things up a bit.

“Who’d go to a wedding? That’s the question? Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding…? Well, everyone!” Sherlock turns around, clapping his hands. “Weddings are great. Love a wedding.”

Mary leans forward to look at you. “What’s he doing?”

“Something’s wrong,” you whisper back. “I don’t know what.”

“And John’s great, too,” Sherlock points back to the front. “I haven’t said that enough, barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his jumpers. And he can cook, does a thing – A thing with peas, once. Might not be peas, might not be him, but he’s got a great singing voice – Or somebody does…

“Too many, too many, too many, too many!” Sherlock screams. He stops himself, turning back around. “Sorry, too many jokes about John. Now, uh… Where was I? Ah, yes. Speech! Speech. Let’s talk about…murder.”

“Christ, Sherlock,” you smack your forehead.

“Sorry, did I say murder? I meant to say marriage. But, you know, they’re…quite similar procedures when you think about it, the participants tend to know each other and it’s over when one of them’s dead. In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though.”

You watch as Sherlock pulls out his phone and begins texting behind his back – something you hate when he does, but now it’s only worrying you further.

“Jeff, the gents.” Sherlock looks at Lestrade.

“It’s Greg!”

“The loos, please.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s your turn?” Sherlock nods toward the door as Lestrade’s phone beeps. So, Sherlock was texting him. You wish he’d text you to let you know what the hell is going on right now.

Lestrade looks at his phone and his eyes widen. “Yeah, actually, now that you mention it.” And he disappears through the doors.

“Sherlock,” John calls out. “Any chance of an end date to this speech? We’ve gotta cut the cake.”

“Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, can’t stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once – Vatican Cameos.”

Your eyes widen. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

“What did he just say?”

You scoot over to Sherlock’s seat next to John’ careful of the broken glass. “Vatican Cameos,” you murmur. “It means someone’s going to die.”

“Not you, not you, you,” Sherlock points to John. “It’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right.”

John stands to meet Sherlock. “What do I do?”

“You’ve already done it,” Sherlock whispers, glancing to you. “Don’t solve the murder. Save the life.

“Sorry,” Sherlock inhales sharply, turning back around. “Off-piste a bit, back now, phew! Let’s play a game. Let’s play murder. Imagine someone’s going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?”

“I think you’re a popular choice at the moment, dear,” you hear Mrs. Hudson say, bringing a small smile to your face.

“If someone could move Mrs. Hudson’s glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely. More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding?”

Your eyes widen. They lock with Sherlock’s. There’s a brief moment where you wonder if it’s you. After all, this morning was the only time you traveled without Sherlock in a long time. But it doesn’t make sense, you don’t fit. He’s here with you now, and no one was close to you when he wasn’t.

Sherlock shakes his head slightly. You’re safe.

“Most people you can kill just any old place,” he continues. “As a mental exercise, I’ve often planned the murder of friends and colleagues. Now, John, I’d poison. Sloppy eater, dead easy. Y/N is a different story. To poison her would ultimately insure my own death sentence. Lestrade’s so easy to kill, it’s a miracle no one’s succumbed to the temptation. I’ve got a pair of keys to my brother’s house, I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him…if the whim arose.

“So, once again, who could you only kill here?”

Sherlock’s eyes lock with yours again and you mouth, “Isolated.”

“Clearly, it’s a rare opportunity, so it’s someone who doesn’t get out much. Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception. Has to be a unique opportunity. And since killing someone in public difficult, killing them in private isn’t an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then. Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security. Possibly someone under threat.”

When Sherlock looks to Major James Sholto, you sigh, letting your eyes fall closed. You should’ve known from the minute your brain told you it had to be someone who is truly isolated. Major Sholto is the only one true fit to that statement.

“Or, a recluse,” Sherlock speaks, now obviously filling the time as he writes something on a card. “Small, house hold staff. High turnover for additional security. Probably have all signed confidentiality agreements.

“There is another question that remains, however, a rather big one. How would you do it? How do you kill someone in public? There has to be a way. This has been planned.”

Your eyes widen. “The Bloody Guardsman,” you blurt. “The killer that can walk through walls. The weapon that vanishes.”

Sherlock stares off when he hears you, Major Sholto standing and leaving in the meantime. Sherlock nods to you. “Not just planned, planned and rehearsed.”

He slides back up to the front, grabbing a random glass. “Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interlude. To the bride and groom!”

Everyone stands for the toast, but Sherlock whirls around, leaning down to the table. “Major Sholto’s going to be murdered. I don’t know how or by whom but it’s going to happen.” Sherlock abruptly kisses you on the forehead before turning and moving his way through the crowd. “Excuse me, coming through, consulting.”

John gives Mary a kiss before standing, looking to the both of you and saying, “Stay here.”

As soon as he gets around the table, though, you and Mary look at each other and nod. You stand, linking arms and pushing your way through the crowd, careful not to trip on your dresses as you search for where Sherlock and John went.

You round the corner just as your brother is laying into Sherlock for not remembering Major Sholto’s room number.

You roll your eyes and say, “207,” as you and Mary push between them.

The four of you bound up the stairs and to the left, Major Sholto’s door right at the end of the hall. Sherlock immediately begins banging on the door, trying the handle.

“Major Sholto!” Sherlock yells, hitting the door with an open hand.

The Major speaks from behind the door. “If someone’s about to make an attempt on my life, it won’t be the first time. I’m ready.”

“Major,” John steps forward. “Let us in. Or I’ll kick this bloody door down.”

“I really wouldn’t,” he calls out. “I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes.”

“You’re not safe in there. Whoever’s after you, we know that a locked room doesn’t stop him.”

“Yes, I know. The invisible man with the invisible knife.”

“I don’t know how he does it, so I can’t stop him and that means he’ll do it again.”

“Solve it, then.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re the famous Mr. Holmes. Solve the case, on you go. Tell me how he did it, and I’ll open the door.”

Sherlock shakes his head, stepping away.

“Please, this is no time for games. Just let us in, you’re in danger!” John’s voice cracks on a matter of urgency, and the knot is your stomach is twisting dangerously tight.

“So are you, so long as you’re here,” the Major counters. “Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I really do not approve of collateral damage.”

“Solve it,” Mary blurts.

“Sorry?”

“Solve it and he’ll open the door, like he said.”

“I couldn’t solve it before, how can I solve it now?”

“Because it matters now!” Mary cries.

“What are you talking about? What’s she talking about? Get your wife under control.”

“She’s right,” John replies, deadly serious.

“Oh, you’ve changed!”

You smack Sherlock’s arm harshly, finally succumbing to the urge you’ve had all evening. “Shut up!” Sherlock looks back at you, dejected and holding his shoulder where you hit it. “She’s right. You are not a puzzle solver, you idiot, you never were. You’re a goddamned drama queen. Now, there is a man in there about to die, the game is fucking on, solve it.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen, though you can’t tell if it’s in shock or realization, but then he turns to the door, and you hear he’s solved it. “Major Sholto, no one’s coming to kill you. I’m afraid you’ve already been killed several hours ago.”

“What did you say?”

“Don’t take off your belt.”

“The belt,” you mutter. “Of course.”

“Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him. But it was through his belt – tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn’t even feel it.”

“The belt would bind the flesh together when it was tight. And when you took it off…” John trails away.

“Exactly. Delayed action stabbing.”

“Neat,” you mutter, then realizing what you’ve said, you grimace. “Sorry.”

“You’re supposed to open the door, Major, he solved the case.”

Silence.

“Whatever you’re doing in there James, stop it, right now, I will kick this door down!” John yells.

“You and I are very similar Mr. Holmes,” the Major continues. “There’s a proper time to die, isn’t there?”

“There is.”

“And one should embrace it when it comes. Like a soldier.”

“Of course, but not at John’s wedding!” Sherlock screams. “We wouldn’t do that, would we, you and me? We would never do that to John Watson.”

Sherlock steps away from the door, and right as John is getting ready to ram his foot through the door, it opens.

John and Mary disappear into the room, leaving you and Sherlock in the hallway. He suddenly picks you up by your waist and spins you around, setting you down to press a firm kiss to your lips.

“You’re a drama queen, too,” he pouts.

“Shut up,” you shake your head, pulling him back into you for another kiss.

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