#i thought i wanted a no stakes show but it seems my brain prefers emotional distress | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spinster-sisters · 3 years ago

Text

Arrangement. psh

TW: Oral, fingering, corruption, unprotected sex, public sex, reader is kinda selfish but in the oblivious way not the malicious way, seonghwa is seonghwa. Honestly I was going for something kinda specific here and i dont think i succeded, its not bad or anything just not what i was going for but i dont think yall will be able to tell hopefully.

The first thing i write in probably well over 2 weeks and its something that nobody but @deja-vux wanted. what can i say? this idea gave me brain rot.

One last thing, this is kind of a part 2 to the corruption kink blurby thing I wrote for Seonghwa (can be found in my master list) but it’s not a direct continuation or anything and you don’t have to read that to get this.

Your jaw ached in strain as you held your mouth open, trying to keep your throat relaxed. Seonghwa’s grip was tight in your hair as he thrust his dick shallowly past your lips. The position was altogether uncomfortable. Seonghwa laid across the back seat of his vintage car, back propped up against the door with one knee raised. You were knelt between his thighs, bent over in a painful arch trying to keep still in the tight space. But all of that was inconsequential, the breathy groans and crooked smirk of the man in front of you were enough to drown out the pain.

As his hips pushed into your mouth again, dick sliding further down your throat than before, in a desperate attempt to please the man you did your best to swallow around the long length of his cock although tears pricked in your eyes. His grip on your hair tightened and you looked up just in time to see his head thump back against the glass window followed by another low groan and a face screwed up in pleasure, his normally perfectly styled black hair now tousled and falling into his eyes. Deep satisfaction ran through you.

To your surprise, the hand in your hair yanked you back and off him. You whined at the roughness, despite the way it sent shocks down to your core. Seonghwa’s eyes cracked open to peer down at you with a grin.

“You're getting good at this, princess.” He compliments in his velvet voice. His words elated you and a smile crept onto your lips.

“You’ve come so far in so little time, you could barely take me in your mouth without gagging a month ago, now look at you. You should be proud.” Seonghwa continued, running his hand through your hair once before regaining his grip on it. You practically purred. While you looked back on those first few times with Seonghwa fondly, you much preferred his smooth praises to the harsh words and instructions he gave you before. But you were still glad for them, there was no way you would have come this far this quickly if he hadn’t been hard on you.

Seonghwa’s hand was pulling you back down again before you could voice anything, “come on princess, show me how much you’ve learned.”

Back to work you went. He gave you a tad bit more freedom this time around, not making any move to thrust into your mouth, instead, allowing you to show your newfound mastery of dick sucking. But you kept his preferences in mind, he always wanted to draw things out, to take his time with you. So you began by kissing gently along the red tip, then lapping at the precum that spilled from it. The taste was definitely an acquired one, your face had screwed up in disgust the first time I touched your tongue, but now you sought it out as it meant you were doing well.

Taking the tip completely in your mouth, you hummed as you swirled your tongue around it for a moment before popping off and caressing the underside with a flick of the tongue. Seonghwa hummed in approval, nudging your head forward again in gentle encouragement. You took him into your mouth again, this time hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head in a firm rhythm. You kept your tongue pressed into the underside of his dick, running along the most prominent vein. Each time you took more and more of his impressive length into your mouth, moaning in satisfaction as you went.

You couldn’t help the way your legs pressed together as more wetness pooled in your underwear. Your mind flashed with the first time Seonghwa had taken you completely. Your body had shuddered as he eased his cock between your legs and into your cunt. It had been uncomfortable sure, and the sensation had been unfamiliar, but Seonghwa had taken care to prepare you enough before ruining you in that way. Your first time had been exceptional needless to say.

You were drawn back to the present by the low growl rumbling out of Seonghwa’s chest as his dick hit the back of your throat, all of him save for the part you had your hand wrapped around for support was now gracefully sliding past your lips. You ventured another look up to his face. He was watching you intently with fire behind his dark eyes. You looked up at him with wide eyes, barely able to meet his strong gaze. His elbow rested on his bent knee and his head was leaning against his hand. If it weren’t for the low sounds he released from time to time you would never be able to tell what you were up to between his legs from his face.

The sudden desire to break his composure overtook you, to make him feel as desperate as the ache between your legs. So as you removed your hand to take his length all the way down into your throat your hips began rocking back and forth, rutting into nothing as your legs pressed tightly together.

“Keeping going like that, and I’ll cum down your throat.” His voice rumbled.

You doubted that. Another thing you had learned about him was that he was unbelievably composed. The kind of restraint that came from much experience. He wouldn’t cum unless he wanted to, his words were only to encourage you. But regardless you took them with glee. Seonghwa had long since discovered that nothing encouraged you more than the thought of his cum, the very reward for your efforts.

Despite his promise, it was several more minutes before he spilled into your mouth, having finally decided that you had sufficiently proven your knowledge. His head had fallen back against the window and he let out a trail of deep groans as he spilled against your tongue. You swallowed it appreciatively, beaming up at him from between his legs, awaiting the praise for your efforts.

When he looked at you again it was with a crooked smile and a gentle hand stroking your hair.

“Well done princess,” he spoke far too casually for having just cum down your throat. His free hand took your hip between his fingers and hoisted you up to straddle his lap. He adjusted to sit normally in the seat and he took a moment to size you up. His gaze burned as his eyes trailed over your body and your legs tried to squeeze together again as another bout of wetness spilled out of you, but Seonghwa’s hips kept them apart. He noticed the attempt, however.

With a smirk, Seonghwa slid his hand into the waistband of your shorts and into your panties. You sucked in air only to release it with a whine as his cold fingers slipped between your folds, releasing the slick into his palm. He chuckled at you.

“Oh what have I done to you,” he started with mock remorse, a small pout painting his features, “only a true slut could get his wet from sucking dick, I suppose I have truly ruined you,” he finished with a wild smirk. Your hips ground into his palm subconsciously.

“Mmmhmmm” you sighed in agreement, absolutely loving when he spoke to you like that, only Seonghwa’s words could ever affect you like that. If anyone else said them it would sound vile.

“Yours,” you added with a hoarse voice, rocking your hips into his still hand again.

“Mine?” He asked, pretending to be confused, tilling his head to the side as if asking for clarification. Though the next words to leave your lips were no surprise to him, as he had taught you them.

“Your slut.”

It was getting harder to avoid Seonghwa at school. Not because either of your schedules changed, not because he stopped ditching as much as he did. In fact, those things hadn’t happened at all, it just seemed like they had. It seemed like everywhere you went you saw him. Either sauntering his way through the hallways, gathered with his like-minded friends in the courtyard, or even sitting in the far back of the single class you shared flipping his pen between two fingers as he stared absently out the window.

Once upon a time, before you had seen him as anything more than trouble making pretty boy, it had confused you how he had even managed to be in the same advanced literature class as you and it hard infuriated you when you discovered that Park Seonghwa had the audacity to be smart. Your one-track mind had seen it as a waste for him to have even a shred of intelligence behind his starry eyes when it was clear school was the last thing ever on his mind. But at the time you had pushed the thought aside, thinking that as long as you still stood at the top of the class it didn’t matter.

But when you found it most difficult to avoid Park Seonghwa was when he was leaned against the locker of some pretty face showing that crooked half-smirk that you had become so familiar with. And it caused quite a few unnamed emotions to stir in your stomach each time. Each time you shoved those emotions away before they had the chance to manifest. You had no right to feel them. It was your reputation at stake if the student body discovered that you were Park Seonghwa’s latest pass time, not his. In fact, it would probably gain him a feather in his cap from his crowd if they knew. You and Seonghwa had never discussed the exclusivity of your arrangement, you hardly had the clarity of mind to do so at any moment his gaze was focused on you, so you could never be sure if his velvet words had led him between the legs of any of the pretty faces you saw him with. And you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it, even though very deeply wanted to know. Once again, you pushed the thoughts from your mind, as long as you still to be with him the most, it didn’t matter what those other people did with him.

But as the school slowly emptied at the end of the day, and you were making your way to the student council room once again (trying your hardest to not remember when he had taken you against a table in there as well) you found Seonghwa loitering in the hallway with a girl leaned against his chest inches away from his face.

You came to a dead stop. The gears of your brain are either unable or unwilling to comprehend what you saw. Why this particular time bothered you so much was a question you could not answer, it was not the first time, nor would it be the last. Normally you would simply turn your head and keep walking as though you had seen nothing, and you had almost convinced yourself to do exactly that when the girl noticed your presence.

“Do you need something?” She spat, clearly from the crowd that thought the student council was all prissy know it all’s, and you had to remind yourself that until very recently that is exactly what you were. But you were also stubborn. You composed yourself quickly and kept your eyes on the girl.

“Unless you have somewhere to be, I suggest you move your groping elsewhere. Somewhere off school grounds preferably.” You called in an even tone, thankfully your voice had not betrayed the way your stomach was churning.

“Come on, don’t be such a prude,” the nameless girl countered. Her choice of words temped you to glance at Seonghwa, but you had a feeling he would be looking at you, which you don’t know if you could handle.

“Trust me, the rest of the student body would be just as grossed out as I am, whatever is going on here is not as ‘hot as you think it is,” you added air quotes around the word for good measure. The girl smirked at you.

“I don’t know, I think they would be lucked to see such a sexy couple.” She retorted, her arms curling around Seonghwas middle. At the word “couple” you couldn’t help it, your eyes flashed to Seonghwa. He had the audacity to look amused as if the back and forth was the best entertainment he had seen all week.

You didn’t like that she used that word. You had absolutely no desire to be in a relationship with Seonghwa, quite the opposite, in fact, it would ruin you. But your mind flashed with the one word you heard him use perhaps most often, “mine.” Granted, you had never called him ‘yours,’ but the experiences he gave you seemed somehow cheapened if he was giving everyone else the same ones. You felt spiteful, what was the point in teaching you all those wonderful things if he could get them elsewhere. Those were the thoughts that spurred on your words.

“I’ll let them know when I find one then.” You deadpanned. It took her a moment to realize what you meant, then her mouth hung open. She looked ready to retort before Seonghwa cut her off.

“Why don’t you go home, leave this conversation to the big kids.” He said, looking at her for the first time since the conversation started. Once again, it took her a moment to realize it was her he was talking to, and then she gapped like a fish. Seonghwa had turned his eyes back to you, not bothering to entertain her shock. Finally, with a huff she stormed off, leaving you and Seonghwa alone in the hallway, locked in a stare-off.

“Kinda slow isn’t she? You can do better than that.” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh I know I can,” he replied without missing a beat, but the less than subtle once over and the knowing smile he gave you only served to tick you off, rather than flatter you.

“Then why waste your time with her?” As soon as the words came out of your mouth you regretted them. They sounded far too much like jealousy for your taste, and based on the look in his eyes; an invitation as well. Seonghwa’s lean body pushed from the wall and took several long strides towards you, till he stood over you. His hand came to rest all too familiarly on your hip.

“Why? Have something better I can do with my time?” He said, not at all trying to hide his suggestive undertone. You scoffed, in an attempt to keep the burn of his stare away from your mind.

“Your disgusting,” you said, though it came out far less convincing than it sounded in your head. You took a step back from the all-to-magnetic boy. If someone came across you two now, you needed as much distance between him and you as possible.

“Are you going to report me? Madam President?” He replied in a moc disappointed tone.

“As if I adding today onto your record would change a thing. We have a filling cabinet for just you and your friends, Seonghwa. I don’t want to overflow it.” You threw back.

“I didn’t know the student council was such fans of my work.” He replied casually without missing a beat. You opened your mouth to retort but he cut you off.

“Come find me tomorrow night if you're still looking to help me waste time, princess,” he began, turning to grab his bag from the floor, “I think you have a council meeting to get from, wouldn’t want to get in your way of upholding the high standards of the school.” As he spoke he began walking away, only to throw a smirk over his shoulder at his last four words. Leaving you alone in the hallway.

You did not find him the next day. You had decided you were upset with him, not because of the girl, you told yourself, but because of the patronizing way he spoke to you. Not that that was different from normal. It just seemed to be the best way to allow yourself to be mad at him without those unwanted feelings worming their way into your brain.

Whether Seonghwa had even noticed your boycott was impossible to tell. He would never come to you, he wanted you to come to him. He never seemed even the slightest bit bothered in the few times you had glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He laughed with his friends without a care in the world and his blank face during class held no emotion besides boredom. You on the other hand, now that was a different story. You had become used to meeting up with him once or even twice a week in various places around town for your “lessons” and you had become “insatiable.” (his word not yours)

Your resolve to be mad at him was cracking as the days went on and was replaced with the need for him. Him and only him. No one else would do.

But in an effort to keep your resolve you threw yourself in the opposite direction, instead, making plans with the Vice President of the student council, a lovely girl named Marie.

Marie was your friend. She chose to use the words “gal pals” from time to time. An airy upbeat girl who rarely let her soft smile fall from her face. And right now, the furthest possible thing from spending time with Park Seonghwa.

So on Wednesday, both you and Marie piled into her silver car and drove off to her house. You both stumbled into her orderly bedroom with a fit of quiet giggles at the expense of several other council members. You shrugged your bag off your shoulders and plopped down onto the plush carpet beside her bed as she did the same.

“Oh my gosh, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! Outside of council meetings obviously, I mean, I was starting to think you had found a different best friend and I was-“ Marie started rambling almost as soon as she sat down. You couldn’t help the small smile that found your lips. It’s true you had been neglecting her as your friend for the past month or so, instead of spending time with, well, him. But now that sat in her familiar room, seeing the pictures of the events you had planned together scattered on the walls, the sudden realization that you had indeed missed her was shocking.

“Sorry about that, there was some stuff going on at home, that needed my attention. But now I’m back!” You replied, trying to match her seemingly boundless energy. Her face screwed up in worry at your words.

“Oh no! Is everything ok? Do you want to talk about it?” She asked in her characteristic wide eyes. You shook your head.

“It’s not serious I promise. My parents were just redoing the garden and my mother insisted I be home every day to help planting and stuff.” You continued with the lie you had prepared. It was the same thing you had been telling everyone when they asked about your general absence.

She looked content with your answer, smiling and pulling her binder from her bag.

“So, the basketball game this Friday, I know we have the event mostly planned out but I think that we still need to-“ she started again, going right into her work. And you held up a hand to slow her.

“Woah hold on,” you started with a smile, “we have been planning this game for 2 weeks I think we can take a break tonight. You know? Just hang out a little?” You asked. She looked at you surprised.

“Since when have you ever wanted to take a break?” She asked with a curious glance but it broke into a smile, “come on, it’s the first game of the season and the coach asked us specifically to make sure that the whole school showed up and it runs smoothly. Besides if I do a good job I might just beat you out for president next year.” She said the last part with a low voice and a wiggle of the eyebrows.

But that wasn’t the part of her outburst that surprised you. She was right, when have you ever been the one to want to take a break? Surely you have been indulging yourself too much lately. You recovered your momentary lapse.

“Oh you wish,” you replied with a coy smirk that broke you both down into giggles once again.

The rest of your night was flung into a casual discussion with homework and planning galore.

Perhaps there are better places, and there are definitely better times. But since it came down to either the locker room showers or the back of Seonghwa car, at least the showers had more room.

Outside the door, the basketball game was raging on and I likely would be for the next hour. You could hear the school cheering along with the game, and the surprisingly loud squeaks of the player's shoes on the gym floor. Nobody would be coming in here till the game was over, you had until then.

You had been leaning against the sink when Seonghwa walked in. One look at him was all it took for you to be willing to break your streak, it’s hard to be mad at someone when you can’t glance at them without your mind flashing with every dirty thing they have done to you. So the moment he crossed over to you, you flung yourself at him. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck when your lips meet his. You could feel him smirking on your lips, but at the moment you couldn’t care less.

Seonghwa’s hands fell to your hips and to your utter dismay he used his grip to gently push your body away from him. A whine pulled from your lips as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. He looked amused.

“Hold on there princess, what’s the rush?” He asked head tiling to the side with a patronizing look. You huff at his words, tightening your arms around his neck you push yourself flush against him again.

“The rush is that I haven’t had time to see you all week and I’m going insane.” You convey in a tone that clearly says ‘shouldn’t this be obvious?’ Seonghwa’s eyebrow raised accusingly.

“Oh, is that what it was? That you didn’t have time?” He asked, though his tone suggested he knew the answer. You could feel yourself blushing, so he had noticed you had been avoiding him. Honestly, you didn’t think he would.

“Because I’m pretty sure I saw you and miss congeniality meeting up every day after school.” You wish now more than ever that you had more experience in the “relationship” field, even if this wasn’t one because you could not for the life of you decipher Seonghwa’s expression. His face was relaxed, showing no sign of anger or disappointment or any other emotion, but his eyes were staring you down with great intensity. But then again, he always seemed to do that.

“Council stuff.” You mumble in reply, trying with all your might to speak as casually as him. At this, Seonghwa gifted you with an expression you understood. Fake surprise.

“Oh, is that what it was?” He began, looking up at the ceiling as though pondering the idea, before looking back to you with that damned crooked smirk. His grip on your waist suddenly tightened. A moment later he had pushed you back against the sink, caging his arms around you.

“Or is it because you were jealous?” He was grinding madly now.

Jealousy. That was that emotion that you had been shoving down all week. How you had not realized it before was a mystery. But to hear it come from his mouth? It made you see red. Suddenly you were far angrier than you had any right to be. Your gaze hardened quickly and you did your best to put space between your bodies, though it was practically impossible with his arms changing you in and head leaning down into your face.

“Do you want to waste time talking, or are you going to fuck me?” You spat. He processed your words for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he had the audacity to look amused.

“So you were jealous.” He practically giggles, shaking his head and looking down in amusement. The tips of his fluffy black hair brushed your nose and you almost swatted at it. How dare he? You pressed your hands into his shoulders and pushed against him, trying to move him away from you. He allowed you to move him, but not by much, just enough to give you a little room while you fume at him.

If you had the slightest bit of hindsight at this moment, you would have realized your anger was misplaced. You were angry at yourself for feeling that stupid emotion in the first place. But at present, blaming him seemed easiest. And the fact that your anger only served to amuse him made it feel a bit more justified.

“What’s so funny.” You spat, crossing your arms in front of your chest. He peered at you, and your clearly ticked-off demeanor before chuckling. His hands still gripped the porcelain sink behind you and for a brief moment, his hand flexed against the hard surface, holding some unseen emotion in the action.

“You are, princess. For someone so smart I forgot how absolutely clueless you can be about anyone who isn’t yourself.”

You almost stormed out of the room. And you probably would have if it wasn’t for the placement of his arms. But he continued speaking despite your livid expression.

“I was keeping up appearances.” He said in a flat tone. You could now add confusion into the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

“What does that mean?” You said the words with venom but there was a clear tone of lack of understanding in your voice. He, once again, found this amusing.

“Exactly what it sounds like. How would it look for me, if I suddenly started to ignore every advance made on me? Believe it or not sweetheart but I also have a reputation to uphold. Just the same as you. And since your the one who is so adamant that nobody knows about our ‘meetings’ it’s business as usual.”

Realization washed over you like water to a flame, all the rage dissipating just as quickly as it appeared, and your face softened. And then came the guilt. You just basically blew up on the man for doing exactly what you wanted him to, for doing exactly what you were doing by avoiding him. You had never before considered Seonghwa’s reputation in your musings. Your eyes glazed over a bit as you looked down, letting out a quiet “oh.”

You kept your gaze rooted to your shoes, unwilling to look at Seonghwa for fear of what you would see. You jumped when you felt his touch. One hand came to your waist and a gentle caress and the other took hold of your chin more firmly and tilted your head up to his eyes. And to your surprise, a coy smile lay across his features.

“It’s ok princess, your obliviousness was what drew me to you in the first place anyways. You were so caught up in your own little self-centered world you didn’t even notice how badly I wanted you till I had you pressed against the wall. I don’t think this would be as fun if I didn’t have to teach you a thing or two along the way,”

you blushed again at the memory and he slid his thumb against your lower lip. Your mouth parted automatically to wrap your lips around it, lulled into the submissive trace his silken words always put you in. He chuckled at you. “At least now I know you haven’t been messing around with anyone else. You’ve been too busy sulking over me to even notice if any other guys tried to seduce you.”

You hummed around his finger, slightly comforted by the fact he would have been jealous too. His words suggested that he wanted you to himself as much as you felt the same about him.

His thigh was suddenly pressing into your core and the hand on your waist dragged your hips across it. The skirt you wore did nothing to shield your panty-covered cunt from the rough denim of his jeans and your mouth hung open to mewl at him, his thumb still dangling from your lips. He leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“You wouldn’t let any other guys touch you, right princess?” He mumbles though he spoke like he already knew the answer.

You garbled put some kind of agreement as quick as you could. With a smirk, Seonghwa hiked up the fabric of your skirt to expose your damp underwear and lifted you ever so slightly by the waist onto the edge of the sink. There was a sliver of pride in his eyes at the way you spread your legs willing for him, presenting yourself as best you could, just as he had taught you. He pushed the fabric covering your pussy to the side and slide a fringed through the slick that gathered there. And you muffled a whine into his neck as your arms flung over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna have to be quick with you today sweetheart, the game is almost over, but wouldn’t want the whole basketball team to come piling in and see you like this would you.”

You shook your head as best as you could with your face nestled into his collar bones. Your eyes were screwed shut as his fingers continued to glide through your folds, sometimes barely slipping inside you before pulling out. He was working you up with well-practiced hands. He had learned his way around your body much faster than you had learned his, knowing all the ways to make you tick.

“No, this is for my eyes only, right sweetheart?” One of Seonghwa’s slim fingers caught your clit and you gasps, gripping the shirt covering his shoulders. He tutted at you.

“Don’t tell me you've forgotten what all I’ve taught you in just one week. Come on and use your words.” You could feel his words rumbling in his chest for how tight you held him. You were hesitant to pull away, but the edge in his voice urged on. Moving away just enough to let your voice carry.

“Only for you,” you mumble. Despite your quiet tone, you meant the words far more than you anticipated. Seonghwa pushed two long slim fingers inside you at your response, stretching your walls with ease. You gasped at the intrusion and buried your face in his chest again, trying to muffle any noises that may come out of you. There was still a game going on outside after all.

Seonghwa’s fingers arched inside you, brushing against the most sensitive place on your walls and your back arched. You could feel yourself getting louder and louder with every passing moment, but you were still unbearably on edge of being discovered.

“You especially responsive today, maybe leaving you alone for a while has its benefits.” Seonghwa mused into your hair as he worked, pulling even more sounds from you with every movement of his hand. His practiced fingers touched and toyed with you so well, it was impossible to keep quiet.

“No-“ you started in a shaky voice, not wanting to go so long without his touch like this again.

“Only joking sweetheart,” he giggles in your ear. But at that moment he pulled his skilled fingers away from your core and you choked on air. He ran his free hand up your spine in what was meant to be a gentle caress but it sent shivers through your body regardless. Your face stayed hidden against his body, at this point, his body heat seemed to be the only thing grounding you right now.

With your vision obscured there was a brief moment of heated silence where it seemed like nothing was happening, then the distinct sound of a belt clicking open and a zipper being pulled down echoed in the room. You pulled away from his chest and looked up at him with wide star eyes. He was already watching you with a smirk. Your mouth hung open with anticipation. He took in your face with a pleased expression, one hand coming down to cup your chin and tilt your head further up.

“I love it when you look at me like that,”

As soon as the words ended Seonghwa was crashing his lips onto yours and without missing a beat he thrust his length into your cunt in one quick movement. You were suddenly very thankful for the kiss, as it did well to muffle the cry ripping pst your lips. His grip on your hip was like iron as he began to set a pace. Each time pushing if possible even deeper inside you. You forced your legs to spread wider as your hands clawed down his back. Each time he filled you completely your body twitched as he brushed over your most sensitive spot.

Seonghwa still held your chin tightly in his palm, keeping your lips locked in a heated kiss. He seemed to be timing the kiss with his thrusts, which meant it was incredibly fast. He was kissing you as though he wished to devour you whole and at the moment you wanted nothing else but to allow him. Every few minutes the kiss would break as you both panted for air before it resumed with that same fervor.

Quite suddenly it became all too much, you were melting into him. Every stroke of his dick against your pulsing walls felt like fire shooting through your body in the best way, making you twitch uncontrollably. Your body acted of its own accord, hips bucking to meet his with every thrust and your hands grasping wildly against his back, trying to bring him impossibly closer. Several times you tried to break the kiss just to moan but his mouth chased yours and swallows up the sounds before they could escape.

And the kiss was something else entirely. You had kissed the man before but never like this. This felt so raw and unyielding. Every swipe of his tongue against your own felt like an invitation or a promise, for what you did not know. All of a sudden it felt entirely too intimate, too real. The kind of kiss reserved for true lovers in a moment of passion, not two teenagers fucking in a bathroom. But you couldn’t break away, not that you wanted to.

A gasp rang through the room. And in a moment that felt not unlike plunging into a freezing ocean, you realized that it had not come from you, or Seonghwa for that matter. Seonghwa had stilled to a halt inside you from the moment he heard it. He abruptly broke the kiss, sidestepping just enough that his broad back blocked the exposed parts of your body. But you couldn’t focus on the surprisingly chivalrous way he had protected you from sight, or the way he was mumbling under his breath as he righted himself and his clothes before doing the same to you.

No, your eyes were locked on the door. Where a mortified-looking Marie stood with her mouth hung open.

so can yall see what I was going for? or did I fail miserably lol.

#ateez smut #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez timestamp #ateez headcanons #ateez imagines #seonghwa smut #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa headcanon #seongwha timestamp #seonghwa au

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asset35-maya · 3 years ago

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I am sleepy but I gotta make a request before the busy tomorrow so 2 things on my mind! Sleepy and the 'oh my god they were roomates' vine xD with any characters and aus I love everything you write anyways xD Happy timezones and best vibes your way >^<!! 💖💞💕💕

Oh my god, they were roommates…

“The rental market in Detroit is absolute shit! How dare these bloodsuckers charge such high rates for the most under-developed properties! This city’s going to the dogs!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to pay your own weight in gold just to live in a shoebox for a year. Nonsense!”

“Uh…”

“Are you even listening to me, Tina!

Tina?

Goddamnit Tina!”

Gavin thumped his fist on her desk, but Tina’s eyes barely flicked up from her phone.

“Oh my god, you sound like my grandpa…”

Gavin turned red and his brain buzzed with a thousand colourful retorts. He was just about to pick one when Tina stopped scrolling and turned her phone screen towards him.

CYBERSCALIA @ NEW JERICHO

The suburban paradise for executive androids and humans alike. Located 25 minutes drive from downtown Detroit, with a full amenities.

Gavin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He balked at her.

“You’re joking? How could I possibly…?”

“Get with the times, boomer…”

Tina lazily skimmed her thumb over the screen. The webpage promised plenty of greenery, good infrastructure and modest but spacious rooms. The extremely reasonable price tag was Gavin’s dream come true. He’d spent weeks apartment hunting in the wake of an early lease termination by his cantankerous landlord. Gavin knew he’d never find a better deal.

“Shit, this is so good, T! Why the phck does it have to be in that- that place!”

His friend arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“What place?”

“The Tincan ghetto!”

Tina smacked him on the arm. None too gently.

“It’s subsided public housing located in an android-friendly estate… because they’re the ones that need it most right now. And frankly, you seem to be in just as much need, so you should really get off that high horse.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should seriously consider this place, even if my neighbours are gonna have more in common with my car than me. But damn, it seems a little too good to be true. There’s probably some fine print, hidden costs that’ll come out later.”

“Hmm… let’s see…”

Tina scrolled further and then let out a half-laugh. She held her phone up again.

“Nothing shady about the rates, but there is something you should know…”

At the risk of being called old again, Gavin squinted at the screen and read aloud.

“Bearing in mind the founding principles of New Jericho, all human occupants may only apply for tenancy in co-habitation with at least one android citizen of the United States of- JESUS PHCKING CHRIST! Absolutely not! I am not going to live with a plastic prick!”

Gavin had to get through half a bottle of wine before he could bear to scroll through the rental listings. Unlike other humans who had happily moved into New Jericho with their android friends or partners, he had to find an android who was also looking for a flatmate.

Some listings came from ardent supporters of Markus. These were the androids who wanted to ease the post-revolution transition by reaching out to humans. Some listings were put up by the android equivalent of frat boys. These individuals were clearly looking for someone on the fringes of human society, someone who could show them a good (if not illegal) time.

Other posts came from eccentric androids who craved company but had likely been rejected by their own kind. Gavin felt a strange twisting sensation, almost like pity, when he came across a post written entirely in third person by someone called Ralph.

He had almost given up hope when he came across a simple little listing for a two bedroom apartment in Cyberscalia.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Seeking a neat, self-sufficient co-renter. Human or android, no preference. I spend most of my time working and will be out of your way for the better part of the day. I only ask for silence during my nighttime stasis cycles, timely payment of dues and upkeep of cleanliness.

Gavin sighed in relief.

“Your room is the first door on the left, mine is the second. The bathroom, laundry and kitchenette are shared, as is the living room. I scarcely find use for the latter, so you need not worry about my intruding on any of your social gatherings, or vice versa. As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, our paths will not cross much.”

The tall, stiff-necked android dropped a set of keys, both mechanical and digital, into Gavin’s open palm.

“Er thanks.. RK… sorry I forgot your full model number…”

“You may call me Nines. Although, I’d rather you didn’t call me much of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

In a swish of black fabric, the android turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. Two rapid clicks indicated the shutting and locking of his door.

Gavin sighed and looked around the open-plan living room. It was nothing fancy, but it was far beyond any of the other properties he’d viewed in weeks of unsuccessful house-hunting.

He sat down on the simple black couch with a huff and contemplated his situation. He’d ended up where he’d truly never expected to go, but objectively speaking, things were good… barring the high-handed manner of his robot flatmate, but who gave a shit about that.

He pulled out his phone to text Tina his thanks.

“I can’t! I refuse to! It is a violation of my personal ethics and I will simply not take this assignment any further. Good day to you sir!”

Gavin nearly dropped his bowl of cereal one morning when his roommate burst out of his door and rushed into the open balcony.

He hadn’t seen Nines in days, which was perfectly normal. The android came and went at odd hours and made hardly any noise. It was almost like living alone. The only reminder of Nines’ presence was the sight of several dark shirts and trousers regularly hung out to dry on the rack above the washing machine.

Gavin set his bowl down and watched the android tightly grip the bars of the railing and take several unnecessary breaths to calm down. He’d seen deviant colleagues express emotion many times before, but this was the first time he witnessed such a potent mixture of rage and sorrow from a synthetic being.

Out of empathy, but mostly curiosity, Gavin approached cautiously.

“Hey Nines… is everything alright…?”

There was no response for several moments. Then Nines turned around with a grimace and hands held upwards in a placating gesture.

“I apologise for the disturbance. It was hypocritical of me to disrupt the very peace and quiet I demand of you.”

“Uh… no worries…? Are you okay?”

There was a flash of steel blue eyes.

Gavin kicked himself mentally as he realised too late that he’d broached uncharted territory. Their interactions didn’t extend beyond curt nods on the rare occasion they found each other in the same space. It was almost as if Nines engineered the lack of contact, which wouldn’t surprise Gavin at all if it were the case.

“I’m fine. I merely experienced some frustration with my work.”

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was his usual lack of self-preservative instinct… Gavin threw caution to the winds.

“What do you actually do?”

Nines’ expression remained stoic but his LED went through a spectacular series of colours and flashes. His next words were reluctant.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh shit! I’m actually a cop.”

Gavin pointed dumbly at himself and then let his hand drop when he saw absolutely no surprise cross the android’s face.

“I know. That’s why I let you stay with me.”

“For safety?”

“Certainly not for your fashion sense.”

“Wow okay, I didn’t think I’d be much protection for a big scary droid like you.”

Nines hummed dismissively and started to move out of the balcony, body language fully indicating the end of the conversation.

Unable to help himself for some strange reason, Gavin blurted out another ill-advised question.

“What pissed you off so much?”

Nines paused halfway through side-stepping the human. A thrill went through Gavin at the shards of ice he observed for the first time up close in Nines’ irises.

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop asking pointless questions?”

Gavin nodded earnestly, and frankly… rather foolishly.

“I helped a client gather evidence to initiate divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity. I provided ample photo and video evidence for his lawyers to work with. Now they want me to keep following the spouse to capture more details that could gear any future settlement in his favour.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“They’re offering me an incredible amount of cash to follow her 24/7. To stake out her workplace, her gym, her parent’s home. They want me to crouch under the window of the bedroom where her children sleep. I can do a lot of things, but not that. It’s deeply insulting that they even asked. That’s why I was so… pissed.”

Nines slipped past and was nearly back to his bedroom when Gavin spoke.

“I respect that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, but for real though, I think ethics are important in our line of work. Not just because of we need morals or a sense of right or wrong blablabla, but because we need… clarity.”

Silence floated through the hallway as Nines paused with a hand on his doorframe.

“Clarity?”

“Yeah, like a sense of direction. We don’t just take cases right-left-centre because they make us money. I mean, we could, and people do… but they never become specialists or experts of any kind. You gotta strategise if you want a career. Ethics helps with that. I think…”

Gavin wasn’t sure what made him say any of that. He was neither one for small talk, nor a man of many words… but something about Nines prompted that unusual level of introspective discourse.

“Sorry that was weird. Never mind.”

“That was actually… very astute.”

Their eyes met and Gavin could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

“It’s good to see that not all humans are as one-dimensional as I thought.”

The door clicked shut, but there was no locking sound.

Since the morning of Nines’ uncharacteristic outburst, the frequency of their encounters in the common areas of the apartment increased. Wordless nods became hellos, and hellos eventually became full sentences.

Not that he’d admit it, Gavin actually looked forward to enquiring about the android’s day and the cases he was working on. It was utterly fascinating to hear about legal investigations without the constraints of police procedure.

For his part, Nines would share as much as he had the patience to, before disappearing into the confines of his room. Though the time he spent outside steadily increased every day.

Another morning, while Gavin was making his coffee, Nines emerged from his room, still in his pyjamas and looking as livid as he had the time before. Gavin had never seen him in anything but crisply ironed businesswear. Before he could voice any concern, Nines stiffly asked Gavin to keep a lookout for a homicide suspect.

He nodded and immediately reached for his phone to text the sergeant on duty at his station. By midday, there was an arrest.

That evening, when Gavin settled in front of the TV with his usual glass of wine, he heard the familiar sound of Nines’ door opening. The couch dipped beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Just did my job. I should thank you for the tip.”

“Hmm.”

Gavin chanced a glance at his roommate, and found him looking right back.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just had the realisation that much of my work is impotent without the authority and means to take any kind of action.”

The sitcom began to play and Gavin thumbed the remote to reduce the volume.

“Takes all kinds to keep the streets clean. PIs can do things cops can’t. We rely on guys like you for intel all the time, you know.”

“I know.”

No words were exchanged for a while thereafter. Gavin found himself unable to focus on the TV show with all the brooding energy emanating from his right.

“If you feel like being a private eye doesn’t make enough of a difference, then why didn’t you… um… you know…”

“Join law enforcement?”

“Yup.”

“Plenty of my fellow androids have done so. I know for a fact that my predecessor model chose to remain there. You might know him.”

“Connor? Yes. Very annoying.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Totally. But why didn’t you join too? You’d be brilliant on the Force.”

“My skillset is certainly well-suited, but I didn’t want to become another puppet of the state.”

Gavin really didn’t know what to say to that. He nodded uncertainly and looked back at the television. He wasn’t sure why Nines was suddenly this social.

“What are you… watching?”

Androids could scan and detect just about anything in the world, so there had to be something else to the question. Gavin, strangely, was happy to oblige.

Nines made an appearance every evening, without fail. He would sit through the TV shows if they were of interest, or he would bring his case material and notes to the coffee table to work in silence beside Gavin.

Sometimes Gavin liked to work on jigsaw puzzles on the dining table. Nines would sit beside him, pretending to read a paperback novel, but actually scanning the puzzle and passing the right pieces over from time to time.

Against all odds, an evening ritual and a tentative friendship developed. It was simple, but it was warm. Comfortable. Like nothing Gavin had ever had before, even with humans.

He awoke one morning with a slight crick in his neck but the feeling of being very well-rested.

His eyes flickered open and fell upon the window. Familiar greenery came into view… but wait… had everything slightly shifted to the left? And was that the New Jericho Capitol building? He couldn’t see that from his room! There was a tree in the way! A tree that was now a few feet away from where it used to be.

Gavin sat up in alarm as he realised that he was not in his own bed. His heart flew into his throat as Nines walked through the open doorway. Shirtless and carrying a mug of blue liquid.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Wha-what happened!?”

Nines frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He set the mug on the floor and pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

“You passed out on the couch last night. I think you finished a whole bottle waiting up for me? Sorry, I was out working later than expected.”

Gavin looked down and sighed in relief as he found all his clothes still on him.

“I didn’t want you to injure yourself sleeping at an odd angle so I brought you here. Your door was locked.”

“You could’ve easily opened it.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been an invasion of privacy. I reserve that for working hours alone.”

Gavin looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes and as usual found no trace of humour.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now get out. You’re ruining my silk sheets.”

Against his best efforts, Gavin could not keep the thought of being carried to bed and tucked in safely out of his mind. How many years had it been? Since something like that had been even remotely possible for him?

He knew that Nines was just being kind in his own pragmatic little way… but Gavin found that he wouldn’t mind the prospect of waking up in the android’s bed in a wildly different context.

He realised he had it bad when Tina caught him smiling to himself at work one day.

“Why so happy?”

“Oh… nothing. Just remembered something my roommate did… He’s a… funny guy.”

“Huh. Well, look at you getting along so well with androids.”

“Android. Singular. Just him.”

“Wowwww… he sounds special.”

“Who did this?”

“Gavin, the damage is merely superficial-”

“Who phcking did this??!”

He reached forward and gingerly touched Nines’ split cheek. His synth skin was smeared with blue blood and glitching in and out. Nines winced at the contact.

“Shit, sorry. That must hurt like a bitch.”

“Androids do not feel pain.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m merely experiencing a surge in sensory input wherever my chassis is exposed. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and give me your first aid kit or whatever toolbox equivalent you tincans have.”

A shade of embarrassment appeared over the android’s features.

“I… actually don’t have one. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Didn’t think anyone could kick your ass, huh?”

“No… I didn’t think anyone would ever spot my hiding place.”

“Huh. How’d that happen?”

Nines’ eyes dipped, but as always, he answered the question.

“I was… distracted.”

Something in the air solidified and both of them felt it. Gavin cleared his throat and slapped his knees like an old man about to stand up.

“Right. Let me go check if the neighbours have anything that might help with your face.”

“So who’s this dapper young gent you’ve brought to the party, Gavin?”

“Er… he’s my uh… roommate.”

Captain Fowler nodded and winked.

“That’s what they called it in my day too.”

Nines shifted beside Gavin and cleared his throat.

“He’s a PI. But I think he’s wasting his talent taking pictures of cheating spouses. He’s quite interested in police work. Maybe we could get him to assist on a couple cases now and then?”

Fowler put down his drink and extended a warm hand to Nines.

“Oh thank RA9!”

Nines came running to the cluster of police cars and enveloped him in a giant hug. Gavin laughed as he patted him weakly on the back.

“Watch the ribs, big guy.”

“I was so worried.”

“Why? Your info was good. No chance of error.”

“I meant about you.”

Gavin pulled back and regarded Nines with confusion. The flashing red and blue lights of the cars made it hard to read his LED.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

The android pulled him into a bruising kiss. The officers standing nearby broke into wolf-whistles and applause.

“What the-”

“Oh I take full credit for that, sir.”

Fowler glanced at Tina.

“The case, Chen?”

“Oh of course. I solved the whole thing. But I mean that specifically.”

She waved a hand in Gavin and Nines’ direction. The two held each other tightly and seemed unlikely to come up for air anytime soon.

“Like I helped Gav find an affordable place in New Jericho and then he met this handsome investigator droid and they were roommates.”

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”

“Yeah legit.”

\\\

Thanks so much for the request @jude-shotto

This ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I couldn’t help it. Your prompt just took me on a whole journeyyyy <3

#maya bday ask event #reed900 #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh gavin #dbh nines #gavin900 #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900 #dbh fanfic #dbh rk900 #dbh #dbh writing #my writing

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demonslayedher · 4 years ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now I sleep byyyyezzzzzzzzz

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

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featheredpheonix · 4 years ago

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I watched the 4th (and final, if reports hold true) season of Netflix’s Castlevania series, and I am now putting as many of my (many, many) thoughts on it in the read more below to prevent them from continually filling my head until I die from a brain herniation. Spoilers for the new season obviously below.

The really short version of this is that, in contrast to a lot of the sentiment I have been seeing online, I don’t think this season is very good. I think it might actually be worse than season 3. If that thought offends you, please bear with me for a bit, as I suspect it is Netflix itself rather than the showrunners who are to blame.

Season 3′s fundamental flaw, in my opinion, was that it tried to cover too much at once, which made the pacing really fast and resulted in the season’s more obvious problems (how inconsequential Trevor and Sypha’s arc felt, how generally messy and underwritten Alucard’s whole section was, etc.). However, Season 3 did bear some merit, as so far as some of the conflicts it seemed to be setting up held some decent potential. Alucard was poised to have some real inner turmoil as he sent back to square one of his isolation in the castle, and by way of a far more traumatic series of events than during his initial farewell with Trevor and Sypha. Isaac was faced with a pretty open suite of paths to take his life, and a new philosophy on life to help guide him. There was the question of how would the world react to Carmilla’s expansionist ambitions, and just how far she would go to see them through. There was even a lot of engaging stuff that could have come out of Hector’s entrapment into magical servitude by Lenore. I was ready to give Season 3 some slack because I saw it as setting up interesting conflicts for Season 4, which while technically counting as kicking the can down the road, might have at least counted for something.

The issue with Season 4 then, for me, begins with it utterly ignoring or cutting short many of the potential story lines just discussed, opting in favor of conflicts devoid of set up, with threadbare emotional stakes, and which didn’t really challenge the cast in any way beyond testing how well they can swing a sword or throw a fireball.

Alucard seems barely fazed at all by the killing of his father or his brief pair of homicidal lovers, so much so that his recounting of the latter, an event which must have been a traumatic experience for him, is delivered off-screen and then promptly joked about. Carmilla’s character her arc is resolved with her complete abandonment of any of the political wit or strategic thinking she displayed in seasons past, getting promptly curb-stomped by Isaac for reasons only tangentially related to her manic world domination plot, and then girlbossing so hard she explodes. Most inexplicable of all, Hector, Lenore, and the story in general appear to have forgot or moved on from the whole “sexually-induced magical slavery” thing altogether, and the two are getting along swimmingly until Lenore decides to kermit herself (If I had a nickel for every morally-questionable vampiress who committed suicide this season, I’d only have two nickels, but it’s weird that it happened twice). Only Isaac’s story at all resembles what was being foreshadowed in Season 3, and even then only by the narrative being very vague about what his future plans actually are.

What we receive instead of payoff on previously established story threads are a coalescence of the different character arcs in a manner so rushed as to make them logistically impossible were it not for the sudden and conspicuous abundance of magical teleportation mirrors, a rogue’s gallery of new villainous vampires who exist only to be introduced and killed off in quick and meaningless succession, and a BBEG-from-the-machine who could have been interesting and entertaining if he had been given any build up or time to breath as a character, in either a previous or current season. Even the happy endings I was hoping for this season feel somewhat spent, more a product of consequence than something the characters actually struggled for. As such, the resolutions of the character arcs I did like felt less like rewards for sticking with the series, and more like bribes meant to convince me to forget the bad writing which preceded them.

Now that I’m finished beating this season with a stick, I think it’s worth noting that none of this feels like something the showrunners should be blamed for. Rather, this feels to me like one of my favorite Netflix properties being brought low by Netflix’s internal policy of cancelling beloved shows in search of greater market yields. I suspect that the showrunner did not choose to end this series after four seasons, but were commanded to do so by corporate higher-ups sometime either late into season 3′s production, or more egregiously, prior or even during the creation of season 4. This would obviously mean the Castlvania crew were doing the best they could to deliver any sort of half-decent ending in the short time they had left, and any blame for the faults of the show should instead be laid at the feet of the larger corporate machine behind them, and at the feet of the capitalist mode of production more broadly.

As far as the show itself is concerned, I’m still a fan, and would probably still watch whatever spinoff might be in the works, if hints from the Castlevania team are to be believed. Even in isolation, the first half of Castlevania still more than makes up for the latter seasons, with Season 2 being perhaps one of my favorite seasons of TV ever, and the S2 finale being one of my favorite finales respectively. Still, I wanted to express my critiques of this season, albeit from a place of love. I feel like there was a lot more story the team wanted to tell, that they would have preferred to tell, that they were ultimately made unable to tell by the external constraints of their less-than-benevolent corporate overlords. If such a desire existed amongst the Castlevania team, I can certainly say that I share in it, and hope that whatever they make from here on out is given the opportunity to be all that it can be.

#also feel free to reply I'm curious to hear what other people's thoughts are #castlevania #castlevania season 4 #castlevania spoilers #long post

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sierraraeck · 4 years ago

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Ancient History and Open Wounds (Pt.2)

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: In an effort to save Aundreya, the BAU has to turn to some unlikely allies before it’s too late. Story twenty.

Category: Angst.

Warnings: Cussing. Kidnapping. I don’t explicitly talk about torture, but it happens. Someone gets shot. Quick mention of previous sexual abuse and drug abuse.

Word Count: 4.8k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“I do not think this is a good idea,” Derek asserted as the team grabbed their go-bags.

“I’m with Morgan. How can we even trust them?” JJ seconded.

“Think about it,” Spencer tried to explain, “The only people who care about her more than we do, is her ring. And that Deen guy already had the chance to ambush you and I, JJ, and he didn’t because she told him not to.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t abush us now,” JJ pointed out.

“I don’t think he will,” Emily stepped in, “I bet they’re already working on how to find her without us, so we might as well work together.”

“But we have to fly out to them?” Derek asked.

“We are the ones with the private jet,” Rossi interjected. “And besides, she was taken from Chicago, so there’s a good chance she’s still in Chicago.”

No one else was given the chance to argue because Hotch said, “Dave has a point, and it doesn’t really matter because I scheduled us to leave in ten. We have to go, now.”

The moment they landed, they headed straight to the bookstore. Morgan made some comment about feeling weird that they weren’t going to a police station or crime scene and is it even legal for them to work behind local PD’s jurisdiction, all of which Hotch or Spencer waved off. When they got to the store, Deen was already outside waiting outside of the large glass doors for them.

“Come in,” he said, opening the door. It was about 2am wo the streets were almost completely deserted. “Look, a lot of the people here are not excited about you all showing up, so I’m going to ask you to put your weapons in this.” He gestured toward a safe on the back wall, right next to an ‘Employees Only’ sign. The team exchanged a few looks. “I get it, okay? You don’t trust us, and we don’t trust you, all for good reasons. But we both have a goal of finding Alionth, preferably alive, so please just put them away. I’ve told everyone to put thier’s away as well, so let's just all agree that we want brains and not fire power involved here today.”

Spencer was the first to give up his gun, followed by Emily and the rest of the team.

“Alionth?” JJ whispered.

“Alionth, Aundreya, Cassy, Clara, I don’t know they’re all the same person,” Emily answered with a shrug.

When it was Penelope’s turn to enter, she just walked right past the safe.

“Woah woah woah,” Deen stopped her, “The pretty lady doesn’t give up her gun?”

Penelope, who had her nose buried in her computer still typing with one hand, looked up at him. “I’m their tech analyst.”

Deen’s eyes grew, “Wait. You’re the Black Queen?” Penelope’s shocked face was all he needed for confirmation. “Oh wow. It’s an honor to meet you,” he extended his hand. Penelope hesitantly shook it, looking over at her teammates who seemed in just as much shock as she was. “Alionth’s talked about you.”

“She has?”

“Oh yeah. We all knew who you were, with your massive skills and all, and were actually about to recruit you when you got hired by the FBI. But when we found out Alionth was going to work with you, we all made sure she told us everything,” Deen was giddy, flashing her his bright smile.

“That’s … wow. I had no idea,” Penelope stumbled out.

“Wait, what do you mean you ‘found out she was going to work with the FBI?’ I wasn’t under the impression she was still in contact with you,” Hotch asked. Leave it to him to overlook the flirtiness.

Deen’s mouth ran dry. They aren’t supposed to know about the deal with Archer. “Uh… just a little bit. Um, why don’t I show you to our work space.” He turned back to Garcia, “And don’t worry, we already have the type of technology that will be compatible with yours.”

They all started following him into a back room, but Derek hung back to talk to Penelope. “Was he just hitting on you?”

“I have no idea, I don’t want to talk about it,” Garcia rushed out.

“Oh my god,” Morgan commented, shaking his head. “And they were going to recruit you?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to Aundre- Alionth, or whatever, about it after we save her life.”

“Right,” Derek replied with a small eye roll.

They entered the massive warehouse and were blown away. There were multiple levels overlooking the main one, and there were so many people watching them as they entered. It was dead silent as Deen stopped. He turned around and gestured for them to stay where they were while he walked forward to stand in the middle of the room.

“As you know, the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI has joined us today,” Deen started, addressing at least the 200 eyes on him, “This was the unit that Alionth was a part of, and they are here to help us find her, so I expect all of you to return the favor. If they need something, you get it to them. If we need a team of people to go with them for something, you will do that. If we want our leader back safely, we are all going to cooperate as one today. Understand?” A perfect chorus of ‘Yes, Deen’ radiated throughout the room. It sent chills down the team’s spines. They’d never seen first hand how some of these things worked from the inside, and were in a daze that at some point, that chorus was responding to the girl they knew. “Good. Proceed.” The groups of people dispersed, turning back to whatever they were doing beforehand, some even sparring on the mats.

“This is…” Emily started in disbelief.

“Yeah, it is,” Deen said with a nod, seeming to get the point, “She does it better than me, if you’re wondering.”

They filed into the conference room along the wall from the enternece where three people were already waiting. “BAU, meet Roman,” a short, thin girl with dark hair waved at them, “Niko,” a very tall, young, dark man nodded, “and Mateo.” Deen ended with a sigh as Mateo just sat there, arms crossed, just staring at the group.

Niko rolled his eyes at Mateo and extended his hand, “Please excuse my brother’s manners.”

“Manners?” Mateo bit, “You wanna talk about manners? How about them walking in here like they deserve our help, like they’re not the reason she’s in trouble right now.”

“Mateo,” Deen warned.

“What? You heard DeLeon! He said ‘the team’ not ‘the ring.’ Pretty sure he’s referencing them.”

“Mateo, do not-”

“It’s okay,” Hotch interrupted. “Can you show Garcia where she can set up and tell us what you have so far?”

“Absolutely,” Deen said, ushering Garcia over to the corner of the room, while Niko took over.

“As you probably know, she went after an old enemy of hers, Xena.”

“Yeah, we saw,” Emily said.

Niko smiled, “We know.”

“How?” she asked. He just smiled at her. “And how did you know what DeLeon was saying to Aundreya? I thought we were the only ones with a live feed.”

“She’s wired, which DeLeon is clearly okay with but, we’ll get there,” Niko said. “She was going after Xena because she figured out that she and DeLeon were behind everything that had been happening, including your imprisonment.”

“What?” Spencer was shocked. Suddenly he wished he’d paid closer attention to Xena’s face. It would be nice seeing with his own eyes, not just his eidetic memory, who did that to him.

“Yes, and that’s why she took the fall for you. Anyway, she got into it pretty bad with Xena, and walked away with some injuries-”

“What injuries?” Spencer asked.

“Her stitches were opened back up, the ribs refractured, a concussion, along with a sprained ankle and small cut on her throat,” Niko answered. “We took her to our doctor, who runs her operations out of her basement, to answer your next question,” he said, looking at Reid, “We knew that DeLeon was our next target, but after finding out that his partner, and apparently his girlfriend, was killed, Alionth was also his next target. So we gave her a small wire that would transmit everything said back to us, along with her location. However, while the wire is still intact, he must’ve been smart enough to turn off the GPS.”

“So you have nothing?” Spencer hissed. Hotch gave him a warning look, but was cut off.

“Guys,” Penelope interrupted, “The feed is back on.”

Looking at the screen, everything looked the same, except for Aundreya who was visibly drenched.

DeLeon flashed the camera a toothy grin, “I was hoping they would do that.”

“Do what?” Aundreya asked.

“I told you they would, too, you just refused to listen.”

She leaned her head back against the pole, “Fuck.”

“I wonder how they’re all getting along, you know? Especially how your boyfriend is getting along with…” he laughed, “well, your other boyfriend.”

“What?” both Mateo and Spencer asked at the same time. They spun toward each other and locked eyes. Looked like they got their answer.

“What? Nothing to say to that?” DeLeon pouted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aundreya tried.

“I’m sure you don’t. You never were good at identifying your own emotions,” he commented, “Do they know about your past relationships, though?”

“They know,” she answered, voice hard.

“Do they all know everything?”

“What game are you playing?” Aundreya asked instead.

“Why don’t you answer the question? Do you want more of that?” he gestured to her soaken state. She just stared holes through him. “Or do I have to remind you, yet again, of what’s at stake?”

“Why does he keep saying that?” Mateo angrily asked.

“Fine,” Aundreya’s voice came over the speaker. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Where do you think?”

She rolled her eyes. “They all already know that I had a dead-beat dad, was seen by the Slaughterer, went into witness protection, lost my family-”

“Blah blah blah. Get to the good stuff.”

“What do you consider ‘the good stuff?’ It’s hard for me to determine the highlight reel of my life,” she hissed.

“How about you start when you met Xena and I.”

“Fine,” she took a deep breath, “I met Xena outside the MMA gym. She introduced me to her grandfather, Rafael, the leader of the gang, and got me initiated. I started dancing and was recognized for my skills as a pick-pocketer and investigator. That’s when I met you.” Spencer and Mateo glanced over at the other to see if they knew about everything that went on with DeLeon and his friends. They shared a mutual look of hate that expressed they knew exactly what she was skipping over. Aundreya continued, “I moved up the ranks and eventually overtook Xena. She wasn’t happy about it, so she challenged me and lost. She was kicked out.”

“Okay so we have one motive for her anger,” Prentiss interjected.

“That and Alionth’s leverage with her grandfather,” Niko added.

Prentiss was about to ask him to expand on that, but as if on cue, Aundreya answered. “Rafael did everything he could to make sure I won, so that Xena would be as far away from the gang as possible. Of course, she didn’t know that he was protecting her, because about a week later, he told me the FBI was closing in. Specifically, the BAU. So to save his legacy, he killed himself and told me-”

“You mean you killed him,” DeLeon cut in.

“No,” Aundreya was adamant, “I didn’t. That’s what you thought, I mean you blamed me for it and tried to kill me over it, but I didn’t. He killed himself.”

“No. You see, I know for a fact that it was you. You’re one hell of a liar, and it seems you’ve even convinced yourself, but it's not true,” DeLeon seemed oddly calm for the occasion.

“DeLeon, I’m telling you, I didn’t kill him.”

“You did. Rafael was a surprisingly giving man, but he would have never done that. You knew your options. It was the two of you at the top and it was either you or him. One of you had to go down and take the fall, so you chose him. You knew that he was going to pin it all on you and give the gang to me, but you didn’t like that plan, did you?”

“DeLeon, that’s not-” she tried.

“Shut up!” he shouted, “You don’t get to talk. You killed him which made it easy enough for the FBI. They believed that the gang had crumbled, the leader was dead, and everyone else scattered. But they didn’t know about you. You slit his throat and told everyone to find you in a few months, taking over leadership of the gang, and then you tried to pin his murder on me. When you couldn’t, you wrote a letter that made it seem like a suicide. You held onto it all these years as leverage over Xena, which she stupidly believed, and then you killed her too.” Aundreya was silent. She just stood there, looking down. He walked over and grabbed her face, forcing her to look up at him. “Say something!” She just stared at him.

He walked out of the frame and returned with a lighter. “You’re pathetic.” He switched it open and brought the flame to her stitches. Slowly, one by one, the flame burnt through the thread keeping her together.

Hotch looked at the faces in the room, and every one was completely entranced by the video before them. Penelope had tears welling in her eyes, and some of them, namely Spencer and Mateo, seemed to be burning right along with her. To pull their attention away from what was happening, he asked, “Do any of you recognize anything in the room that might help us?”

It seemed to grab most people’s attention, and he could see them slightly snap out of it, and focus on anything but the horrors in front of them.

It was Roman who spoke up, “Do those windows behind her look familiar?”

“What?” Niko asked.

“Yeah, the windows. A-and the wood floors,” she continued. “You said you checked Madden’s place?”

“Yes, everywhere,” Deen confirmed.

“But doesn’t that look like Madden’s place? I mean the floor pattern is the same and she always talked about her fake windows because of how stuffy it was. Those are boarded up,” Roman pointed out.

“We checked everywhere,” Deen repeated.

“Even the attic?” Roman asked.

“Madden doesn’t have an attic. We looked for an entrance but there wasn’t one,” Niko said.

“Are you sure?” Roman asked.

“I’m telling you, I looked. I didn’t see an entrance.”

Everyone was silent for a moment before Mateo’s face lit up with dread. “There’s a secret entrance.”

Then, without another word, Mateo sprinted from the room. Quick to follow was Spencer, followed by Derek. Niko sighed to himself before taking off after them. The whole group started to follow, but then Deen yelled up to the groups of people, “JT, Dalton! Go!”

Two men jumped from the first floor into a dive roll, and sprinted after them.

“Wait, Dalton?” Rossi asked. “As in Dalton, Aundreya’s police escort when she joined the team for the first few months?”

Deen nervously chuckled, “Yeah, that’s him.”

“What the hell else do we not know about?” Rossi sounded exasperated.

“A lot,” was all Deen offered. They headed back to the room while the five men chased after Mateo to the doctor’s house.

When they got there, Mateo had already kicked the door in, and was taking the massive marble stairs two at a time to get to the top level. Derek and Niko were right behind him, followed by Spencer and the other two men.

When they all got there, Mateo had already started tossing books off of shelves.

“What are you doing, man?” Derek yelled at him. Mateo was in such a frenzie that he didn’t respond. Derek ran up to him and pushed him up against the wall. Like deja vu, he was on the ground in a matter of seconds. “What the hell!”

Niko walked up and grabbed Mateo by the shoulders and pushed him up against the wall just like Derek had. “Why are you throwing books?” It was the first time they’d heard Niko raise his voice.

“I don’t know! All I remember is that the entrance had something to do with the books or the bookshelves or something!” Mateo fired back, eyes crazed.

Niko released him and returned to his calming voice, “Thank you. That was all we needed.”

The four men started tossing books and moving old wooden shelves, while Niko offered his hand to Derek.

“Sorry about that,” Niko apologized.

“I get it,” Derek said, brushing himself off. “You know, Aundreya did the exact same thing to me when I met her?”

“You pushed her up against a wall?” Niko asked.

“It’s a long story,” Derek admitted.

Niko smirked. “I’m sure you realized that was a mistake pretty quickly. But to answer your question, we all trained together. She actually taught Mateo that.”

Derek gave a small smile and nodded, then turned to help Spencer with a bookshelf.

After about 20 minutes of messing with them, Mateo huffed, “This isn’t working.”

“Are you sure you remember correctly?” Spencer questioned, but it came across more like a challenge.

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing. Just sometimes our minds can make things up when we’re desperate, that’s all,” Spencer said in that piercingly calm voice.

“So you think I’m lying?” Mateo snarled.

“I didn’t say that. I’m just questioning how accurate your information is.”

“Spencer,” Derek warned, as if Spencer hadn’t just seen him get taken down by the same man who he was currently pissing off. Spencer just waved him off.

“Because, if you just wasted our time, who knows what could be happening to her right-” He didn’t get a chance to finish, because Mateo punched him right in the jaw. Spencer’s head shot to the side, and his eyes focused on the ground. He was about to retaliate when something caught his eye.

“Wait, that’s it,” Spencer said, crouching lower to the ground. There on one of the floorboards were two small Chinese symbols meaning ‘attic.’

“What, what’s it?” Mateo demanded. Spencer ignored him, running his finger over the symbols. They were slightly raised, and there was a faint outline of a square around them. He pushed two of his fingers down on them, and the small square section of the floor went down as well, revealing a keyhole in the wall.

“Kid, what is it?” Derek asked, much nicer than Mateo. Again, without answering, Spencer rushed down the stairs. “Reid!”

“I’ve seen those before!” he called back. There was a picture frame with Chinese art on the main level that had those symbols painted in the corner. Taped to the back was a single key that to Spencer’s eyes, seemed to be an exact match to the one upstairs. The rest of the men were about halfway down the stairs when Reid came pushing back up through them. He walked over to the keyhole and pushed it in. Immediately, the bookshelf swung open, inviting them in. Spencer looked over at Mateo and arched an eyebrow. Then he marched in, pulling a switchblade from his back pocket.

“I thought Deen confiscated all of your weapons,” Mateo pointed out.

“Yeah, our guns in our holsters,” Spencer shot back. He turned around to look at Mateo, who was also holding some sort of dagger. He snorted, “Like you’re one to talk.” Mateo just shrugged.

They headed up the creeky, barely carpeted stairs slowly, and when they entered the room, realized that it looked like an exact copy of where Aundreya was being held. Then they saw a female laying on the ground, tucked up behind the protruding metal pole. Spencer rushed over to her and let out a small sigh when he realized it wasn’t Aundreya.

“Oh my god it’s Doctor Madden,” Niko recognized.

“But Alionth isn’t here.” They could hear the sound of defeat in Mateo’s voice. A screen across the room roared to life, causing all six men to walk over to it. It flickered to the live feed of Aundreya and DeLeon, her stitches completely burned off along with some of her skin.

“Congratulations, you screwed yourself,” DeLeon said to the camera. On cue, the door to the attic slammed behind them. “Wow! Things just get more interesting by the second!”

“Damn it!” Mateo yelled. Derek ran back down the stairs to try and push the door back open, but the sound of DeLeon’s voice stopped him shy of kicking it down.

“I wouldn’t do that, Agent Morgan. You see, if you try to get out, I’ll just kill her.”

“Don’t listen to him, he wouldn’t,” Aundreya said nonchalantly.

“I would.”

“No he wouldn’t. Look he needs me for some sort of game he’s playing, and it would just kill all the fun if I was dead. So just leave,” she said with a shrug. Morgan was about to listen to her and force his way out when he heard a gunshot, followed by a whimper. Taking the steps two at a time, he faced the screen to see that DeLeon was holding a gun aimed at her foot. Blood was already seeping onto the floor.

“We can’t leave,” Spencer whispered.

Niko was on the phone with Roman, filling her, and the rest of the BAU in on what was happening. While he was doing that, DeLeon continued talking, “So, where were we? Ah, that’s right, you killed Rafael.”

“I didn’t.”

“It’s either honesty from here on out, or I won’t give you an option,” DeLeon threatened, waving his gun at something out of the frame.

“Fine. I killed Rafael and tried to pin it on you. But can you blame me?” Aundreya asked, “You know you would’ve done the same.”

“Maybe, but I can blame you.”

“Sure, then, blame me. But you’re only spiteful because it almost worked,” she smirked.

“Why is she taunting him?” Niko asked.

“She has to,” Mateo responded. Derek arched an eyebrow, realizing there were now three of them that had an idea what went on between DeLeon and Aundreya, some probably more than others, but it wasn’t his place to call it out.

“You’re smart, wouldn’t you say?” DeLeon asked. She just glared at him. “Let’s say you are. You’ve been studying me and your surroundings for the entire time you’ve been here, but you haven’t tried to send your buddies a message yet. You’re also smart for not trying that. And you quickly figured out what my little game was, but what I’m sure you don’t have figured out is why.”

“I killed Xena and Rafael, made you look like a fool and took the gang that was supposed to be yours. Plus, you’ve had it out for me since the beginning,” she quickly refuted.

“Oh, speaking of, have you told them what went on between the two of us?” he taunted. When she broke eye contact, that was his answer. “You haven’t, have you?”

“Only some of them,” Aundreya admitted.

“So do you wanna tell them, or should I?”

“Go ahead.”

“She and I met and became quite close. We actually dated for a while,” he smiled brightly.

Aundreya scoffed, “I’d hardly call it that.”

DeLeon whipped around and hit her with the gun. “Then what would you call it?”

She spit some blood at his shoes before answering, “You’re a coward.”

“Does anyone know what happened between the two of them?” Hotch’s voice came over Niko’s phone. They must’ve never hung up, “Reid, I know you said he gave her that scar but no one here knows anything else.”

Spencer and Mateo looked at each other yet again regarding this same issue, but neither moved to speak. The rest of the group wasn’t blind, though.

“What’s happening here?” Niko asked, gesturing between them. Still, neither responded.

“If any of you know anything, it might help us find her,” Hotch reminded.

Spencer was about to answer when Mateo beat him to it, “He was some super high ranked person in the gang, so when he invited her to some party with his friends, she couldn’t exactly say no. She was new and super good, so he and his friends were … well they were very interested. Th-they, uh-”

“They took advantage of her. M-mainly him though. It went on for all four of the years she was there,” Spencer finished. A deafening silence fell over the room and the line.

Luckily, or unluckily, DeLeon filled the silence, “Do they know that you got your best friend killed? How about that the reason she died was because you were high out of your mind?”

“Actually, it was Xena who killed her,” Aundreya tried, but they could hear her voice waver.

“Sure, but it was your fault she walked in there in the first place. If you could’ve recognized it was a trap, maybe we wouldn’t be here today. She’d be alive, and Deen’s leg wouldn’t be wrecked. Sydney’s poor little daughter might have a mother-”

“Stop!” she shouted, finally struggling against the chains.

“There she is!” DeLeon proudly stated, “The angry girl who couldn’t save her friends. She couldn’t even save herself.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m a monster? That you violated me? That there’s no hope for me?” her voice broke.

“I want them to know how weak you are!” he screeched back.

Then, flipping a complete 180, she burst out into hysterical laughter. It was bone chilling, because despite the gut-wrenching chuckles, this had absolutely no humor to it. She managed between a bitter smile, “They already know that. Oh god, trust me, they know. They know that I’m weak, that I’m a liar, that I’m a manipulator, that I’m a criminal, that I run from my problems, that I ignore them at all costs, that I’m closed off and that the moment I open up, I get screwed over, so I shut down and fuck things up. And if they didn't know that well, then they're pretty shitty profilers,” she let out a couple more laughs and finished, “And pretty shitty friends.”

This totally threw DeLeon off guard. Clearly, that was not the reaction he was expecting. “What’s so funny to you?”

Aundreya finally calmed down enough to casually respond, “Just that you thought you could chain me up and make me look all weak and pathetic in front of them when the only version of me they’ve ever known was the pathetic one. Like, you thought this would come as a surprise to them, but it won’t, and you know what? I don’t care what they think. They don’t know who I actually am and it’s better that way. The ring knows who I truly am and where I belong, and they know the strong version of me. That’s what matters.” Despite how terrible the situation was, Mateo had the thought to smirk over at Reid. Sure, she was under duress, but she’d said it. She’d basically said that she would come back to the ring, where she belonged, and forget about the BAU when this was all over.

That was enough to push Spencer over the edge. He launched at Mateo with zero regard for how much better he was at fighting, and pinned him to the rotting wood wall by his throat. Mateo easily removed his hand, and kicked him to the floor. He pounced on Spencer’s vulnerabilities, going straight for his bad knee and gunshot wound. Before things could get too serious, both Niko and Derek were on Mateo, yanking him off of Reid. Even after being shoved to the ground, Reid was going in for another round, but Derek stepped in front of him before he could get himself more hurt.

“This is not helping anybody!” Surprisingly, it was Dalton who spoke. “Look, I don’t know her nearly as well as all of you do, but I’ll tell you that getting to work as her ‘police escort’ or whatever, was such an honor. She kept things interesting and fun, and neither the ring nor the FBI will be the same without her. So if either of you care about her, even a shred, which it’s blatantly obvious you both do, you will pull yourselves together, get your heads out of your asses, and focus on finding her! Because if she doesn’t get out of there alive, she won’t be picking either of you!” He sighed and mumbled to himself, “Jesus Christ.”

On the other end of the phone, Emily was saying, “They are going to kill each other.”

“Not if Alionth gets to them first,” Deen joked.

Series Taglist (open)

@justanothetfangirl @kris-stuff @blameitonthenight21 @wooya1224 @unded-bride @swiftingday @dezzxmx

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aurorawest · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I’d love for a directors commentary on the real Asgardians of the galaxy, any section you choose, it’s my favourite story! Also I was wondering if you could do a commentary on chapter 7 of you come to me wild and wired please? Thank you!

Of course, thank you for asking! I’m so glad you like The Real Asgardians! 😄 I went with this section from chapter 25. Loki, Thor, and Mira have stopped on the Market Planet (aka Promachos), a place entirely of my own invention. Promachos is a planet that’s one giant, sprawling market. The section that the three of them visit looks very much like a souk in my head—I was definitely imagining the Arab Souk in Jerusalem as I was writing it. But you know, think the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, that sort of thing. Old, ancient feeling, labyrinthine covered market where it feels like you can get everything that’s ever existed.

In this conversation, Loki and Thor are having a nice conversation that turns sour, as they so often do.

“You know,” Thor said, the heavy-handed nonchalance in his voice sending up red flags, “that’s something New Asgard doesn’t have.”

“Children?” Loki said, playing dumb and immediately regretting it.

Not really a reference, but this line has always reminded me of the exchange in Jurassic Park between Grant and Satler: “What are those?” “Small versions of adults, honey.”

Thanos hadn’t discriminated. He’d slaughtered Asgard’s children as easily as he had the adults.

Womp womp. Seriously though, one of my favorite things to write with Loki is how he absolutely careens from one emotional end of the spectrum to the other. He makes this joke and he immediately jumps to the worst possible interpretation of it.

At least they’d managed to evacuate most of them, though Loki would never forgive himself for allowing a single Asgardian to die that day.

I recently had to put an exact number to how many children survived The Statesman. At this point I definitely was like, ‘eh, no idea!’

“No,” Thor said. “A school.”

“Mm.” Loki was getting increasingly worried that Mira was going to turn around and ask for the necklace. “What do they do, make repairs in the fishing nets because their fingers are smaller?”

This is one of my favorite jokes, actually. Loki is such an ass. There’s so much contempt packed into this sentence.

But more beyond that, his disdain for New Asgard is really important to his arc. We really see him lash out about it in this scene.

Thor glared at him. “No. They go to school. There just isn’t one in New Asgard.”

It couldn’t be overstated how uninterested Loki was in the education policies of New Asgard. Yes, his people lived there, but he had no personal stake or interest in the place. “Where do they go, then?”

Incidentally, I chose this scene because it seems kind of like a throwaway scene, like it’s more to express Loki’s distaste for New Asgard. And it is that...but it’s also got payoff down the line.

Uncertainty flickered over Thor’s face. “They go…I…er. I’m not exactly sure.” Loki didn’t push this issue. It was easy to imagine what had happened, anyway. The children would have been running wild in the months after the Snap. Brunnhilde, ruling New Asgard in all but name, would have gone to Thor, drunk, useless, drowning in depression and grief, and said something needed to be done, and he was the king, so what should they do? And Thor most likely would have slurred at her to figure it out. [...]

“I think they go to school in Tønsberg somewhere,” Thor finally said.

Thor kills me here. He’s pushing down every single bit of his regret and guilt. And Loki doesn’t get it at all. All he can do is snipe at Thor for screwing this up, for not taking charge, for not being the king that Loki thinks he should be. I’m actually enormously proud of “I think they go to school in Tønsberg somewhere,” because it says nothing...and also everything. Or at least, I hope it does.

Arching an eyebrow again, Loki said, “Oh. I see. So you’re raising humans.”

Loki gets none of this. All he can see is how much he doesn’t want to live on Earth, how much he doesn’t like New Asgard. He can’t fathom why the Asgardians would want to be there. It never occurs to him to stop and think about the fact that the Asgardians have been part of this community for six years. That they aren’t totally isolated from Norway or Earth. In Loki’s mind, New Asgard is like...kind of temporary? He can’t accept that it might be permanent.

“No,” Thor said, making a face as though this was the most stupid thing he’d heard in his whole life. “We’re not raising humans, I mean—not that I have a problem with humans, I love humans—”

Sometimes a little too much...but not in a creepy way, in a respectful way...

“As you’ve demonstrated,” Loki muttered, rolling his eyes. Not that he should talk.

Loki is consciously thinking of alt!Strange here, but of course...gosh he spent nine months living at the Sanctum and maybe he got close to one of its occupants...

“The point is,” Thor said, dropping all pretense of subtlety, “you’ve got some experience with it, and you should come back and—”

Thor takes a massive risk here and straight up asks Loki to come back to New Asgard. Not only that, but he’s asking Loki to come back to New Asgard and...open a school? This is the sort of thing that should thrill Loki. Thor is asking him to stick around! Thor is telling Loki that he wants him in New Asgard. And Loki...

Loki’s glare was poisonous enough that Thor took a step back. “No,” he hissed. “I will not.”

Loki doesn’t take kindly to it. Instead of seeing this moment for what it is, which is Thor reaching out to him, all Loki can see is this like, blaring red warning that he’s going to end up as something he Doesn’t Want To Be. And he doesn’t even really know what it is, right? He just hates what New Asgard symbolizes. He hates that he initiated Ragnarok, which necessitated New Asgard’s existence. He hates that New Asgard is so small, because of his own inability to protect his people from Thanos. He hates what Thor became in New Asgard. It’s really not even about New Asgard, it’s all of this other stuff.

Aaaaand chapter 7 of You Come to Me Wild and Wired!

So this was written for a @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt a couple weeks ago. The prompt was ‘broken windows.’ Their prompts are very very open ended, so I generally check them first thing on Friday morning and then let the day’s prompt rattle around in my brain until an idea occurs to me. With this one, I thought I could do something with the Oculus at the Sanctum being broken. I had also, a couple days before writing this, I had seen a reference to some sort of prompt for another ship about Stephen being angry, and I thought, you know what? It’s fun to write Stephen being angry. I should try that sometime! Broken Oculus means attack on the Sanctum, and I thought, what if Loki gets hurt in the course of that?

And to think, Loki was beginning to wonder if Strange ever got angry.

The idea of these fics is for them to be I think between 100-1000 words. This one was 1360, I believe, when I finished it? So I had to trim it down quite a bit (I eventually got it under 1100 but not quite down to 1000). The ‘And’ at the beginning of this sentence would have been an easy one to cut, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just loved it too much.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

I love writing sweary Stephen. I love it so much.

Strange’s hands shake as he pulls Loki’s torn sweater from the wound. One of the wounds. The sweater is ruined. Shame. Loki’s always liked it. Even without the damage, the blood stains will never come out.

I also love writing Loki being more concerned with his wardrobe than his own physical wellbeing.

Loki feels woozy. Strange’s question strikes him as funny. “I was thinking I wouldn’t get hurt.”

This is clearly not the answer Strange is looking for.

Loki finds that funny, too. “I’ll tell you what I wasn’t thinking—I wasn’t thinking I’d ruin my favorite sweater. Do you see this color? Really brings out my eyes, don’t you think?”

See when you’re bleeding out, you can say things like this.

Strange’s jaw clenches. His eyebrows draw together and his eyes narrow. He picks up a bottle and doesn’t bother blotting whatever’s inside onto a cloth—he just sloshes it over the gash on Loki’s stomach.

When Loki yelps, Strange says, “Oh, shut up. That’s not going to kill you. Which is more than I can say for the horde of demons you faced—on your own.”

Gritting his teeth against the sting of alcohol, Loki says, “Yes, but they didn’t kill me.” The wooziness is probably due to blood loss. His sweater isn’t just stained—it’s soaked with crimson. That’s all his blood. The demons’ blood was black.

I’m not actually a big fan of hurt/comfort when Loki is the one who’s hurt. When I’m going to hurt Loki—and I do—I prefer to do it with psychological and emotional torment. Physical pain? Honestly, it’s not that fun for me to write. Here’s the thing with Loki: he doesn’t care. Physical pain doesn’t frighten or even really bother him. He’s completely blasé about it. And in order for it to be dangerous to him, it has to be so bad that he’s passed out. Where’s the fun in a passed out Loki?

In general, I far prefer to put Loki in the comfort role, because it seems like it’s such an unnatural fit for him, and that’s way more fun to write about. I like to make my characters uncomfortable, haha. The two people that Loki is closest to in my verse, Thor and Stephen, are also really not the kind of people that want to show physical weakness. And Loki isn’t nurturing (well, he can be, but it’s buried deep down inside him), so like, it’s way more fun to have Thor be hurt and have Loki needing to feed him or whatever.

And I’m straying from this fic but this is the director’s cut, haha.

Strange doesn’t respond. At all. His hands can barely hold the—what is that? Oh, a bandage. He’s trying to bandage the wound, but he drops it because of his hands’ violent tremor.

Stephen’s hands shake more when he’s emotional.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Strange says as he picks up the alcohol again. He sounds like he might kill Loki himself.

“I’d rather not.”

At these words, which Loki delivers in a perfectly affable tone,

This line just makes me laugh. Something about the word ‘affable.’ Loki’s so cheerful about his impending death.

Strange drops the bottle. It spills all over their shoes; splashes their pants. Loki’s legs sting as the alcohol soaks through his pants, so he knows he has open wounds there, too.

Trying to show, not tell.

Strange swears, a long string of profanity that penetrates Loki’s fog. He’s never heard Strange talk like this.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Odinson? Like seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Strange rakes a hand through his hair. Blood, Loki’s blood, smears his forehead. “You’re bleeding out. You’re gonna fucking die and you can’t swallow your goddamn motherfucking pride to let someone who can hold a fucking needle and thread stitch you up—”

The beauty of these little ficlets is I don’t have to come up with the whole long slowburn backstory or figure out too much about the characters’ arcs up until this point, but, I will say, I love to write a Stephen who has entirely come to terms with his disability and for him to actually be mad at Loki for not seeking treatment from someone who can actually help.

“This won’t kill me.” Loki considers. “Probably not, anyway. Though I don’t feel well.”

Strange looks like he’s going to scream.

Loki glances around. “Can you use superglue to close a wound? I’m sure I’ve heard Lang say that.”

It cracks me up to imagine Scott describing how like, one time at Baskin Robbins he cut himself on the soft serve machine or something, and he had to close it up with superglue. And that Loki feels this is an appropriate thing to say at this moment.

Strange stares, his eyes blue, then green, then this curious, almost colorless color. Colorless color. That doesn’t even make sense.

In my other fics I usually refer to this as ‘seaglass’ but I try not to be too repetitive.

Perhaps Strange is right. Perhaps Loki is in danger.

“Why would you do something so stupid?” Strange asks quietly. Loki expected more rage. Rage he can deal with. People are always angry at him.

Lol come on I wrote this fic, you didn’t think there wouldn’t be angst in it, did you?

It’s funny, actually. Loki has always taken pleasure in getting a rise out of people. It’s easy. People are predictable.

Strange has never been predictable.

So Loki tells the truth. No snark. No sarcasm. “The Oculus was broken,” he says. “Broken windows aren’t a good sign. I thought you might be in danger.”

Sometimes, Loki fears he has become predictable. Didn’t Thor tell him so, once? But he can tell this is the last thing Strange expected to hear.

“I wanted to help you,” Loki adds for good measure. He feels light-headed. He probably wouldn’t say these things otherwise. Maybe it’s good, maybe it’s bad. Maybe it’s time he said this to Strange, to Stephen, whom he cares very much for, even if he pretends otherwise. He likes making Stephen angry by being difficult, by being intractable, by being an arse. He likes trying to get a reaction. He feels like he’s standing outside Strange’s window, throwing stones, trying to break the glass of his impenetrable, unruffle-able coolness.

As I write these ficlets, I find that I tend to start with a literal interpretation, and along the way, I find my way to these metaphors. They usually help me tie the fic together, too, so that it’s not just a collection of sentences but actually has a itty bitty plot and arc. I’m particularly proud of this one, I’ll be honest.

But Strange is immune to Loki.

It’s a bit of an act. Alright, it’s entirely an act. Loki isn’t good at seeking attention unless it’s negative.

My cat is also like this tbh.

“Did think maybe I had it under control?” Stephen runs his shaking fingers through his hair again. There’s red in the gray at his temples.

“I thought maybe you didn’t,” Loki replies.

Stephen covers his eyes with a hand. Bloody fingerprints mark where his fingertips rested when he moves it.

I have a thing for my boys being covered in blood.

“Let me take you to the hospital.”

There’s something in Strange’s eyes. It looks like fear.

Strange’s hands shake more when he’s emotional.

Suddenly, Loki realizes Stephen has been putting on an act, too. He’s not cool and unruffled. He’s not immune to Loki.

Suddenly, Loki thinks Stephen might care more about him than he lets on.

Loki looks at his blood-soaked sweater. Considers how dizzy he feels. Ponders the fact that the shape of Stephen Strange’s lips is very attractive; the way his eyes change color with the light hypnotic.

Maybe it’s the blood loss. But he wouldn’t like to die without knowing how Stephen’s lips feel.

Aaaand there it is. So I’m a serious slow burn person, and that makes it hard for me to write these short little things. You’ll notice actually if you read them that there’s always all this unspoken backstory, like ‘they’d been working together for years...’ etc etc. But I always try to get that build even in these short little things, and if I can make myself go, AWWWWW then I’m happy.

“Alright,” Loki says. “I’ll go to the hospital.” He stands. There’s a rush in his ears. His legs feel like sodden paper.

Stole this line from myself. I have a nearly identical simile in one of my original novels.

They buckle.

But Stephen is there, holding him, an arm tight around Loki’s waist. His hands may tremble, but he radiates safety and steadiness.

Safety is hugely important to Loki. He couldn’t ever fall in love with someone who didn’t make him feel safe, even though he probably wouldn’t admit that out loud.

A portal blooms, Metro-General Hospital on the other side. Stephen tucks a piece of hair behind Loki’s ear. “The sweater does bring out your eyes, by the way.”

Obligatory callback to the beginning of the fic. When I had Loki note that the sweater brings out his eyes, I knew that I would have Stephen agree at the end of the fic.

“Aha, you think about my eyes,” Loki says. It’s getting hard to hold his head up. Stephen guides him through the portal. “That means you think they’re pretty.”

“I think they’re gorgeous,” Stephen says. He hesitates. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

‘Gorgeous’ is my preferred word for Stephen to use to describe Loki. Loki tends more towards ‘beautiful�� to describe Stephen.

He lowers Loki to a chair. “Now sit here while I get help.”

Loki grabs Stephen’s wrist and lets his head fall against the wall. He peers at Stephen through slitted eyes, knowing he’ll survive this, because he’s survived worse. He still says, “I would kiss you, but I want something to look forward to if I don’t die.”

Emotions pass over Stephen’s face like the play of shadows on the ground as clouds scud across the sun.

I love the word ‘scud’ but it’s definitely one of those ‘you only get to use this once in a fic’ type of words.

He swallows hard. “Yeah, well.” He squeezes Loki’s hand. “We’ll see how you feel after you’re patched up.”

Loki smiles and lets him go. He knows how he’ll feel. After all, he’s been throwing stones at the windows of Stephen’s heart.

He just never realized Stephen was throwing them back.

METAPHOR! The wonderful thing about finding the metaphor is that it’s a really easy way to end the fic. It’s the central theme, right, so you use the last line to tie into it, and done.

Thank you so so much for asking!

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

#Anonymous #froststrange #brodinsons #loki #thor #stephen strange #traotg

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divine-motion · 4 years ago

Photo

don’t fucking interact if you ship t/cest and minor/adult ships

more shitty phone photos of sketchbook sketches for my tmnt fan incarnation/tmnt 2012 rewrite bc i have no shame and i’m having fun with it! pictures should have captions since i spent time writing them out, but tumblr might mess it up, so in case captions doesn’t work: 1. left to right: leo, donatello up, raphael down, michelangelo 2. Casey Jones up top, April O’Neil to the right, donatello in the middle and karai at the bottom 3. casey and don again, raphael to the left, mikey at the bottom just bc i liked how their their expressions turned out and didn’t want a bunch of negative space so don and case appear again 4. size chart featuring turtles. left to right: leo, don, mikey, raph 5. sketchy Slash design. big boy.

general thoughts character stuff below the Keep Reading. A Lot of rambling below so beware!!

April: 15 years old, trans and bi. local fifteen year old telepath finds out that not everyone is able to feel what other people are feeling, something she’s been able to do since she was six after she played in that one weirdly glowy puddle (early Kraang mutagen attempt that only managed to mutate April in the sense that it gave her telepathy, was originally intended to make humans become part of the Kraang hivemind). she’s largely unfazed by the existence of mutants and aliens, taking it in stride, and finds out about the Kraang - and meets the turtles - while snooping around TCRI business (aspiring journalist that she is) and accidentally witnessing the mutation of Snakeweed. her telepathy, which later as she grows in power alongside the turtles extends to telekinesis and basically possession, is very useful whenever she gets into a scrap since she can predict what moves her opponent will make, thus letting her dodge their blows effectively. personality wise she is a very determined and driven young girl, incredibly curious (and cannot mind her own business, she wants to know all the drama while not having to be part of it... which makes her very fortunate to be a telepath. listen she’s 15 she’s allowed to misuse her powers a little bit. as a treat.), playful, and cheerful, and she’s an extroverted autistic. in her spare time between her studies, she likes to play bass, sing, read, and write. that, and investigating whatever shady business is going on in town, and she makes it very clear to the turtles that even if they weren’t going to deal with the Kraang, she’d continue to try to stop them herself. she would like to not live under the threat of her or her loved ones getting mutated, thank you very much! and, you know, it’s kind of exciting. kind of.

i know it’s bc i have brain issues when it comes to parent figures but i am very much leaning towards Splinter not being... a good dad. i don’t think 2012 Splinter is a good dad anyways but i’d probably amp it up, make him a mix of 2012 and idw probably. i’m still mulling it over but like, remember in the season 1 finale when leo is watching his show and thinks the captain guy making a totally unnecessary sacrifice is a heroic move, and then Splinter tells leo (his fifteen year old child) that leo should know what or who to sacrifice, more or less telling him to sacrifice his brothers’ lives, potentially?? i know there was a lot at stake but hello??? i remember watching it and being like me: ah i see, this is showing that splinter is wrong and there is no need for any sacrifices as seen in the show when the captain Goes Down With His Ship for no reason other than just sacrificing himself, and leo will see that- leo: *tries to sacrifice himself twice in the finale, both times being kind of unnecessary/seemed like if he had just hurried or done something slightly different there would be no need to stay behind, and he gets out fine with no consequences, seemingly no injuries, and does Not learn anything, his brothers don’t even get sad when they think he died or get mad at him for pulling such a dumb move) me: surprised_pikachu.jpeg

like that moment haunts me. has any other splinter told their sons to sacrifice himself or his brothers? has any other splinter put that on them??? idw doesn’t count if he has bc he’s more explicitly supposed to be bad so???

sometimes writers think they’ve made an uncle iroh but they really, really, really haven’t. also his backstory is the same as in the show

anyways. Donatello: 15 years old, bog turtle, nonbinary (he/they, doesn’t mind being called brother but doesn’t like to be called “boy” or “girl” or whatever), bi. he isn’t in love with April. no creepy incel shit here. donnie is instead more like a mix between his Rise and 2003 self. he has trouble expressing himself and is pretty introverted, but he is very altruistic, kind, and compassionate. a lot of his inventions are made to help people and he was driven to learn about science and engineering because he wants to find a way to reverse splinter’s mutation, to give splinter his life and humanity back. he feels like he needs to know if splinter would just abandon them if he wasn’t a huge rat man, needs to know if there’s any part of splinter that blames them for being constant reminders of his mutation. other than that, he also likes to make inventions because he’s a dreamer and wants to experiment to see how much of the unknown he can push beyond. also, the best liar out of the turtles. also fairly good at compromising and prefers to solve conflicts without violence he can get a little... “obnoxious 15 year old genius” at times. even when he’s helpful it can come off as a bit “poor dear isn’t as smart as me”, and while he usually gets along well with Raph, he doesn’t handle Raph’s temper well at all (calls him “Wrathael/Wrath” and thinks he’s being super clever) and gets really dismissive of Raph’s “outbursts”.

Michelangelo: 13 years old, diamondback terrapin, unsure about the gender and sexuality thing but he doesn’t think he’s exactly cis and definitely not straight. a bouncy ball of sunshine and surprising emotional maturity and emotional intelligence! more so than his emotionally constipated brothers, at least. it’s on his thirteenth birthday (it was leo’s idea for them to pick dates that would let them have their own birthdays instead of sharing the “Mutation Day”, Mutation Day being another special “holiday”) that the Plot would be set in motion, as he’s finally allowed to go to the surface same as his brothers, and on this first night out they meet April and the Kraang and other mutants. he is a goof still, but he’s capable in his own right and gets frustrated when people treat him like a baby or an idiot because he’s not. he doesn’t always treat everything with the seriousness it should but like. he’s thirteen, he’s having fun. even so, he’s very insistent of taking responsibility whenever he does do something wrong and gets mad if someone tries to take the blame for something he’s done. definitely the most compassionate and empathetic out of the turtles, he’s quick to make friends and is very persuasive due to his earnest nature and good heart. much like donnie, he prefers to solve conflict without violence but does enjoy knocking skulls a lot more than donnie. unlike donnie, though, he is almost overly forgiving and not petty at all. he’s well aware that his kindness and forgiveness may be taken advantage of, but he still likes to approach people with an open hand, even if he knows that it may end up getting bitten. oh, and his hobbies include drawing, cooking, singing, and dancing. he likes to express himself!

Raphael: 14 years old, mississippi map turtle, trans, bi. all his fury is compressed within his tiny body, that’s why he’s so angry all the time! no, he’s not angry all the time, but he does have a short fuse. he absolutely hates his anger issues which leads to a lot of self-loathing, and a lot of frustration as his family members either don’t take his anger seriously or don’t have the tools to help him with it. he’s the physically strongest out of the bunch and the least agile. he loves animals and plants a lot and keeps a lot of flowers in his room, hoping that he can one day become a gardener. as his idw self, he wants to watch things grow, but no matter what he does he seems to be best at destroying things. he’s also the one most self-conscious about how the human world perceives them, as he greatly fears rejection, and is the first one to see something positive with people getting mutated - namely, that maybe this way mutants will be more well known and finally accepted by society, so he’ll no longer be trapped in the sewer until the end of his days. so yeah, he’s a huge optimist, in truth. also he’s great at knitting - great at creating and taking care of things in general - and there’s no leo and raph rivalry this time around. he can get mad at leo but not really more than he gets with his other brothers.

Casey: 15 years old, nonbinary (they/them), bi. teen vigilante who gets inspired to fight mutants and the big time criminals (no beating up pickpockets or shoplifters or whatever, just the ones that are really hurting people) and gets roped into the turtle fam after meeting raph and becoming unexpected friends (everyone was expecting it, once Casey realized that mutants are people and not weird monsters. well, not all the time, anyways). they struggle a bit in school not because of a lack of trying but a lack of time, as their parents work full time jobs and someone has to take care of casey’s little sister. their parents are very loving, but they only have so much time, so casey takes it upon themselves to take care of their little sister when their parents are busy and/or burned out from work. that, and they run into the classic dilemma of vigilante work clashing with school work. as always, they have a short fuse, they’re pretty cocky, they like beating ass, and they like hockey a whole lot. hockey, vigilante work, school, and taking care of their little sister... yeah, they have a lot on their plate. oh, and making their little inventions like the taser glove and their puck bombs, something that they bond with donnie over.

Leonardo: 17 years old, Central American wood turtle, trans, gay. he doesn’t fall in love with his sister oh my god. ahem. so, leo is raised from the start to be a Leader and has to mature very quickly, learning to be an adult way earlier than he should’ve, and as such he is very stoic and quiet, and doesn’t seem to have any hobbies, instead just doing chores and training almost constantly, and when he’s not doing that he’s reading or sleeping in his free time. he’s incredibly protective of his younger brothers and his other allies/friends, even if he acts distant and detached most of the time, and removes himself from situations where they’re having fun to not be the stick in the mud. he loves his brothers and admires them greatly, believing they could be So Much if the surface world would just accept them, and as a result he tries to be The Soldier so his brothers won’t have to. alas, they still get caught up in the Kraang and Shredder business, which frustrates him internally. he is the best fighter out of the turtles on account of having more years to train (and convincing Splinter to wait a few more years before they got Real training bc Come On Dude They’re Kids) but it’s the Only thing he’s good at, along with stealth and his sharp eyes. he absolutely sucks at talking when it isn’t about a mission or something he can script easily in his head. in his mind, he’s supposed to be more of a weapon than a person, an idea that isn’t exactly encouraged by Splinter... but not exactly discouraged either. his arc would be very paralleled with Karai’s, as they would both learn to hate their dads... also, absolutely down for murder, and a lawful neutral at best, putting his family and friends’ safety above all other things and following a strict personal code. doesn’t care too much for society’s laws, though.

Karai: 16 years old, demigirl, lesbian. same backstory as in the show, she’s born as Miwa but gets taken by Oroku Saki and raised as his daughter. however, she doesn’t exactly want revenge against Hamato Yoshi because she believes that he killed her mother. she never knew her mother, so it’s much more difficult to hate someone for taking her mother away, even if it does mean that she never got to know her mother. especially since her father rarely spoke of what her mother was like, and much more about how much he hates Yoshi. instead, her need for revenge is more for the possibly idyllic life she was robbed of, since she believes that maybe, just maybe, her father Saki would’ve been a kind father that would’ve let her have a normal childhood and not be molded into a warrior from the start if her mother still lived. and hey, maybe Tang Shen would be a nice mom too. being trained in the art of deception, Karai has a tendency to talk a lot and say very little, or at least very little that is true. she is rarely ever sincere and acts as if she’s taking nothing seriously, which is part of her defense mechanism to never let anyone close or see her true self. she mocks pretty much everyone, ally and enemy alike, but especially likes to make fun of her father’s henchmen and is always the first to point out their failures. while she does value honor to some extent, she is a bit “flimsy” when it comes to loyalty, especially after the truth about her father is revealed. when that is revealed, she at first just feels very numb, learning that not only has she been nothing but a tool and a weapon for the Shredder from the very start, but also that the idyllic fantasy where her mother still lived, perhaps her life wouldn’t be so different after all. she looks at leonardo and sees a reflection of herself, that her “real” father chose to train his sons the same way the Shredder trained her. she feels stupid for feeling like she’s been robbed of even a fantasy, but it still enrages her. of course, this also inspires her to stay with the Foot Clan... just to get the kill on Shredder.

... yeah. that got long. ahem. i’m very passionate about this unfortunately!! anyways i might draw/write more for it because no one can stop me and i’m having fun

#tmnt #leonardo #donatello #raphael #michelangelo #april o'neil #casey jones #karai #tmnt 2012 #tmnt au

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thinkingoutlouddblog · 5 years ago

Text

stay with me

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Prompts: 1. “Stay with me.” 31. “I can’t do this without you.” 33. “Let’s give these fuckers a show.” 39. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: language, blood, violence, fluff and angst

PLEASE READ: I haven’t mentioned anything in the fic but the idea is that instead of getting married Tilde and Eggsy broke things off after the events of the Golden Circle. The reader is the new Merlin who has been dating Eggsy for a couple of years

A/N: actually super proud of this one, so I hope you guys enjoy!

What the fuck were you thinking? You scolded yourself as you gazed up at the monstrous mansion from your seat in the limousine, its size dwarfing you, making you feel even smaller than you already did. How on earth were you going to pull this one off?

The mission was supposed to be simple. Eggsy went undercover to gather intel, you hacked the location’s mainframe remotely from the Kingsman HQ, and together you would stop the bad guy from executing whatever diabolical plan they had dreamt up. Same as usual. You had hoped Eggsy would even be home in time to salvage your date night which had so rudely been delayed by William Bates, Kingsman’s latest Bad Guy To Beat.

Unluckily for you, however, Bates was also a tech genius, that being how he made his fortune which he was now using to fund his evil masterminding. Which is why, instead of being able to hack his system remotely, as you normally did as Kingsman’s new Merlin, you were having to go undercover with your boyfriend to access his mainframe manually. With the power of coercion on your side, you should be able to get the biometric scans you need while Eggsy gathers the intel you need to shut down Bate’s boy’s club that are supposedly going to take control of the UK government. How exactly they thought they were going to do that, you didn’t know. All you knew was that your complete lack of field experience and minimal hours of training had not prepared you for this scenario at all.

“You ready, love?” Eggsy asked you from his seat opposite you in the limo. His strong, unfaltering gaze grounded you, taking your brain away from the enormity of the mission at hand.

You were two very capable agents. Eggsy especially. You had complete faith in him. But you knew, right now, you needed to be someone he could put his faith in. The mission comes first, you reminded yourself. So you exhaled slowly, putting your anxieties aside. “Let’s give these fuckers a show,” you smirked at him, referring to your cover.

His smirk in return was immediate. “That’s my girl.”

As soon as he opened the limo door, the Eggsy Unwin you knew was gone, replaced in the blink of an eye by billionaire, Robert Hudson, looking to buy into this boy’s club of Bates’. He helped you out of the limo and then you walked, arm in arm, up to the security guards posted at the grand double doors of Bates’ home, where he tonight was hosting his charity’s annual gala. A front for inducting rich, like-minded extremists into his little group.

“Hudson, party of two,” Eggsy smiled politely at the guards, exuding confidence from his every pore.

The security guard, a large bald man with an expressionless face, looked down at his tablet for all of two seconds before he looked up again, surveying the area. “Welcome, sir,” he said as he and the other guard moved in unison, opening a door each to grant you entrance to one of the most lavish scenes you had ever witnessed in person.

You worked hard to keep the awe from your face, knowing Arabella Hudson should be well used to the kind of scene before her. Gorgeous gowns and bespoke suits littering the grand ballroom, framed by stunning floristry and lit by glittering chandeliers. Normally, you would grab the first flute of champagne you could find and make Eggsy twirl you around the dance floor to the sound of the live orchestra posted in the back corner of the room. But today, the two of you walked towards the sea of drab billionaires calmly and cooly, finding hands to shake, needing to identify the people who had the information and connections you required to get this mission rolling.

It was over an hour of talking to various celebrities, politicians and the wealthiest members of society before your host, William Bates made an appearance. He made his way down the grand staircase carefully, extremely aware of the attention that his entrance had grabbed. He walked hand in hand with his husband, Thomas Bates, whose elegance and grace was so severe one might think he was actually floating down the marble steps.

Inwardly, you rolled your eyes. What kind of a self-important prick thought he had to be fashionably late to his own event? Nevertheless, you plastered what you hoped was a bright smile on your face and joined the other guests in applauding the hosts as they made their entrance.

“So,” Eggsy continued the conversation he was having with the middle aged Irish gentlemen beside him, who positively reeked of old money, “I assume he’s the man to talk to about this…” he paused, for effect, “gentlemen's club I’ve heard whisperings of.”

The Irishman smiled slowly, understanding the meaning between the lines of his words. Eggsy had been working his usual magic to charm this oblivious pawn in Bates’ scheme, and he had very easily created the impression that he would be the kind of person to buy into whatever it was they were planning.

To your surprise, you seemed to be a natural at acting the part and aiding Eggsy in gaining the trust of the corrupt wealthy you were rubbing elbows with. Even Eggsy with his years of experience struggled to keep the admiration and pride out of his eyes as he watched you, nailing the undercover operation.

“He sure is,” the Irishman confirmed, accent thick. “I’ll take you to see him myself. We could use more members like yourself,” he commented cryptically.

That was how you found yourself, another hour later, approaching William Bates, the Irishman leading the way. “William, I’d like you to meet my new friend, Robert Hudson, and his gorgeous wife, Arabella.”

“How do you do?” Bates greeted as he shook Eggsy’s hand.

The two of you fawned over the magnificence of the gala, paying your respects to the host before the Irishman couldn’t help but interject in your small talk. “Will, I think Rob here is a prime candidate for your little side project.”

“Well, if you keep bringing me great candidates it won’t be so little,” Bates jested cheesily, clearly trying to maintain a cover.

“From what little I’ve heard of this project I developed a great interest. I’d love to be able to discuss it with you further and hopefully get involved,” Eggsy lied.

“That is just excellent,” a grin crept over Bates’ face, clearly eager to induct more extremists. “I’m not going to lie to you, I did a bit of reading up on you and I think you would be perfect.” You bit back a smile, the idiot had found the digital trail you had left for him to find Eggsy and contemplate him as a new recruit. “I’d actually love to discuss it now, if you don’t mind?”

Eggsy cast his eyes down at you, feigning a questioning glance for permission. You gave him a reassuring smile and the smallest of nods. “That sounds great.”

“Phenomenal! You two, follow me,” he began to turn, leading you out before Eggsy interjected.

“I prefer not to involve my wife in business actually.”

My wife. For a split second, you forgot the extreme stakes of the situation you were in, so taken aback by what Eggsy had called you. Obviously, it was just for his cover. Nevertheless, there was a deep longing in your chest. You were quite sure you wanted nothing more from this life than to be Eggsy’s wife. To be with him for life.

As quickly as the thought entered your mind, it went away, realising you were going to be on your own from here on out. Panic seeped through your chest, burning up within you. Despite your emotions, you maintained a neutral expression.

“Go enjoy the party, darling,” Eggsy spoke directly to you now. “I’m sure I won’t be long gone.”

With that, he sent you one of his dazzling winks only you could see, and he followed Bates away from the party and down a heavily-guarded corridor. You were officially on your own.

As discussed, you mingled for a while longer before you excuse yourself from the conversation you were in to go to the ladies. Your precaution in avoiding arising any form of suspicion by making your exit at the same time as Eggsy was largely unnecessary, seeing as the majority of the guests were far too intoxicated at this point to even take note of you.

“Excuse me?” You approached one of the guards barricading the corridor Eggsy had just disappeared down. “I was wondering if you could show me the way to the bathroom?” As you spoke, you placed the faintest of touches to his arm, as though to grab his attention. In actual fact, you were placing a small clear patch on his bare skin, imperceptibly using concentrated, fast-acting toxins to make him extremely susceptible to charm. In less than twenty seconds, he would be doing whatever you asked of him. It was of your own design, and you were extremely proud of it, to say the least.

Within ten minutes, your big dopey security guard was placing his hand on the biometric scanner to open the control room, with two bodies at your feet. Not exactly ideal, but you didn’t have the time or the patience to patch up every guard you came across so the two guarding the door had to go.

You didn’t even get a ruffle your skirt until the door to the control room opened, to reveal three men, two in charge of surveillance and two in charge of firing the many weapons Bates had hidden throughout the mansion to eliminate any threats. Clearly, this little team weren’t two quick on the uptake since none of them had managed to take up arms to defend your little raid of their workplace.

“Shoot them, Ben!” You instructed your brand new personal bodyguard, as you fired your own weapon, concealed as your bedazzled clutch just as Eggsy’s gun was often concealed in a briefcase.

Seeing you as the weaker link, the third of the men who was yet to be shot charged you, knocking you to the ground. “Oof!” You exclaimed, the wind completely knocked out of you. Without a single word from you, Ben had shot the man straight in the head, the toxin working it’s magic of instilling a sense of loyalty toward whoever was instructing them.

You sucked in a deep breath from your place on the floor, the pain it brought already informing you that you may have a cracked rib or two. Ben offered his hand, which you took appreciatively. God you missed your office at HQ.

‘U ALRIGHT?’ Flashed across the display of your glasses, Eggsy having subtly typed the message out with his eyes from wherever he was, clearly having been watching your camera’s streaming.

“I’m fine, Galahad, just focus on your end of things,” you adopted your usual objective tone which Eggsy was so used to hearing from you on missions.

You didn’t have to see him to know Eggsy was fighting off a scowl, hating when you referred to him by his code name. He liked to say he hated how professional you were when it came to your work life, but truly, he loved your unwavering passion and commitment to Kingsman. Even if that translated to you insisting on keeping your private and professional lives separate.

Eggsy, as he followed Bates through a series of secret doors, let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding as he heard you through the comms. He had faith in you and your abilities as a Kingsman, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried out of his mind with you in the field with him for the first time.

“Alright, I’m in,” your voice rang out through the comms once more. “I’ve got your back, Galahad.”

Your words filled him with a sense of ease as he walked closer and closer to what was possibly an extremely dangerous situation. He knew you would always be there to get him out of hot water when he needed it.

“I know all this secrecy and security measures might seem a bit excessive, Robert, but what I’m about to tell you is highly sensitive information,” Bates began his spiel, completely oblivious to the fact that Eggsy’s glasses were recording everything he said. “As you probably know, up until a few years ago I was working on a political career of my own, using the influence I ascertained from my business’s success to try and make a difference in this country. I quickly learned that I was going to be able to change shit all. Too many right wing conservatives in my way voting down everything we tried to put forward,” he shook his head, Eggsy through his research identifying that he was clearly a man scorned by the oppression he had suffered as a gay man his whole life, absolutely desparate to make changes. “But then, just as I was about to give up, I was hit with the greatest inspiration there ever was,” a smile crept onto his face as he paused dramatically. “Valentine.”

Eggsy sighed internally, wishing for the love of God that the influence of that man would just die out already.

“To see someone come so close to changing the world for the better. That was… life changing,” there was a glimmer in Bates’ eye, which quickly disappeared as he continued on. “Obviously there were flaws in that plan, however. Leaving so many like minded people to die who would so clearly follow in his leadership. But the way he took action to make change. That was groundbreaking,” he smiled wide, looking to Eggsy now for some kind of input.

“I agree completely,” Eggsy gave Bates what he was looking for. “But what action could we possibly take?”

Somehow, the smile on Bates’ face grew even wider, mania spelt out all over his face. “I’m glad you asked,” he said, placing his hand upon the biometric scanner on the wall behind him.

At first, Eggsy thought he was just looking at an empty room, but quickly realised he was entering an observation room as the wall made completely of glass around the corner came into view. On the other side of the two way mirror, was rows upon rows of beds in a warehouse sized room a flight of stairs below where they stood. Each bed was occupied, each occupant appearing to be deceased as they laid face up, completely still with their arms by their sides. The only indication that they were alive came from the machines hooked up to their brains, displaying their brain waves as they slept.

“It may not look like it, but you are looking at the greatest army in history,” Bates explained. “Each soldier you see here is dormant, their minds made, by my scientists, to be extremely pliant. Each one of them is awaiting programming, which will be sent directly to their brains through those computers,” he pointed to the brain monitors. “My programming will make them the most obedient, most highly trained soldiers alive within seconds. Ready to overthrow the government of the United Kingdom at a moment’s notice.”

“Already working on a reversal program,” you notified Eggsy through your comms, having discovered the information Bates was divulging through a quick skim of his files.

“Who are they?” Eggsy questioned.

“The homeless, the poor, the isolated. People that won’t be missed when they disappear. All right wing conservatives,” smugness oozed from Bates’ reply. “All the people who agree with those standing in the way of making the changes this world needs. LGBT rights. Climate change prevention. Free healthcare. And with more help from people like you, Robert, we won’t just be making these changes here, we can make them on a global scale. All you have to do is enter your money into the pool of funding and you too can be a part of our little, gentlemen’s club, as we like to call it.”

“A gentlemen’s club that rules the world, eh?” Eggsy joked.

“Precisely.”

From your position in the control room, you snorted. “Great thanks for the complete confession, dickhead, that’s going to playback well in court,” you laughed quietly as you typed away, working at lightning speed to finish the program which would set Bates’ victims free of any control he had over them.

The rest of the conversation became white noise to you as you worked furiously, knowing the time Eggsy was buying you by chatting with Bates and inquiring further into the logistics was limited.

“Okay Galahad,” you spoke once more, ten minutes later, “the program is complete. I just need you to get Bates back to the party before I send the program to the computers so he doesn’t notice that anything has gone awry before the feds arrive.”

“Why don’t we go back to the party and celebrate over a bottle of champagne? I’m sure your other guests are missing you,” you heard Eggsy follow you direction over the comms.

For a moment, you couldn’t believe your luck. Your first field mission. A taped confession. All of the offenders all piled into one gala, drunk out of their minds completely oblivious to the fact that they were ten minutes away from arrest. Enough evidence to prosecute them all ten times over already sent.

Luck, of course, was not actually on your side. Little did you know, as you were patting yourself on the back prematurely, a guard was approaching the control room door to swap positions with one of the guards who now laid on the floor dead. In your haste to get to where you were needed most, behind the keyboard, you had forgotten to instruct Ben to clean up his mess.

The lights throughout the entirety of the mansion flashed red as the guard raised the alarm. Through the surveillance screen to your right, you could see the people around Eggsy go on the offensive immediately. “Ben guard the door!” you screamed, needing to protect both yourself and Eggsy simultaneously.

As soon as you yelled out, the door to the control room was open and Eggsy was into action as he started to fight off the guards he was surrounded by in the most heavily guarded area of the entire building. Ben was scuffling with the guard who had called the code red behind you as you worked furiously to lock the door to the control room and bar anymore guards from interfering with you. At the same moment the door slammed shut, a gunshot rang out.

Without thinking twice you grabbed your clutch-pistol, as Ben’s dead body fell to the floor with a thud. You were quick to turn and fire a shot straight between the man’s eyes. Just about as quick as he had been in shooting you straight through your abdomen.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, body curling inwards as you clutched the wound.

“Merlin?” Eggsy questioned across the line, even as he fought off the guards from every side.

You stared down at the crimson seeping through your dress, ears ringing with shock.

“Merlin, I could really do with some back up right now!” Eggsy yelled across the comms, not having registered the meaning of the commotion on your end of the line. You said nothing in return, writing in pain in the chair which was quickly becoming soaked in your blood. “Y/N I can’t do this without you!” He spoke your true name, desperation evident in his voice.

His words struck something deep within you. Eggsy Unwin, the love of your life, needed you. No gunshot wound was going to stop you from saving him. You barely felt the pain as the adrenaline began to pump through your veins once more. Within seconds you have access to the guns hidden within the walls of the corridor Eggsy was in, and you were firing away at anyone who dared try and harm him.

As soon as all immediate threats to Eggsy were eliminated, you moved onto the next largest threat. William Bates running for the hills to find the nearest computer so he could launch his program and have an army at his disposal.

As he ran, you found the nearest gun in a corridor nearby and locked sights on your target. Bates crumpled to the ground with a tremendous scream as a bullet shattered his right knee cap. You smirked, despite yourself.

You glanced back to the surveillance displaying the party where all the guests were convening. The alarm and red lights had ceased, and while some were sober enough to realise that they should be on their way before trouble arrived, the majority were so drunk they just continued as they were. Despite your slip up, most of the criminals would still be brought to justice immediately.

So with what little energy was left in you, you hit send on the program you had just designed. Within thirty minutes they should regain consciousness, with their free will and identities still in tact.

You slumped in your chair, breathing out a sigh of relief. The mission was complete.The world was safe. Most importantly to you Eggsy was safe. You watched as he approached Bates, propping him up against the wall, finishing the mission the way he loved most, rubbing salt in the wound with witty remarks.

You smiled to yourself, forgetting everything but your love for Eggsy in that moment. That is, until you glanced down at your abdomen once more, remembering yourself and what exactly might be happening to you.

“Eggsy,” your use of his first name grabbing his attention immediately as you spoke softly across the line. “Eggsy I’ve been hit.”

With your words, Eggsy’s blood ran cold. No, he thought to himself, body kicking into gear before his brain did, turning and bolting back down the way he came. No no no no no.

A notification flashes across his glasses display that Kingsman’s personal medical team has been alerted and are on their way to the scene.

It doesn’t take him long to find you, remembering the route exactly from when he had been watching you to ensure you got to the control room safely. When he arrived, the door, to his dismay, was locked.

“Babe!” He yells, voice so much more desperate than it was not ten minutes earlier when he had begged for your help. “Babe open the door!”

The moment of silence between his plea and when the door opens seemed to stretch on for an age. Eggsy needing to get to you in this moment more than he thinks he’s needed anything in his entire life. The sight he’s met with seems to fill his lungs with ice. You, slumped in a chair, covered in your own blood.

“Eggsy,” you cry, your fear finally catching up with you, allowing tears to leak from your eyes.

He’s at your side in a second, ripping his jacket off and scrunching it into a ball to use to place pressure on the wound.

“Eggsy, it hurts so fucking bad,” you sob, overcome with the pain.

Eggsy swears he feels his heart physically splitting in two, watching you in absolute agony with no power to stop it. The only power he had, was to hopefully take away some of your fear. “It’s all going to be okay, babe. The paramedics are on their way and they’re going to fix you up. They’ll make the pain stop, I promise.”

As he consoles you he takes hold of your body and lowers you to the ground, allowing you to lie down and providing himself with better ability to slow the bleeding of your wound. The movement causes stars to dance before your eyes, and black dots start to cloud your vision. You shut your eyes, hoping to make it stop.

“Hey, hey, hey. Stay with me now darling. You have to stay awake,” he tries to maintain a calm tone, knowing the last thing you needed from him right now was panic, no matter how strongly he felt it.

“Why?” You ask, tears ceasing, head so groggy from blood loss you begin to lose sight of sense.

“Because,” Eggsy fights back tears, “I have a really important question to ask you. And if you go to sleep you won’t be able to give me an answer.”

Neither of you take any note of the sound of the feds arriving, raiding the charity gala and arresting everyone on the list of names you had sent them.

“Oh Eggsy…” you smile dreamily, blood loss officially making you delirious. “I think we both know my answer is a yes.”

Eggsy allows a single tear to fall, the bitter-sweetness of the moment becoming too much for him. “Agent Galahad?” He hears one of Kingsman’s personal paramedics call from down the hall.

“Hurry up!” He turns and screams in reply.

When he turns back to you, your eyes are closed and your face is completely void of expression.

“Y/N?” he asks, hoping for you to reopen your eyes. “Y/N!” he shouts, as you fail to do so. Your complete lack of response breaks down his walls, and he begins to sob over your body as the paramedics burst into the room.

In a matter of seconds he is pushed away from you, a medic taking his place in putting pressure on the wound. Another medic, takes your pulse, checking to see if there was any life left in you.

The world slows. An hour seems to pass before the medic says a word. Eggsy is sure that he’s lost you right up until the medic says, “She’s still with us,” giving everyone the go ahead to start work on you to make sure it stays that way.

Naturally, the Kingsman paramedics were some of the best, so as quickly as they had arrived, they were taking you away, already starting work on a blood transfusion to make up for your severe blood loss. Anytime a Kingsman went on a mission, the medical team had plenty of the agents’ blood on standby, for situations exactly like these. Eggsy had lost too many agents in his time as a Kingsman, so when he and Harry worked to rebuild following the wrath of the Golden Circle, he ensured there were as many safety nets available possible.

Even as they moved through the chaos that the gala had become, guests being arrested everywhere, the medical team continued their work on you. Eggsy was pushing the stretcher himself, ensuring you were getting as much attention as humanly possible. Sadly, there was only so much they could do until they got you into surgery.

Before he knew it, Eggsy was loading you into a medical truck and being instructed to sit in the front seat. Away from you.

“Bullshit-” he began, before he was quickly interrupted.

“We need the room, Galahad. Do you want to waste precious moments arguing or let us save your girl?” One of the lead medics snapped.

Without a word, Eggsy jogged up to the front seat of the truck and got in. He sat for a moment, fist quickly finding its way into his mouth to stop himself from crying again. Swiftly, he chose to channel his emotion into anger instead.

“Fuck!” he yelled, removing his fist from his mouth and smashing it onto the dash.

He should have never left you in the field alone. He should have asked another agent to come to protect you. To ensure nothing like this happened to you. He made the wrong call and he knew it.

Now, he had no idea what was going on with you. He couldn’t hear a sound coming from behind him over the sound of the siren wailing, ensuring they had the fastest path possible. Your heart could have stopped mere inches behind him and he would have no idea until he stepped out of the truck.

This thought stuck in his mind, ricocheting around through his brain up until the moment he stepped out of the truck again, scared to death of what might have happened to you in the mere minutes since he last saw you. When he did see you, it was like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. Immense relief. You were still alive. You were still with him.

But then, all too soon, you were gone again. Swept away to a private room for surgery, leaving Eggsy alone in an empty corridor. The second you disappeared behind the doorway, Eggsy fell to his knees, drained. He had asked to go into the room with you, but one of the medics had quickly replied, “Yeah because having your patient’s boyfriend doesn’t add any pressure when you’re performing surgery.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m her fiance actually,” he mumbled to the closed door.

It was the longest night of Eggsy Unwin’s life, as he sat there in the hall, awaiting either the best news of his life or the worst. It was an hour before Harry arrived, offering him a hug, which, for the first time in Eggsy’s life brought him no comfort whatsoever. Harry brought with him a couple of chairs, and a glass of water, Eggsy not realising how much he needed it until he had downed it in two gulps.

There were few words spoken between the two men. Harry knowing nothing he could say would be of any help to Eggsy in this moment. Nothing would save him from the dark thoughts he was drowning in, picturing a life without you in it. All he could do for him, and for you, was be there.

By the time the head surgeon stepped out three hours later, Eggsy felt as if he had aged a decade. Nevertheless, he was quick to jump to his feet, eager for information.

“Merlin’s surgery has gone well,” he said, removing the weight of the world from Eggsy’s shoulders. He lifted his hand to his mouth, tears of joy springing to his eyes immediately. “There was a bit of internal damage, but luckily nothing to her major organs. We’ve managed to stop all internal bleeding. From here on out, it’s just about avoiding infection and ensuring she heals properly.”

“Can I see her?” Eggsy asked, eyes glistening with hope in addition to the tears.

“Of course,” the surgeon stepped aside, allowing Eggsy through. “She should wake up in the next thirty minutes.”

Eggsy stepped forward, towards the door before stopping in his tracks. He turned and wrapped his arms around the surgeon,whom he had met all of three times, hugging him tight. “Thank you so much,” he spoke, patting him on the back before pulling back.

Much to the surprise of all men present, Eggsy started to jog down the hall, away from the girl he had been dying to see for hours.

“Eggsy where are you going?” Harry called after him.

“I have to grab something before I see her, I’ll explain later!” Eggsy called back, joy finally making its way back into his voice.

The first thing you became aware of, as the effects of the anaesthesia wore off, was the feeling of two warm hands holding your left one. Before you were even fully conscious, the first thought to enter your head was that Eggsy was here. The knowledge filled you with a sense of ease as your eyes fluttered open, as though you were awaking from a pleasant nap and not a major surgery.

Your eyes met Eggsy’s instantly, as though a magnetic force made it so. “There’s my girl,” his smile reached his tired eyes.

“Hey handsome,” you croaked, taking in his appearance. Hair disheveled, still wearing his blood splattered suit (minus the jacket, of course), glasses tucked away in his pocket. Although he looked like an absolute mess, he still looked happy, riding on the high that the good news about your health had brought.

“Oh my days. You gave me quite the scare there babe,” he forced a laugh, trying to conceal the trauma he had suffered through in not knowing whether or not you were going to make it.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke softly, not buying into his attempt at a cover up and feeling the guilt more sharply than the wound.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he reached forward with his left hand, stroking your hair, knowing all too well just how much comfort it brought you. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I’m not sure, did anything happen after I said I would marry you?” You feigned genuity in your line of questioning.

His mouth dropped open in shock at your words. “I don’t quite remember asking!” He struggled to hold back laughter at your antics.

“Then ask,” you challenge.

“Well,” he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a little red velvet box, “good thing I grabbed this before you woke up.” He opened the box, revealing the gold ring you would recognise anywhere.

“Oh Eggsy…” you breathed out, gobsmacked at the magnitude of the gesture, “is that…?”

“The ring my dad proposed to my mum with? Yeah, yeah it is,” he smiled, “I asked her for it a couple weeks ago. Last night’s cancelled date night had been when I was planning on proposing.”

You placed your hand over your mouth, trying to contain the smile threatening to take over your entire face.

“But here we are instead. So, Y/N Y/L/N, my best friend and the love of my life, will you marry me?” He grinned, clearly already knowing your answer.

You removed your hand from your mouth to give him your answer for the second time that evening. “Eggsy Unwin of course I will marry you,” a tear slipped from your eye.

Somehow, he grinned even wider, taking your answer as permission to slip the ring onto your finger. Kissing your hand as the ring slid perfectly into place.

“Well, darling, let my first act as your fiance be telling you that you are never going on a field mission again,” Eggsy joked.

“I really wish you would just kiss me instead,” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“I can do that too.”

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cinema-tv-etc · 4 years ago

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TV Show Review: The Queen’s Gambit

🎬 It’s More Than Just Chess

The Queen’s Gambit tells the story of Beth. A nine year-old orphan who is quiet, sullen, and by all appearances unremarkable. That is, until she plays her first game of chess. Her senses grow sharper, her thinking clearer, and for the first time in her life she feels herself fully in control. By the age of sixteen, she’s competing for the U.S. Open championship. But as Beth hones her skills on the professional circuit, the stakes get higher, her isolation grows more frightening, and the thought of escape becomes all the more tempting.

A Sneak Peek Into “The Queen’s Gambit”

At the age of nine, Beth Harmon is all alone. Her mother had just died in a car accident and she is now an orphan. It’s not like she had a very close relationship with her mother, it was the opposite actually. Ever since she was little, Beth has always been a quiet kid. No matter how much her mother yelled or screamed or panicked, Beth would always just calmly stare and said nothing.

Even on the day she was brought to the orphanage, she didn’t shed a tear. One would suppose, in a way, Beth has gotten used to being alone and maybe even prefer her own company to anyone else’s. In the orphanage, kids were given 2 pills every day. One red pill, and one green pill. The red pills were said to be vitamins, to keep the kids strong and healthy. The green pills, on the other hand, were called Xanzolam, which are usually prescribed for women with anxiety and insomnia. In the orphanage, it was given to the kids as tranquilizers to keep them calm and sedated.

She didn’t really care for the green pills until one day when she was in the basement where she stumbled onto a janitor called Mr. Shaibel playing chess all by himself. The sleek design of the board as well as all the pieces fascinated her, and she asked for him to teach her how to play. Upon hearing that, Mr. Shaibel’s reply to her was, “Girls don’t play chess.”

Beth was upset. She has never been this fascinated with something before, and yet now that her attention has been captured by the game of chess, Mr. Shaibel refused to teach her. Despite the refusal, however, Beth did not give up easily. She watched Mr. Shaibel’s gameplay, read books to grasp a deeper understanding of how chess works. And at night––this is where the green pill comes in handy––she would pop in a green pill and the chess pieces would start appearing on the ceiling as if they were magic.

And thus, she practiced in her head.

After a few nights of this and Beth’s persistence in wanting to learn chess, Mr. Shaibel eventually caved and decided to mentor her. To his surprise, Beth––for a girl who has never played chess ever before––held up quite well against himself. Mr. Shaibel was sure that she had never played this game before, but yet, she was able to play so well. So he asked her, “How did you know how to play chess?”

“I practiced, in my head.” Was Beth’s nonchalant reply.

This continued for a while, Beth would finish her school work and tests early, then she would go down to the basement to practice chess with Mr. Shaibel. It took her a while, but eventually, Mr. Shaibel who started off as her mentor wasn’t even able to beat her anymore. Mr. Shaibel surprised by her abilities, so much so that he invited a high school chess teacher to try to beat her. And even then, Beth effortlessly beat him without much thought.

As her obsession with chess grew, her dependence on the green pill did as well. Before when Beth would just take one green pill a day, now she would save up a few days worth of green pills and down them all at once. These days, she could no longer function without it. The green pills are the only way she was able to imagine the chessboard on the ceiling and practice in her head while everyone was asleep. Beth has become addicted to Xanzolam despite all the warnings that her friend gave her about the green pill.

And just when Beth was spearing through her young life getting better and better in chess, the state passes a law forbidding giving tranquilizers to children. Upon hearing that, Beth’s whole world comes crashing down.

What is she going to do now without those magical green pills?

3 Words to Describe This Show

BRILLIANT, GRIPPING, UNIQUE

Review

Ever since I subscribed to Netflix, I have watched so many more shows than I ever would otherwise. From the good ones to the mediocre ones and to the great ones. I mean, I can’t say that I’ve already watched all the shows there is on Netflix––because your girl doesn’t have the eye power for that––but I can say that I have binged a good handful of them and to be really, truly honest, The Queen’s Gambit is pretty up there when it comes to great shows.

Actually, I would even go as far as to say that The Queen’s Gambit might just be the best tv show that I’ve watched in 2020. From the cinematography to the actress and the aesthetic, everything was just so well done. Even now, a few weeks after I’ve finished bingeing it all in one go, I still sometimes go back just to stare at Anya Taylor Joy’s face. Honest to god that woman is absolutely gorgeous.

BETH HARMON AND SOMETHING ABOUT SMART GIRLS

This is something that just started developing in the past few years, but as I grow older, it feels like I am prioritizing more on brains than looks. 5 years ago I was all for that bad boy let-me-fix-you-but-i-wont-bring-you-home-to-momma type guys, but these days, it’s all the brains for me.

Maybe I am just evolving more and more into a zombie….

Me turning into a zombie aside (please love me still), while I was first pulled into the show because of Beth’s looks, it was her smarts that pulled me in and made me stay. There is something so endearing yet awe-inspiring about her way of moving through life. Despite the era that The Queen’s Gambit was set in, with chess being something that usually only men participate actively in, Beth knocked down all those stereotypes without batting an eye. What’s even cooler is that she wasn’t even trying to be a feminist or to stick one out for the girls.

Beth just loved chess, and she pursued it with all her might. It wasn’t that she was trying to show all those men that women can also play chess if she’d like, but it’s just she just didn’t care. Beth couldn’t understand why everyone was so surprised at the fact that she enjoyed and was good at playing chess. For her, it was just something that she loved and took great pride in. The way she looked at the world was for the most part very innocent, and something about that made me want to roll her up into a burrito and protect her forever.

IT’S MORE THAN JUST CHESS

A lot of people might be put off by the trailer, or by the synopsis when they see that this show is all about chess. Well, take it from someone who binged this show all in one go in a day: yes…and no.

Yes to the fact that The Queen’s Gambit is indeed a show about chess. However, it was also more than that. It tackles the topic of mental health, friendship, romantic relationships, addiction. Really, this show is deeper than what they show you in the trailer.

With Beth Harmon being a chess prodigy and whatnot it is understandable that there will be a lot of chess play going on, despite that, the show managed to make it in a way that it’s not boring nor repetitive. And this is coming from someone who detests chess from when she was little. I understand no chess whatsoever yet I have no problem following along with the storyline.

Trust me, The Queen’s Gambit is more than just chess.

DEPRESSION, LONELINESS, AND OTHER DRUGS

The Queen’s Gambit follows Beth from when she was nine years old through all her transitions into being an adult. Her despairs, her proudest moments, the people that come and goes. The viewers get to see all of that. Beth when she’s happy, Beth when she’s angry…her tears, her drunk, her crazy.

I love how Beth’s mental issues are depicted in The Queen’s Gambit. It’s like one of those people who seems to have it all on the outside, but on the inside, they were all broken in pieces. Maybe how Beth handled stress and how she always strives for nothing but perfection struck a chord in me, or maybe it was something else. I don’t really know for sure, all I know is that I really appreciate how they portrayed mental issues and drug addiction in this show.

While watching Beth go through all her mental breakdowns or her non-stop drinking blender, it never once struck me as something that is…odd. It was as if all of the emotions that she went through are all just part of life––of dealing with her emotions and growing up. It wasn’t portrayed as some sort of taboo, even among her friends. They sympathize with her, they were kind and understanding yet also firm with Beth. I don’t know, maybe this part of the review doesn’t make sense at all, but I just really appreciate that The Queen’s Gambit portrayed periods of depression or anxiety as something that people go through in life, instead of something that needs to be hospitalized. You feel me?

ROMANCE IS…KINDA IN THE AIR?

Another thing I love about The Queen’s Gambit: there is no pressure for Beth to date. Sure, she has pursuers who come to try their luck, and Beth herself also was attracted to some characters in the show, but there was never an underlying pressure from her stepmom or friends to push her to date. Which, thinking of when this show was set in––the year 1958––was quite surprising, at least for me.

While in this show Beth was never in a relationship for long, she never lacks male attention. Which makes sense given how gorgeous she is. However thinking how in the 50s and 60s where women are mainly housewives and listen to their husbands, it’s really refreshing to see Beth conquering the world one chess play at a time. Not only that, in the show, she became so well known for her ruthless chess play that men were intimidated by her. Which I can only imagine is not something you see often in the 50s and 60s.

Needless to say, The Queen’s Gambit’s takes on how Beth approaches sex and romantic relationship as a whole is very refreshing. Especially when you take the era into mind.

The Verdict

If you haven’t watched this The Queen’s Gambit, you have to. No, seriously, you need to. If you follow this blog long enough, you already know that your girl rarely ever get so gung-ho about tv shows. Books yes, every now and then. But tv shows? Almost never.

Ever since I finished watching The Queen’s Gambit, I have recommended it to nearly everyone I know that has ears attached to their heads. I seriously cannot recommend this show enough. Even if you don’t think you’ll enjoy it, just give it a 30-minute trial. If it didn’t catch your interest after that, you can drop it entirely. However, if you ended up bingeing it in under a day as I did, your girl expects a kiss on the cheek and a chocolate ice cream.

Not to mention, even if the show was just kind of bleh for you, wouldn’t you watch just for Anya Taylor’s doe eyes and gorgeous cheekbones? Because I damn well know I would. *wink*

https://literaturesandmovies.com/2020/11/06/tv-show-review-the-queens-gambit-its-more-than-just-chess/

🎬 🎥 🎞️ 📽️ 🎬 🎥 🎞️ 📸 📽️ 🎬

25 Things You Missed In Queen's Gambit

https://youtu.be/fDr0uKFkwpw

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Creating The Queen’s Gambit | Netflix

https://youtu.be/LzDhpEInMIg

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Creating The Queen’s Gambit | Netflix

https://youtu.be/CDrieqwSdgI

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#Queen’s Gambit #TV Show Review #Netflix

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inspirationdivine · 4 years ago

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A Bad Hand || Lydia and Beatrice

Timing: Current Parties: @inspirationdivine @beatrice-blaze, and Kevin the stack of leprechauns Summary: Lydia and Beatrice play poker with cards and secrets. Alternatively, a graphical summary

Going back to the Stacked Deck had been strange for Bea the first time. The regulars had plenty of questions for her, ones she had no energy to answer. She shared a nod with Chuck as she slipped in, heading to a table in the corner after getting her drink. She tended to avoid this one, wary of the suspicious player that seemed to frequent it, not wanting to deal with any more leprechauns after her run-in with Kaden. Still, it helped her avoid the more curious people in the hall. Settling into a seat, she crossed her legs as she glanced around the table. The woman next to her was elegant, something Bea could appreciate in a Bend bar. Cutting a glance to the chair hosting the stack of leprechauns, she asked, amused, “Already on a roll, or am I in luck today?”

“Dealer’s just about to deal, we can make space for you yet,” Lydia replied with a smile, looking up at the woman. She’d seen her before, looking full of life and warmth before, but Lydia usually preferred to play with a more exclusive crowd. Downstairs, occasionally with kittens. That said, there was nothing quite like playing with poorly disguised leprechauns, her skin prickling from the close contact with them. This woman though? Apart from a turtleneck in summer, not much else to comment on her about. “Are you joining?”

Nervous ticks that Bea had kicked years ago were reemerging, fingers tapping against the glass base of her drink. She knew she was safe here, Chuck would never let something happen in the Deck. She had her knife on her, it’s holster pinching into her thigh as a reminder of the easy access she had to it. She was safe here. She curled her fingers into a fist, annoyed that she hadn’t caught the tick before it began. “I think I will. I’ve spent far too long away from the table.” Gambling with money was safe, at least, safer than the gambles she recently made. Arranging her chips, she smiled to the other woman, “I hope nothing too interesting happened when I was gone. Being out of the loop is no fun.”

A nervous player. Lydia didn’t much mind that at all, careful not to show that she’d seen the anxious finger tapping against the table. Then that same hand curled into a fist, an awareness of her nervous habit that held information in its own right. Someone was off their game. All that meant was better odds for Lydia. “Oh, how long? Well, allow me to do quick introductions. I’m Lydia, this is Killian, Jerome, Sarah, and… Robert, I believe?” Lydia said to the patently obvious three leprechauns in a trenchcoat, but that everyone else acknowledged as an individual. A chair was procured for the woman, and the dealer began setting out the cards.

“Oh, at least five weeks. I used to be in here almost every night.” Bea’s disappearance hadn’t been something that others had missed. When she first came back, Chuck had even asked where she had been. And so she had to tell the tale of being in Turkey with her mother and father. A fact that most people could see through if they looked hard enough. She smiled as she sat down in the newly arrived chair,”Lovely to meet everyone. I’m Beatrice, but Bea is fine.” She eyed ‘Robert’ for a moment, before looking back to Lydia. “I can swear I have seen you here before. I’m shocked we haven’t played at the same table before.” She took a sip of her drink before looking at her cards. A bad hand out of the gate. She tried not to think that that was a sign of how the evening was going to go.

”So we need to watch you then,” Lydia replied, with a wink. “Bea, it’s a pleasure. Although I reserve my right to change my mind on that depending on how the evening goes.” Lydia took her middling hand, let the corner of her mouth quirk in the slightest bit of disappointment, and looked back up to Bea. “ I think you’re right. I’m usually only here once a week. The others aren’t as chatty, but I like to throw them off their game by - raise - talking as we play. So, Bea, what did take you out of town for five weeks? Were you travelling for work?”

A soft chuckle left Bea,“For better or worse, yes, I suppose you do.” Before she had died, she had great control of her ticks, she knew how to read other people, and she was confident in her decisions. Now, she felt new to the table, rediscovering the way she had to play. Her smile only grew as Lydia continued to speak, she liked the way this woman held herself already. It was amusing. “A woman after my own heart. Silent tables are far too boring for me.” Temptation to tell the truth surged in her, but she stifled it. Telling loved ones was one thing. Strangers were a more dangerous game. She settled on a half-truth. “I did something for my sister and then ended up having to deal with the fallout.” She eyed the flop as it came out and weighed the risks of staying in. “Call.”

Lydia watched the turn being played, and watched two of the others around the table fold. There was a pair in her hand, but the cards on the table weren’t anything of use yet. “Call,” She responded. “Oh, I agree about silent tables. The evening’s as much for socialising as it is anything else. Isn’t that right, Keith?” Lydia turned her eyes to the leprechauns, the top of which grimaced and said something unintelligible, but the chips the second leprechaun on the table pushed forward was a raise by two hundred. Hm, now this would be a game. “I know what that’s like, siblings can be our greatest gifts and our greatest downfalls. I hope it is all resolved now.”

“If I wanted to sit in silence, I stay home or go to a library,” Bea chuckled. “It’s always fun here, rarely a dull night.” She had loved that before, it had always matched her energy after a show. Now she took comfort in the familiarity. Her eyes narrowed as the stack of fae raised. There was no need for her to stay in for that. She let out a soft laugh at greatest downfalls. “Only a few loose ends to tie up and then everything will be in great shape again. Hopefully, things stay quiet for a bit.” She folded, muttering to herself,“God knows that Luce and Nell need some peace.”

“Only disappointing ones,” Lydia chuckled, as the river were revealed and the last round of bets went in. Lydia had two midrange pairs, which was far from terrible, but she wanted to keep it safe for this first round, getting a feel for the other players before the stakes grew too much. Kevin the leprechaun took the round, and Lydia took the next round of cards as they were dealt. A much worse hand. This would be an early fold. “Well, I hope so for your sa-” Lydia caught Bea’s mumble, and her eyes widened. It was her turn to bet. “...Raise. Would that be Lucinda Vural, by any chance?” It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. Lydia was entirely wrong, she had to be.

Bea took a long drink before looking at her hand. Her lips curled for a quick second as she took in the good hand she had been given. She called after Lydia, looking over at the other woman with a raised eyebrow. So she knew Luce and from the reaction, it didn’t seem that they had a good time together. “Yes, it would be. She’s my younger sister. I’m guessing that you’ve met?” Without realizing it, Bea’s shoulders tensed, uncomfortable with the potential of someone who had issue with her sister next to her.

Lydia barely heard was the other two players said, and didn’t look down at the flop being played until the lowest leprechaun that was Kevin cleared its throat. Or possibly squawked. Nell Vural had been posting on social media. Luce had been talking to Lydia. A dead sister. Well, if two had been alive then.. “Oh, I think I fold for this round. The cards are not in my favour.” Foolish, she should have never raised to begin with. There was nothing good here for her. Especially when she played against a woman who for all intents and purposes should be dead. Had been dead for an extremely long time. Weeks, from what Lydia had understood from Luce. Vampires and Zombies both rose soon after their deaths, Lydia was so sure of it. “We have. Luce saved my life, not too long ago. I think it will be, oh, three months ago in August?”

Knowing who Bea’s sister was had obviously shaken Lydia. The witch just didn’t know why. It was interesting to say the least that Luce’s name had garnered such a reaction. She had known people that were intimidated by the middle sister, but she had never experienced something like this. Lydia had seemed like a woman who could keep her poker face on in most circumstances. Bea’s fingers tapped against the base of her drink as she considered Lydia. “It’s lucky that she was there to help you. August?” She turned toward Lydia then, voice lowered,“So you know then?”

“Well, I thought so. It appears your sister isn’t as truthful as I believed. My mistake,” Lydia said, slowly regaining something of a power face as they continued. The sight of Beatrice had short circuited her brain, but if Bea was alive then… She crunched her jaw together. Not only had she been used to torture someone, but the lying snake of a spellcaster had manipulated Lydia’s emotions to make her eager. It made Lydia’s stomach turn. Obviously, Luce had read online somewhere about Lydia’s own sister, and had made up a story to justify her actions to Lydia. Maybe she thought that by lying, Lydia would treat August worse than she might otherwise. Luce had been right, too. “Bea, I believe it’s your turn to bet.”

A soft chuckle left Bea,“She’s the most truthful out of all of us.” Nell and Bea had both lied to each other for years about what magic they had done. “I don’t know how you were involved, but thank you.” Luce wouldn’t have told just anyone about what happened, she knew her sister would never bring someone random in. She looked over to the table again,“Raise.” Throwing her chips in the pot, she turned once again to look at Lydia. Taking a finger, she pulled down the fabric of her turtleneck to show a bit of her scar. “Went through all of that and only got this scar to show for it.”

Folding early should have been a prime opportunity for Lydia to take advantage of being able to read the whole table and get a feeling for where everyone else was as, without worrying about anyone watching you too closely. To run the maths in her head over and over, and see how other people calculated their odds in return. Instead, she was only looking at Beatrice, like she was struggling to latch her thoughts onto one another. She’d helped with something, certainly, August had suffered as much mentally as physically in the 24 hours he’d been with her, but Lydia hadn’t asked and Luce hadn’t said. She was so flummoxed she missed the opportunity to promise bind Bea, which in turn had Kevin staring at her. The turn, and then the river was played. “I’m amazed you survived such an injury.”

As good as the hand was turning out for Bea, she struggled to focus on it. As they spoke longer, the witch found herself more confused than before. Her sisters had failed to mention everyone who was involved, but she had, at least, expected Lydia to know more than she seemed to. Her head tilted,“Is that what she told you? That I survived?” Logically, Bea knew that it was a bad idea to tell people about what happened, but the caution she once felt was slipping away. Lydia knew enough already, this wouldn’t be groundbreaking.

“No,” Lydia replied, as the round finished. “Quite the opposite. Must have been playing on some personal weaknesses. At least I know better now.” She pressed her lips into a thin smile as she watched the end of the betting round, itching to move past this now and play a real game. Luce must have googled her, found out about Lydia’s own sister, and turned it against her. That was the only explanation Lydia needed, and now she could focus entirely on the game.

A small smile broke over Bea’s face,“You’re wrong, then, to call my sister a liar.” Perhaps the younger Vurals had failed to tell Lydia that Bea would come crawling back from death. It would explain the confusion. It would be very jarring to be sat next to a woman who was meant to be rotting. “I didn’t survive.” Her voice was low, knowing that the others at the table shouldn’t be aware of the information she was giving Lydia. “Amazing what a good sacrifice can bring back.”

Lydia swallowed. Then she swallowed again. Her fight or flight reflex kicked in, filling her mouth with toxic saliva without her consent as her heart beat loud in her ears. She looked down at her cards, blinked hard, to push them into memory, but the king and queen of spades suddenly had a deathly pallor, red slits in their throats. Necromancy. One of the worst abominations humans had created. “I see. So it appears. How… fortunate for you.”

Finally, Bea turned away from Lydia, facing back to the rest of the table. She took a sip of her drink, frowning at the now empty martini glass. She’d need to order another. She glanced at her cards, another mediocre set. “My sisters are very loyal, I’m lucky to have people who would go to such lengths to learn my craft and help me return. It wasn’t easy for them.”

“Raise,” Lydia said, before watching the flop being laid. She had a good hand, it was just about playing it, as her stomach churned under Bea’s reveal after reveal. “It certainly was a fitting sacrifice,” she replied curtly. Had Lydia made August pliant to Luce so that she could drag his soul inside out? When Lydia had made him throw himself down the stairs over and over, she’d broken his psyche and his body, but she hadn’t fragmented his soul. Her father had told her about necromancy as a child, when he had gently teased the tangles from his hair. Magics that only came to humans, that demanded balance and suffering. To bring a soul back from heaven or hell, another must be destroyed, never to go anywhere ever again. To bring such suffering on anyone, even a murderous human like August, Lydia could hardly stomach it. One good game, and she was out of here, away from the walking and talking destruction of nature itself. It was wrong in a way nothing else could be. People warned of fae trickster magic, but Lydia could not promise bind without an inkling of consent. Her glamorous only affected herself. It did not pervert nature. “Raise to one thousand dollars.”

Bea hadn’t failed to notice how all the warmth that had once been in their conversation quickly drained away. It made sense that most people wouldn’t enjoy a conversation about necromancy. Still it was a shame, she had thought Lydia was fun company when she had first sat at the table. “I’m glad that you agree. After everything he did, it felt perfect to me.” It tied the loose ends of her death nicely. All that was left was Bea finding that hunter and taking his life too. She wanted to savor that alive and well. Her eyebrows raised as Lydia raised, quietly folding her own hand, not yet willing to follow a raise so steep. Even if it did seem like an odd move. “Confident?” She asked the other woman, though her tone laced the implication of doubt through the word.

Lydia didn’t reply to that. There was something to be said for people that just loved to keep talking about taboo subjects. Clearly, her cool comments hadn’t deterred Bea, so perhaps her silence would. Lydia certainly hoped so, she was intending to keep her dinner. “That’s for you to know, isn’t it?” Lydia asked with a wink, then looking to Kevin. All three leprechauns knew she couldn’t lie easily, but all fae were masters of bluffs and truth twisting. The third one gave her a rotten look from the bottom of the trenchcoat. “So Bea, apart from playing poker, what else have you been doing with your newfound freedom?” She asked, the question carrying an edge that had been absent early. Lydia tapped her index distractedly against the table.

Confidence was easy to find when Bea was focused on necromancy, it was something she knew intimately now. She knew it, in ways, better than she knew the woman she had become when she came back. Now that the conversation had slipped from that, it wasn’t as easy to find a way to answer Lydia. She hadn’t ever struggled to find warm words and hold a conversation before. “I’ve been finding a new main act for my theater. My absence was felt dearly there and I’ve been working double time to right it all.” John, her right hand man, had done wonderfully in holding Illusions up, but without her fire, they no longer had a headliner. “There’s new talent that needs a guiding hand. Otherwise, I’ve been happy to be with my loved ones again.”

Lydia heard the pause before the reply, as the comfort and confidence leached out of Bea. She tilted her head, watching the others fold out of the game. Just her and Kevin left, for the final bidding round. “Your theatre? That is charming. Call.” There it was again, throwing her off her game. Not like she could read Kevin’s facial expressions at all, either way, but she just wanted one decent round without necromancy talk ruining it. Or the walking abomination ruining her ignoring the necromancy. “I’m sure they appreciate your company completely. Was that a challenge, Kevin? Wonderful. Let’s see your cards.” The second Leprechaun revealed two tens, with a two pair hand total. Lydia had a full house, that she showed smugly. “Oh, thank goodness for one thing going well, then.” The next set of cards were laid out. “What kind of shows do you do at your theatre, Beatrice?”

Bea was going to make sure to question her sister about this woman. The witch didn’t necessarily feel unsafe, but there was no ease left now. Lydia had been a part of the process to come back, even if she hadn’t known it. Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea to talk to Lydia about it, better to leave her in the dark. But then again, Bea had no room to regret what had already passed. “Good hand,” She commented lightly as she watched over the table. She hadn’t been positive that Lydia actually had such good cards. “We have fire dancers, escape artists, magicians. Those who have special talents and a knack for performance tend to find a home in my theater.”

“Ah, so like a circus,” Lydia replied with a smile, catching Bea’s meaning without a blink. “I would have to come see it some time. I do love watching the spectacular.” Feeling better with so many chips in her corner, she picked up her hand and tucked the ace of spades and three of hearts away into the back of her mind before watching the game begin anew. “So, Beatrice-” Lydia stopped, staring at Bea. Remembering what Felix had said about a lady friend. Except, of course, that it couldn’t be, right? The Bea in front of her wasn’t nearing a century in age, she wasn’t fae nor shifter, nor even a palatable form of undead. Felix wouldn’t- Felix wouldn’t have possibly gone for her. He had taste. He was as much fae as she was, as proud and clever and- Lydia swallowed. Beatrice wasn’t a common name, but it wasn’t impossible that there were a couple walking around White Crest. He wouldn’t have gone for a woman like this. Surely. “Felix. Doyle. Do you know him?”

As much as Bea wanted to tell her it was not a circus, she couldn’t. She had performers that called them a circus, even if we preferred the term theater. Usually, Bea would have offered a good seat to someone who wanted to come and view the show, but she found her quiet. She tilted her head at Lydia, what an odd and out of the blue question. “Felix Doyle happens to be my boyfriend. I take it that you know him. Are you friendly?” Felix knew so many people in this town, but still, it surprised her every time someone knew him and she didn’t know them as well.

“We’re good friends,” Lydia replied with a smile that made her feel almost as sick as actually speaking the lie. She looked back to the table, swallowing down the rising bile. This was so much worse than Deirdre. Lydia had only just found a dead lampade, made dead by a spellcaster. Somehow that bloody corpse turned her stomach less than the though of Felix with a human. Worse, with this human. Not undead like Morgan, but a monstrosity, not meant to exist at all. “I care about him deeply. More than I entirely know how to put in words.” Which made the thought of him sinking to such lows even worse. Beatrice was wrong, human hubris incarnate, how could he even consider it? He was a beautiful being, charismatic as hell, he could have had anyone he wanted, and instead he stooped to this. How could he ever denigrate himself like this and look in the mirror and call himself fae? It felt like a betrayal of her affections to the extreme, to even consider this. Lydia put her hands down on the table sharply, looking around at everyone with a practiced ease that made her skin burn. “My apologies, everyone, but I’m folding and I think I’m done for the evening. I’m not at my best, and that is not fair on any of you.” She stood up, picking up her neat stack of chips, and left without even trading them in.

More than I entirely know how to put in words. Those words would have warmed Bea if they came from anyone else. To know the man she loved was loved back by the people around him made Bea happy in most circumstances. He deserved all the love he could get. Still, this felt more than a little awkward. Had she just met one of Felix’s exes? Or someone who just didn’t want to see him with other people? She stared after Lydia for a moment, trying to understand what the hell had happened since she sat at this table. Shrugging, Bea decided to let her questions rest for now, she could ask them to the people who knew Lydia later. “Well, that’s unfortunate, she seems like she’s fun. Anyhow, I’ll raise.”

#wickedswriting #para #chatzy #beatrice

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makiema · 5 years ago

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SnK 118 and Armin's role in the future

I know I'm a lot late in addressing this but when the chapter first released I had my exams and didn't really have a lot of time in hand to write a meta. Anyway, now that I'm free, I'd like to spitball some ideas about this particular panel which raised a lot of questions in the fandom.

What was the significance of Isayama including this moment from Chapter 90 and what exactly was he foreshadowing? Well here's my stance on this :

• Events of Chapter 90 : Let's revisit Chapter 90 and take a look at Armin and Eren's reactions and their eventual interaction when they reach the ocean.

•Armin :

Contrasted to everyone else just having fun, we find Armin staring hard at something. When he sets foot in the water, he is shown looking at something intently - a conch shell. Now, it may as well be coincidence and I'm just being pedantic but, the conch shell is symbolic of other things. The conch shell stands for control, harmony and overall coordination among living things in Hinduism and Buddhism. Apparently, deities holding the conch or being sculpted in a manner that emphasizes the concentric rings found in a conch, symbolize their hold on civilization which maintains stability and peace. Thus, a conch stands for order and implies proper functioning of civilization.

Armin is a character well known for being rational, logical and most importantly for being the one who is always looking for a truce. He wants to "talk", he is more than capable of making the most inhumane decisions but he's always wanting to "talk" things out first. He's the one always seeking a diplomatic solution. Him coming across the conch doesn't seem to be a mere coincidence. Also, not to forget that Armin is the narrator of the show. It is possible that he will be the one to restore order in the chaotic world of SnK once again. He may be one of the key figures in ending the war, working for peace and order in it's aftermath and then he narrates the story to the future generation.

Anyway, going back to Armin and the conch, we see the scene getting plenty attention even in the anime. They cut out Hanji holding a slime but they assigned a lot of time to Armin holding the conch. It may after all have more significance than is visible on the surface.

• Eren : When Eren reaches the ocean, we see him depressed unlike the others. The whole mood is melancholy because of Eren's overruling depression. He has just seen his father's memories, the cruelty of the world has been shoved into his brain and the disturbing images keep resurfacing. We see that happening when he attempts to cheer up Armin. Eren cannot be happy again, he cannot be freed from those memories unless he does away with the cruelty- that much is clear to him. That's why we see him saying - " If we kill them all, does that mean we'll be free?"

The ocean,or preferably sea, is more than often used in literature to epitomise hardships in life and the unfathomable human emotions that make it so complex. Here, the sea represents chaos, uneasiness and sadness for Eren. The people who think of him and his race as enemies reside on the other side of these unfathomable waters. Eren is at a loss and he fails to fathom their barbaric ways. There's no understanding between him and his foes (there cannot be any). He sees them as an impediment to freedom and feels impelled to kill them.

• Eren and Armin : We see how Eren and Armin find it rather hard to communicate. Or better put, they're not thinking along the same lines. It is not really possible as Armin has no clue about the cumulative weight that has fallen on Eren. He cannot grasp the strain of it all. There's clear lack of any meaningful interaction between the two of them. Eren is not interested in sharing Armin's enthusiasm upon seeing the ocean of his dreams. His voice is awfully impassive. What particularly catches my attention is how Armin is holding onto the conch shell and calling out to Eren to look at it but he remains unbothered. He just points at the horizon and talks about the enemy. Their thoughts are totally different and there is little to no connection.

If the conch shell is indeed representing order, then we can say that Armin wants Eren to take a look at it but, Eren is thinking differently. He knows there cannot be any order as long as the world isn't even willing to see Eldians as humans. Eren has seen what happened to Faye because of Grisha's immaturity.

The price that Grisha had to pay for freedom was this- the horrifying death of Faye. The world is cruel. It isn't willing to give room for deliberation. For now, Eren needs to eliminate his enemies to move forward. That much is clear and we see that happening with the Attack on Liberio. Eren had to wage war because he had to protect his friends. He knew very well that if the whole world went ahead with the idea of eliminating Paradis, there wouldn't even be an opportunity to propose a truce. It would be over. Eren had to be an agent of chaos out of necessity. That's why in Chapter 90 we see him indifferent towards Armin as well as the conch Armin is asking him to take a look at.

• Back to 118 : There's similar lack of communication between Eren and his friends. He has done his absolute best in trying to cut them off. But, given how dire the situation is his friends must proceed to aid him. Armin, when trying to make sense of Eren's behaviour, recalls Eren's words and says "No way".

Most of us interpret that as Armin's realization that Eren is actually going to trample on the whole world and therefore, he doesn't want his friends to have any part in it. But, that's not gonna prevail. Eren is not about to abruptly wreck the whole world with his Rumbling. In the long run, it'll just make the world even more apprehensive of Eldians and they'll continue to be discriminated against. Nobody knows better than Eren that one cannot rule with fear and oppression. Also, he is the one who absolutely detests the idea of toying with human life as normalcy, no matter the situation. It's clear in this panel.

It is unlike Eren to cause destruction just to show superiority of a race; it violates his basic nature. Eren did account for civilian casualties in Liberio but that was inadvertent. If he hadn't intervened there, the whole of Paradis would have been wiped off because they were simply not ready to defend themselves. He had to buy time, he had to act before it was too late.

However, things are different now with Armin coming back into action. The miscommunication between him and Eren that has been an issue will be resolved by Armin. Maybe that's why he's holding the conch, which stands for order and harmony. Isayama's purpose in including the panel could be more than just highlighting Eren's words rather, it throws light on Armin as it is essentially him reviewing his past. He doesn't know what happened to Eren at Marley- how he became empathetic toward his sworn enemies- but he does know that Eren will not hesitate to kill them if they stand in his way of being free. However, Armin is not about to let the world plunge into outright chaos with the rumbling. To make a show that Eldians can actually flatten the whole world will make things worse than ever. He will come up with a better solution, a solution that won't put the future of Eldians at stake AGAIN. He must be the one to bridge the gap between Eldians and the world using his diplomatic skills. Armin is the only one capable of bringing an armistice. He still has a card to play.

Also, it's highly likely that the devil is the ultimate villain and Armin will have to come up with a plan to defeat him in the end. Of course, Eren has to be the ace of Armin's plan. That has always been and that's probably the reason why Isayama shows Armin thinking of Eren. Armin still has a greater role to perform and that will most probably be him advising Eren in his battle against the devil. The devil or in that case whoever is pulling the strings seems way too crafty for Eren to deal with on his own. So, Eren will definitely have to depend on Armin to come up with a fool proof strategy in the final battle to save humanity. This could have been foreshadowed as early as in the serum bowl where Eren tries to convince Levi by citing all of Armin's achievements. He implores that it's not Erwin or him but, Armin who's going to save the world.

Was he just bluffing to save his friend's life or did these words carry a subtle foreboding of the future? Let me also stress on Floch referring to Erwin as the devil out of nowhere in the same scene. We know, in the end, Armin survives and Erwin is made to rest. Is it mere coincidence that the one tagged to be the saviour prevails and the one referred to as the devil meets his end or is it another indication to the course the manga will take?

The last thing I want to talk about is Armin's dream. His dream is to see the whole world. It was never just about seeing the ocean. He wants to see the "lands made of ice", "snowy fields of sand", etc.

Who's more convenient to bring peace in the world than someone who actually wants to see all of it? If the world plunges into chaos again, Armin's dreams will never come true. If the world continues to shun the Eldians, then Armin can never fully see the world in all it's beauty. Therefore, he has to be the one to unite it. Armin will intercede into any plans of outright wiping out another race and make way for pacification. He'll be the one to do away with all the warfare and discrimination. That's his role in the future; after all there's no one more apt.

#snk #snk meta #eren jaeger #eren yaeger #armin arlert #i want eremin coordination again #i am all for eren and armin working together #i have actually missed the pair #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #snk theory #snk thoughts

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

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Necessary Monsters (3/16)

Summary:

"Brought her in on my shift, they did. Thought she were dead! Pale as a corpse - like there weren't no blood left in her - but twitching, like. The way I used to see 'em back when...You-Know-Who's followers were torturing people left and right. You'd see 'em twitch like that when they'd had the Cruciatus Curse used on 'em too long."

It takes twelve and half minutes to walk the road leading from the Hogwarts grounds into Hogsmeade, then a matter of seconds to apparate outside the Leaky Cauldron in London. Add four more minutes to enter the crowded pub, climb the stairs, and wind down the hall to the room at the very end, and Felix has had just enough time to work himself into a respectable frenzy.

Felix has never been able to pinpoint the exact date he fell in love with Juniper Windsong, so he can't say definitively just how long he's been planning their reunion. But it's been the highlight of his thoughts for almost a year. The perfect evening, carefully orchestrated to show Juniper how he's come to feel about her and persuade her to feel the same. Gone to pieces.

He slams the door, the parade of ruined moments and wasted opportunities building enough furious momentum behind his arm to rattle the frame. Throwing his cloak over the room's mouldy winged armchair, Felix runs his fingers irritably through his hair. He should have been more direct, he berates himself, kicking petulantly at one of the chair's wobbly legs. It gives an indignant "Oi!" and scoots away from him, nearer the fire. He had hoped to let his actions explain his feelings for him, even thought he'd done a halfway decent job in spite of the evening's rocky start. But replaying their conversations in his head, Felix fears he wasn't obvious enough.

Regret beats a heartless rhythm against the inside of his skull as he perches on the edge of the rickety bed. Juniper did want to see him over the summer, he consoles himself, that's something. And she had seemed genuinely excited at the prospect of visiting him. And there was that moment in the common room, their fingers intertwined, faces so close Felix could almost feel the nervous excitement radiating from her. He's positive Juniper had been waiting for him to lean in just a bit more, even imagines her eyes had flicked for a moment to his lips.

Felix falls back against the lumpy mattress with a groan. All that means nothing if she gets herself killed next year. Felix had so hoped finding Jacob Windsong alive would finally put a stop to her amateur investigations. But he knows with a sinking certainty, in spite of her assurances that she wants to leave the Cursed Vaults behind, Juniper will never be able to escape their web while her brother is still caught in it.

And even if she survives her last year of school unscathed, he thinks miserably, there's always her excessive number of male friends. Juniper may have little interest in them now, but Felix knows better than anyone how much a relationship can change in one term.

His brain bruised by the weight of all the things he cannot control, Felix pulls his wand out from underneath him and points it in the direction of his valise.

"Accio," he mumbles.

The bag sails halfheartedly across the room and stalls at the foot of the bed. Felix uses the tip of his shoe to edge it closer to him, his hand fumbling for the catch. He reaches in without looking and, as he does whenever he feels anxious, pulls out a sheaf of parchments wrapped in a leather tie, heavily frayed and dangerously thin in places.

He tugs at the crude binding carefully, toying, as he often does, with the romantic notion of finding a ribbon, preferably Juniper's, to replace the leather. But he's never known her to wear any kind of ribbon in her hair. And anyway, Felix thinks as he pulls out a particularly worn piece of parchment, he doubts a hair ribbon would wrap all the way around their collected years of correspondence. He settles back against the pillow and lets the words he knows by heart soothe its anxiously racing beat.

Since his graduation, Felix has received more letters from Juniper than he can count. This by itself isn't exceptional. He's received many letters, far more than he expected. Former classmates write occasionally with updates on their lives, Barnaby writes regularly for advice, and even his mother sends the sporadic note pleading with him to return home. But it's Juniper who writes with questions about him. Juniper, to whom Felix recounts his days, even the most boring and difficult bits. She has the uncanny ability to read past his affected formality, and Felix soon discovers there's no one else with whom he can truly be himself.

After months of rough tenting with bad food and very few actual dragons, it's Juniper Felix complains to, and Juniper who both sympathises and challenges him to stay his course. When he's forced to kill a dragon for the first time in defence of himself and his team, it's to Juniper Felix relays the entire gut-wrenching affair, complete with the horrid guilt he feels and the nightmares he cannot shake. And it's Juniper who comforts him with words like a balm, that he reads through each night to lull himself to sleep. Her letters become the best part of every month, and he begins counting the days until they arrive.

It's after the end of his first and only relationship, nearly a year ago, that Felix begins picking Juniper's letters apart, studying them as intently as if he'll be tested on their contents. He re-reads everything she's ever written, parsing each word for hidden meaning, anything that might indicate she cares for him as more than a friend or confidante. Some days Felix is convinced he can read love plainly in her words, then the next day he's sure he imagined it. The uncertainty drives him to distraction, until admitting the depth of his feelings actually seems like the less painful option. But it has to be done face to face, Felix decides, that’s the proper way. And after the Quidditch match on which so much of her school reputation is staked seems like the best time; when she'll either be full of high spirits or in need of comfort.

Felix sets the worn letter aside in agitation. It's no good. He's reached a level of anxiety he's only ever been able to soothe by writing to Juniper about it, which he can hardly do in this case.

An idea appears in Felix’s head fully formed, and he sits up abruptly. Why not just tell her in a letter? Felix had convinced himself love was something that must be discussed in person, that the month spent waiting for a response to such an admission would be unbearable. But he's no longer at the mercy of inter-continental post. Her return letter might even reach him before he left England. And he's always been better able to express himself in writing.

Perhaps his prose can do what his actions couldn't and convince her to keep herself safe. For him.

Reinvigorated by this new plan, Felix scrambles off the bed. He pulls parchment, quill, and ink from his bag, and seats himself at the spindly-legged stool in front of the room's token writing desk. A small window looms behind it, the darkness outside transforming the glass into a black mirror reflecting his face, every line quivering with purpose.

Felix dips his quill in ink and pauses briefly at the top of the parchment. The ink drips slowly from the quill tip after one minute, and then another, and then several pass without him pressing the point to the page, as it dawns on him that he has not the first idea how to begin such a letter. Which seems impossible; he's composed snatches of letters like this in his head for a year, waiting for the perfect moment to pen them. But now it's time, words seem to have deserted Felix, just as they did in the common room and out on the grounds.

Because it has to be perfect. That's key. Whatever he writes has to convince Juniper to put aside a quest that's become an obsession, persuade her his love is worth such a sacrifice. And Felix is positive it is. There isn't a person alive, including her brother, who cares for Juniper more than he does. Felix is certain of that.

A small, confident smile flickers to life on his lips, and Felix begins to write. Haltingly at first. But he finds as he focuses on Juniper’s smiling face, the memory of her cheek pressed against his fingers, the words come easier, and it isn't long before he's pouring his heart onto the page. He confesses to the parchment everything he's felt for Juniper since he was seventeen, allowing emotion to choose his words instead of adherence to any literary form. Felix writes until his parchment is exhausted, then leans back from the desk.

He holds the letter close to the yellow candle illuminating the desktop in uneven patches and reads what he's written with a critical eye; and then again, trying to see the words from her perspective. With a slight shake of his head, Felix sets the parchment back down and picks up the quill again, crossing out lines and adding words in, until any ordinary candle would have melted into its iron holder and sputtered out.

By the time the sky outside the window lightens to a steely grey, Felix has finished a draft he likes. Perhaps it would be hubris to call it perfect, he thinks immodestly, but it's certainly close. He folds the parchment with extreme care, as though excess creases may cause her to simply throw the thing away without reading, then tucks it delicately into an envelope and seals it before he can reconsider.

Flushed with excitement, Felix stands, stretching his cramped fingers. The thought of waiting to deliver the letter is intolerable, but, as he glances out the window at the predawn light, he knows the Post Office in Diagon Alley won't yet be open. The rational voice in his head suggests timidly that he ought to get some sleep, but there's too much adrenaline coursing through him and he's itchy for action. He'll wait in the pub, he decides, have a quick bite to eat and then set off as soon as the hour strikes.

Felix tucks the letter carefully into the pocket of his rumpled robes, and walks with a bounce out of the room and down the cramped and winding stairs.

Felix wasn't overly familiar with the Leaky Cauldron before two days ago. Necessity has forced him to rent a room there while in England. His father, astonishingly tolerant up till now of what he considers Felix's "rebellious dragon phase", has made it clear in his last correspondence that a transfer to the Romanian Reserve is the final straw, and until Felix is willing to return to his family obligations, he will no longer enjoy any Rosier family benefits. Namely money and a place to live. Since Felix has expected this since he first introduced his chosen profession to his parents, he's only moderately hurt.

This is the second morning Felix has spent in the inn and pub, but he’s learned he enjoys its sleepy silence as the regulars engross themselves in their papers before ingesting enough food and news to begin chatting with their neighbors. It makes for a pleasant start to the day, and Felix pushes open the door looking forward to a quiet breakfast before he completes his life-changing post.

Instead, a low thrum of excited muttering fills the room, emanating from the fireplace where nearly all the pub’s early-morning patrons, and even its proprietor, have congregated. Tom has not yet bothered to set down all the chairs from their night-time perches on the tables. He's standing just behind a witch in lime-green robes who seems to be the center of the whispering crowd.

Felix seats himself on a stool at the bar, casting surreptitious glances over at the furtive group, trying to catch snippets of their conversation. But they insist on speaking in hushed tones, as if their subject is too dangerous to be discussed at a normal volume. Felix finally catches the eye of the barman, who breaks reluctantly away and trots over.

"You'll be wanting breakfast, then, sir?" Tom asks, his voice friendly, though he continues to shoot longing looks behind him. "It was coffee you took, in't that right?"

"Yes, thank you," replies Felix distractedly. "Is everything alright?" He looks pointedly at the fireplace and Tom's eyes light up with the thrill of the gossip.

"Oh, I'm afraid not," says the barman with enthusiasm. "There was another attack up at Hogwarts school last night!"

All Felix's animated energy freezes in an instant, leaving his limbs stiff and his hand quite unable to lift the cup Tom sets in front of him.

"You mean... someone else was petrified? I thought that was all over."

Tom shakes his head happily. "Not petrified no. Apparently, the student was brought to St Mungo’s. The school professors weren't sure what happened, but they’re trying to keep it awful quiet. Winn," he jerks his chin over at the witch in green robes. "Was on duty and just happened to see them bring her in."

"'Her'?" Felix asks, his throat so dry it comes out a croak. There's hundreds of students at Hogwarts, he reassures his racing heart, there's no reason for it to be -

"The Windsong girl. You know - the Cursebreaker? Her brother's that one expelled some years back, you might remember him - Master Rosier?"

Felix vacates his stool and stumbles over to the fireplace where the witch in lime-green robes continues to murmur under her breath to her captive audience.

"Excuse me," he somehow manages to say.

The witches and wizards around the fire all look up at him.

"Did you...did you say you saw a Hogwarts student brought into St Mungo’s last night?"

The witch called Winn nods vigorously. "Not just any Hogwarts student! Jacob Windsong's sister! The one what's been opening all them cursed vaults up at the school the last few years!" Her voice is subdued but shaking with excitement. She shuffles her chair around to face Felix, clearly pleased for an excuse to retell her story.

"Brought her in on my shift, they did. Thought she were dead! Pale as a corpse - like there weren't no blood left in her - but twitching, like. The way I used to see 'em back when..." She clears her throat and her eyes dart about as if searching for hidden spies, before she continues even lower than before, "Back when You-Know-Who's followers were torturing people left and right. You'd see 'em twitch like that when they'd had the Cruciatus Curse used on 'em too long."

One of the wizards by the fire shakes his head and says something about the mad goings-on of teenagers these days, but Felix isn’t listening. He’s already moving away, lurching between tables and knocking into chairs as if drunk. Ignoring the pub patrons' affronted looks and Tom still calling to him from the bar, he trips out the front door and apparates as soon as his feet hit the pavement.

Felix hasn't been to St Mungo’s since he was a child, and his current visit does nothing to improve his ill-feeling about the place. The lobby is packed, which seems strange to him for so early in the morning. The seats are full of witches and wizards tapping their feet and sighing with poorly-hidden impatience. Healers in lime-green robes walk swiftly to and fro, all headed in different directions, and the queue for the help desk is a dozen people long. There's a sign above it informing those who can read which types of maladies belong to each floor of the hospital. But, Felix realises, since he doesn't know exactly what's happened to Juniper, he has no idea where she might be.

Blood pumps thickly in his head, making the sounds in the lobby seem oddly muffled as though he's underwater. Felix walks briskly to the information desk and brings his hand down harder than intended on top of the counter. The smacking sound has no visible effect on the bored-looking help witch beyond a quick flick of her eyes away from the hiccoughing wizard in the queue and toward Felix.

"I'm looking for Juniper Windsong," he says, his voice shaking with some emotion he doesn't have time to identify.

"Excuse me, sir,” the help-witch drawls tonelessly. "But if you have a question you'll need to queue up like everyone else."

She gives a barely perceptible jerk of her chin at the line of people now glaring at Felix. One woman's entire face is a vivid shade of pink, and a small child standing with his mother seems to have steam emitting from his nostrils. But none of them appear in any immediate danger to Felix, and he turns back to the help-witch belligerently.

"This cannot wait. Juniper Windsong. She was brought in last night."

The help-witch blinks dubiously at him, but something in Felix's voice or face seems to convince the girl her life will be easier the sooner she gets rid of him. She drags a clipboard across the desk toward her with two fingers and glances down at it.

"I don't have anyone by that name here," she announces, her tone still bored but a slight curl at the edge of her mouth.

"Yes, you do! You must!" he insists, now almost shouting. Because if she's not here, then that means....

"Mr Rosier."

A cold, quiet, and all too familiar voice stops Felix's rising panic in its tracks. He whips around to find Professor Snape standing by the entrance to a stairwell. "What are you-"

"Professor!" Felix interrupts, abandoning the help desk and hurrying over to Snape.

"Is it true?" he asks, suddenly breathless. "Juniper. Is she-"

Before Felix can finish, Snape grips his elbow tightly and drags him into the stairwell, slamming the door shut behind them. The Potions Master casts his dark eyes around as if making sure they’re alone before answering in a crisp whisper:

"Kindly do not bandy Miss Windsong's name about in front of so many witnesses. It is important that her presence at this hospital be kept entirely secret. Which is why,” his eyes narrow at Felix, “I must ask how you came to know she was here."

"I - she - " Felix tries to breathe normally, but the air catches against his ribs, constricting his chest. "A healer. In the Leaky Cauldron. She...she said she saw her - Juniper - last night. She said, she was attacked. But-"

"How do you know the person speaking was a healer?"

Thrown by the question, Felix casts his mind back for the details of the conversation that he realizes with a lurch was not fifteen minutes ago. It feels more like hours.

"Tom! He said she was a healer. And she had the robes, the same color green that the healers wear."

Snape closes his eyes briefly, nostrils flaring in forceful exhalation. Felix has seen this look on the Potion Master’s face before when dealing with exceptionally dim-witted students, but whether it’s himself or the healer in question with whom Snape is exasperated he doesn’t know, or care.

"Professor, what's happened to Juniper? Is she alright? The healer said she was attacked, but she didn't say...I mean...she wasn't sure..." Every ending Felix can think of to this sentence causes his throat to convulse.

Snape considers before answering, his words tinged with frost. “Miss Windsong is alive for the moment."

A flood of warm relief washes over Felix almost tangibly.

"But," Snape continues. "she has been very gravely..." He pauses, tongue between his teeth, as if choosing his next word carefully."...Wounded."

"Why? What happened? Is it something to do with the Vaults? Is she going to be alright?" Felix asks every question that comes to his mind all in a rush.

Snape says nothing. He scrutinizes Felix closely, and Felix gets that uncomfortable prickle he sometimes feels around his former head of house, as though the professor can see right through him. He averts his gaze, and stares instead at his ink-stained hands.

Snape's voice, still frigid, but not quite as icy as before, breaks the silence.

"Follow me, Mr Rosier."

Snape turns on his heel and ascends the staircase without a backward glance. Felix hastens to follow.

At the fourth floor landing, Snape throws open the door and proceeds into a corridor crowded with harried healers. Felix, who cuts a much less intimidating figure than the Potions Master, has to push through the lime-green crowd forcefully in order to keep up. Snape turns down a side hall, and then another, longer one, until they reach a deserted corridor with a dirty window marking a dead-end. Snape forgoes the doors on either side, stopping instead in front of the window, daylight just peeking through the streaky glass. He taps the pane on the lower right with his wand, and Felix can hear a very soft click, like a lock being turned. The window swings inward, and Snape and Felix step quickly inside.

The room is small, only slightly larger than the Hogwarts Artefact Room, with no windows and no other doors. There's just enough space for a solid looking bed, a rather high bedside table covered in potion bottles on one side if it, and a chair pulled up to the other. Felix can see the outline of legs tucked under a white sheet lying on the bed, but the rest of the occupant is hidden by the bulky figure in the chair, who stands quickly and revolves to face the two intruders.

The man raises his wand directly at Felix, who flinches, though for once it has less to do with the wand itself and more to do with the heavily scarred face of the person holding it.

"Password," the man grunts. Snape does not bother to conceal his eye-roll.

"Dragon Heart-String,” he pronounces with very slight disdain, and the strange looking person lowers his wand a fraction.

All Felix’s attention is caught up in the man's one electric blue eye that swivels eerily over both newcomers, then rolls right back into his head as if checking on the patient in the bed behind him. He's so distracted by this display, Felix doesn't notice the man's other eye inspecting him suspiciously.

"Who is this?" the man asks in a gruff voice. "I thought you were bringing back one of the trainees."

"It seems as though the healers cannot all be trusted,” Snape replies loftily. “One is already blabbing the attack in the pub."

The other man swears under his breath.

"This is...a friend of Windsong's,” Snape continues.

Felix isn't sure, but he thinks there's a slight pause before Snape pronounces the word 'friend', and a careful note to his words. But he's too preoccupied to give this further thought. The shock of the room's strange guardian has worn off enough for Felix's attention to return to the bed. And as the man steps toward Snape, the head on the pillow becomes visible.

If Felix hadn't known it was supposed to be Juniper, he might not have recognised her straight away. She looks like an entirely different person from the vibrant young woman laughing and flirting with him only hours ago. It's as though all the blood has been drained from beneath her skin, leaving her as pale and lifeless as the healer in the pub described. The only part of her with any colour is the uncountable number of angry red cuts decorating her face and the visible portion of her neck and arms. She's so eerily still Felix would be terrified Snape was mistaken about her condition, if it weren't for the slight twitching of her fingers, curled strangely and lying on either side of her.

Bile rises in Felix's throat and he has to swallow hard to keep from being violently ill. He’s known Juniper to be injured many times before; she’s famous for it. He’s seen her battered by Devil's Snare, half-frozen to death by cursed ice, knocked about by a dragon. But his memories of those admittedly deadly injuries all include her face set in grim determination or flushed with success. Felix has never seen her like this. Broken and beaten on a hospital bed.

"What happened to her?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"Tortured," the man with the strange blue eye replies matter-of-factly. "Cruciatus curse by the tremors. And the cuts are one of R's signature curses.”

"R?" asks Felix vaguely, fumbling for anything that will keep his mind from creating a mental picture of Juniper being tortured.

The man explains irritably as though this should be common knowledge. "R is the organisation after the vaults. They're the ones have been threatening Miss Windsong the last few years."

"But...how could they get to her while she's at school?" questions Felix, his voice rising. "Surely, there's spells and wards set up to protect the students?"

"Of course," Snape responds coolly from behind Felix. "But it's been well-established that the defences surrounding school grounds can be penetrated. One has to be inside the school itself for the Headmaster's greater protections to be of any effect. And Miss Windsong was found outside on the grounds. Do you have any idea why she might have been out there, Mr. Rosier?"

Felix's knees buckle abruptly. He grabs the back of the bedside chair to keep himself from falling to the floor. If his display of weakness elicits any reaction from the other men, Felix doesn't notice. His eyes are shut tight against the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. His voice cracks as he rasps:

"It's my fault."

"Excuse me?" The man with the swiveling blue eye whips around to face Felix again, normal eye narrowed. His wand is still pointed aggressively, and Felix half wishes the man would just curse him.

"I - she - was with me," Felix tries to explain, nausea churning his stomach sickly. The chair is now the only thing keeping him upright.

"You were with her on the grounds?" the man demands, his blue eye now fixed on Felix as well. "What happened? What did you see? Who else was there?"

"There wasn't anyone. There was...it was...just us. "

The weight of the guilt causes something in Felix to snap. He cranes his neck around searching for the eyes of his former head of house, desperate for assurance that this isn't his fault; that Juniper isn't half-dead because of him.

"I told her not to, Professor, I swear! She wouldn't listen, I couldn't stop her! But...everything was normal. There wasn't anything strange or-or suspicious on the grounds. I didn't - I mean, I - I thought..."

Snape wrenches his gaze away from Felix, as if his pleading is something painful to watch. But Felix is beyond embarrassment for the moment.

"Mr. Rosier," Snape responds, still looking decidedly anywhere but at Felix. “I am all too familiar with Miss Windsong's particularly obdurate determination to do whatever she pleases. However, I think we both know you exerted little effort to dissuade her. And it cannot be denied that you are the reason Miss Windsong was out on the grounds alone last night."

Each of Snape’s words cuts deeply into Felix, like a mirror of the wounds decorating Juniper’s arms. All his defensiveness bleeds slowly out of him, and he sags further against the chair.

"If," Snape continues, "you would like to make amends for your foolishness, then perhaps you would be willing to help us now."

"I - Yes! Of course, anything, what-"

"At the moment, Miss Windsong appears to be under an enchantment of some kind. Discovering what exactly happened to her and who attacked her may enable us to wake her. We need to investigate, but we also need to keep a guard over her. It is not unlikely that whoever did this may return when they realize their work is unfinished."

"I'll stay," Felix answers, a semblance of strength returning to his voice. The idea that he'll be allowed to help is entirely unexpected, but a set task goes a long way to reasserting his focus.

The strange-eyed man looks from Felix to Snape, his face, a map of scars and craters, alight with skepticism.

"You sure he's up to it?"

Snape stares hard at Felix until that uncomfortable prickling begins to resurface, but Felix is determined to keep his gaze, to prove he can be trusted.

"I believe so," Snape answers. The other man gives Snape a disparaging look before lowering his wand to his side.

"Fine. If anything happens to her, it'll be on your heads then." He crosses the small room in two long strides and looks back at Felix as he reaches the door.

"You. No one is to enter this room without the password. The healers assigned to her know it, and they're the only ones I trust. Anyone else tries to get in, stun them and call for backup. Do you understand?"

Felix nods in affirmation, not trusting himself to speak.

"Do not take this lightly, boy. Miss Windsong's life may depend on your vigilance."

Felix straightens with as much fortitude as he can muster. He directs his words to the man in front of him, but they’re really a promise to himself.

"I won’t let anything happen to her."

Read Chapter 4 | View all stories on the Masterpost

#felix rosier #felix rosier x mc #felix rosier x jacob's sibling #jacob's sibling #hphm mc #hphm #hphm fanfiction #felix rosier fanfiction #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery mc #hogwarts mystery fanfic #necessary monsters #dragonology 101 #dragons #mad-eye moody #severus snape #leaky cauldron #st mungos

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sabraeal · 5 years ago

Note

So a prompt for the Wide Florida Bay, Haki meets Haruto meeting.

Wide Florida Bay | With Hands Molded, as Galatea

Issue: Jan 1994

Vogue sat down with the illustrious Ms Bergstrom, known for not only her modeling career in her youth, but also her current occupation of philanthropic works.

Bergstrom: I was an actress as well, briefly.Vogue: Yes, who could forget?Bergstrom: (teasing) You, apparently!

“God, this whole island is so fucking boring.” Andalusia slaps her copy of Vogue onto the table, glaring down the line of chaises. “Whose idea was it to come to Santorini anyway?”

“Haki’s!” Cristal pipes nervously before tilting her hat’s brim down over her face. It’s such a pitiful act, Haki can’t even manage to summon up a glare.

“Ugh, Haki, what the fuck.” Andaulsia rolls over, foxing her with a scowl that would make Cristal burst into tears. “There’s nothing here but honeymooners and old people.”

This was my mom’s favorite place. It sits right on the tip of her tongue, a sure way to win the argument, to get everyone on her side and leave Andalusia slinking around the suite like a scolded terrier. But it’s also ammunition, a piece of her that can be flung back when tempers get high or when someone needs to prove that she’s too emotional to weigh in.

And that’s not what she wants her mother to be: yet another little pin to prick her with, another weight to hold her down when someone wants to climb higher. So Haki grits her teeth, making a show of applying more sun screen.

“And sunsets,” Tomomi offers with a studied offhandedness. “Those have been pretty killer.”

Her mother had thought that too. At least, that’s what her father said, when she’d asked, a wistful expression on his face. Never the same one twice.

“God, fuck sunsets. We should have gone to Ibiza.” Andalusia flops restlessly on her chaise, like a fish on the dock. “That’s where everyone who’s everyone is. Not this shitshow.”

She knows she’s supposed to apologize now, that she’s supposed to offer a half dozen explanations for why she thought Santorini would personally float Andalusia’s boat, but–

There’s none. It’s their first trip since they started college, the first time they’ve been together so long since they flung themselves across the country to colleges so far apart it seems almost purposeful, and Haki’s just felt…adrift. She’s made friends, yes, with all the right people who go all the right places, but it all fits her like a dress two sizes too small, like she’s still trying to stuff herself into the Zac Posen she wore to her Sweet Sixteen.

She’s had a single year of freedom, a single year to think for herself, and all that’s been buzzing through her head for months is that she doesn’t want this.

“Ibiza is so last decade.” Mariazell sits up in her chaise, tossing her sheet of blonde hair over her shoulder. “God, my parents went to Ibiza.”

Mariazell had been a last minute addition, a friend of a friend of Andalusia’s who she’d met at a party and thought was as cool as a Hilton. Haki had been prepared to hate her guts, but, well–

It seems as though things are looking up.

“Saint Tropez, then,” Andalusia decides, “I heard–”

“Old news.” Mariazell inspects her nails with an air of disinterest Haki can only aspire to. No one goes there anymore.”

Outdone and annoyed, Andalusia does the one thing she knows best: pouting. “Fine, then where is everyone?”

“Mykanos.” She says simply, as if anyone with a brain would know. It’s the sort of trick that rolls off Haki’s back, but Andalusia looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm.

“Where the fuck is that supposed to be?” she snaps, red-faced even under her tan. “Turkey or something?”

Mariazell lets out a laugh. “Oh my god, seriously? It’s right here. Like three hours by boat.”

“How come I’ve never heard of it?”

Mariazell levels her with the driest expression anyone has ever dared. “It’s exclusive.”

Haki coughs, tucking her mouth into her shoulder. Andalusia was the biggest hanger-on she knew, at the forefront of what everyone else thought was cool, and now here she was: hopelessly behind the times.

God, she’s almost starting to like this girl.

Mariazell tosses her head. “Or at least it was, but now anybody who’s anybody parties there.”

“Then that’s where we should be.” Andalusia’s mouth bends into a sly curve. “Do you think we could get– what’s his name? That guy with the yacht?”

“Touka?” Tomomi supplies, casting Haki a worried glance. “Touka Bergatt?”

“Yeah, him.” Andalusia lounges, crossing her legs the way models did in magazines, as if it might make her taller. “He was all over us yesterday. Do you think he could get us there?”

Haki can’t bite back her grimace. His arm still feels heavy around her shoulders, leaning in far too close as he asked if she would like a private tour of the captain’s cabin. Alone. “Isn’t he old?”

“He’s twenty-five.” Her eyes flash, like a cougar watching a hare, and Haki braces herself for the pounce. “I mean, he’s just as old as Izana Wisteria.”

Mariazell raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh it doesn’t.” Andalusia’s sprawls on the chaise like a panther, playing with its pray. “Haki’s just obsessed with him.”

The I’m not is at the tip of her tongue, but Mariazell beast her to it.

“You are?” Her second brow joins the first. “Aren’t your families friends or something? Don’t you know him?”

“Their mothers modeled together back in the 80s, along with Cecile Seiran,” Andalusia supplies helpfully, her face the very picture of poorly-feigned innocence. “She met him once, refused to talk to him, and then hyperventilated in a hallway when he said hi.”

That’s not precisely wrong, but it’s definitely not the way she would prefer to tell that story. Which is never.

“I don’t see why hitching a ride with Touka Bergatt’s such a problem,” Andalusia continues, “not when she’d happily jump on Izana Wisteria’s dick if he let her.”

“That’s gross,” she snaps, body flushed and fists clenched. “I wouldn’t jump on anyone, not matter who they are. Just because he’s–” a genius, an innovator, and sexy as hell– “attractive doesn’t mean I want to fuck him.”

She’s known plenty of people who look good on paper but don’t complete the fantasy in real life. Izana Wisteria would probably be one of them. She’s not an idiot.

“Don’t be fooled. Haki’s saving herself for him,” Andalusia coos, drawing giggles from the other girls. Well, everyone but Tomomi, whose mouth has thinned to nonexistence.

“I’m not saving myself for anyone,” she grits out. It’s impossible, since there’s nothing about her to be ruined or rescued just from having sex no matter what Andalusia thinks, or her father, or the tabloid that ran a countdown to when she was “legal.” It’s the fucking 2000s, not medieval Europe. No one’s going to be airing her sheets on her wedding night, showing the peasants how she bled on the sheet like a good, God-fearing girl.

Not that she wouldn’t be burned at the stake by popular opinion if she did sleep around. Haki Bergstrom has a reputation to keep, but that could be solved by circumspect partners and careful planning, if she wanted to. Which she hasn’t.

Of course, this all jumbles in her throat, anger boiling it down to, “High school boys are gross.”

Andalusia grins. “We’re in college now. College boys exist.”

“You know what I mean,” she snips waspishly. “Boys our age are obsessed with getting their dick wet and anal.”

“And putting their penis between your boobs,” Cristal adds, shrinking as they all turn to her. “I-I mean, so I’ve heard.”

Andalusia scoffs, mouth curling like the has a secret. “Then don’t date boys. Date men.”

Ugh, she would say that; she’d been the first one to get a boyfriend at sixteen, a twenty-two year old DJ that had gotten her grounded for a month when her parents found him sneaking out of her window. They’d never gotten much further than French kissing and hand jobs, but Andalusia might as well have gone all the way since she likes to lord it over everyone.

Mariazell snorts, tossing her hair. “Adult men who date girls are the grossest of all.”

Andalusia recoils like she’s been slapped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on.” Mariazell smiles, giving the distinct impression that she’s outside the joke when anyone with a brain is inside. “Guys in their mid-twenties trying to shack up with girls who are ‘freshly eighteen?’ They want a blow-up doll, not a relationship. And with girls like us? They just want Daddy’s money.” She raises a brow. “Surely you’ve figured that out.”

“Of course I have,” Andalusia lies, flush spreading down to her chest. “But Bergatt’s our best bet to get off this island and into where all the right people are partying. I’ll do what I have to do to for that.”

“But will Haki?” Mariazell’s smile spreads into a Cheshire grin. “That’s who he was all over yesterday.”

“Count me out,” she says, settling against her lounge. “We could party back in Miami. I like the silence here.”

Cristal yelps, “But if you don’t go, he might not take us.”

She’s tempted to tell her, my worst nightmare isn’t Andalusia not getting her way, but it’s too cruel. As much as Cristal’s brown-nosing annoys her, she’s a skittish little thing, always scared of being left behind, and Haki knows better than anyone– they are only what their fathers have made of them.

“That’s not Haki’s problem,” Tomomi snaps. “What do we need her for anyway? Isn’t Andalusia always saying how she can get any man she wants?”

“I can!” She’s too eager, too defensive, and it’s clear the only person on the deck that even half believes it is her. “You think I can’t?”

Mariazell’s mouth curves. “I think you aren’t a tall, leggy blonde. and Touka Bergatt is used to having his pick of the litter.”

“Fine!” Andalusia bolts up from her lounge, looking like thunder herself. “You have an hour. We’re getting off this island.”

Haki snorts. “I’m not going–”

“You’re not invited,” she shrills. “We don’t need you. I’ll wrap Touka Bergatt so tight around my finger he’d take us back to Miami, and I don’t need you messing it up.”

She stomps off the deck, Cristal hurrying behind her, and Mariazell gives Haki a knowing smile.

“Enjoy your solitude,” she murmurs, unfurling from her seat. “I know I would.”

Vogue: We’ve heard that you disdain the party scene. Bergstrom: I spend much of my life with my husband in Miami or in LA doing business. They call New York the City that Never Sleeps, but in those cities no one ever breathes. Why do I need to go to a club when every business appointment is a three-ring circus?Vogue: So where do you go to unwind?Bergstrom: While I was modeling, many years ago now, I used to take trips with my friends to a small island in Greece– Santorini, you may have heard of it? The sunsets are not to be believedVogue: Once or twice. By friends, you mean fellow models-turned-business moguls, Haurto Wisteria and Cecile Seiran?Bergstrom: Yes, I believe my publicist has sent you the photo?Vogue: Yes, it’s gorgeous. Thank you for letting us print it.Bergstrom: (laughs) Oh, what woman wouldn’t like you to print a photo of her when she’s twenty?Vogue: Twenty year olds!Bergstrom: Too true, too true. We’re so harsh on ourselves, and then we look back years later and think, ‘now what did I think was wrong?!’

Haki could always ask for a car; Axel Bergstrom’s daughter would have a fleet of Santorini’s finest, discreet limos should she but ask the concierge, but it seems important to do this the right way.

She’s never ridden a bus before, but she’s seen movies. She drops her coins into the till, takes her seat, and politely ignores every person around her as she scrolls through her phone. The ride to Oia feels like a lifetime, but– but–

Her mother wasn’t riding in limos when she came here. She’d barely been older than Haki is now, a young model with hardly anything to her name.

So that’s how she takes in Santorini: on foot, relying on her smile and the few Greek words she learned from the hotel staff when she called for room service. It gets her just as far as her mother always said it would; right up to the twisty alleyways of Oia, mounting step over step to find the right vantage point.

Her calves are burning when she finds it, protesting another step: a terrace, overgrown with vines and abandoned, three ancient lounge chairs laid out across the white stone.

She vaults up the last few stairs, mouth stretching wide as she takes in the view of the caldera. It’s perfect; an unobstructed view straight out to the horizon, and it’s the closest she’s ever felt to her mother’s presence beside her. She doesn’t believe in all the stuff normally, but a find like this is beyond coincidence. Maybe there’s nothing of her mother back in Miami, but here on this rooftop, every breath she takes is thick with her, heavy with a scent she hardly remembers–

“Ah,” huffs a voice from behind her. “Company.”

Haki spins on her heel, hands clutching at the lip of the wall, as if that might somehow stop the terrace’s owner from asking her to leave. “Oh, I– I’m sorry, I thought no one would be up here. I–”

It’s a woman who emerges onto the roof, windswept blonde hair haloing around her face as she sweeps across. “Oh, no, don’t worry. I don’t own this house. I’ve just borrowed its terrace for the evening.” She sweeps out a hand, the one not holding an electric blue cocktail, and gestures toward the lounges. “There’s no reason we can’t share.”

She’s older, Haki realizes, but her age is impossible to place. There’s crows feet starting to stretch their talons at the corners of her eyes, but she wears them so casually they’re almost an accessory than a mark of time.

“Please,” she insists, perching on her own chair, “sit. Are you traveling alone?”

“Oh.” Haki sidles over to a lounge, taking an awkward seat. “Ah, today I am.”

Her eyebrows raise, perfectly shaped. “Just today?”

“My other friends took off for Mykanos,” she explains, swallowing down the good riddance.

“Ah, I see.” The woman smiles of the rim of her cocktail glass. “Santorini’s too slow for them, hm? I’ve heard that’s where the real parties are at nowadays.”

“Yeah.” That’s all she needs to say, but there’s something about this woman’s steady gaze, inquiring and yet not expectant, that makes her add, “I’m from Miami, thought. I can party any time–” not that she wants to all that much anymore– “but I can’t get these sunsets.”

The woman’s brows hike up even farther, but it’s…approving. Impressed. “I wouldn’t expect to hear that from someone your age. You must be in college now, aren’t you?”

“Ah, yes.” This is the last thing she wants to talk about. “I’m a sophomore.”

“Oh, how nice!” She sounds…actually pleased, as if it were some pleasant surprise. “My youngest is a sophomore too! But in high school.”

This woman does not look old enough to have a high school sophomore for a child.

“And my eldest just graduated a year ago. He’s getting his MBA now,” she confides with a flushed-cheek sort of pride.

Haki can only stare; this woman is either extremely well-preserved, or she was pushing out kids when she was sixteen.

“What are you doing?” she continues, interested. “You seem like the sort of girl who has a plan.”

Haki can’t imagine what about her says that; she’s a lone woman on a stolen terrace in the middle of a country she doesn’t even speak the language of, with little more than a phone and a transit card in her pocket. “Ah, not really. I’m actually Undecided. For now.” She gives her a helpless shrug. “I’m still learning what I like, I guess.”

The woman stills, eyes narrowing. “Do you mean you’ll learn what you like, or you’ll learn to live with what you’re supposed to like?”

Haki knows she looks like an idiot, sitting there slack-jawed like she belongs on the Miami version of Jersey Shore, getting drunk and having drama for the amusement of the masses, but–

But no one’s ever asked her that before.

The woman curls towards her, chin propped up on a hand. “That’s what I thought. What do you want, really?”

“I want to mean something.” She claps a hand over her mouth, mortified. “No, wait! I mean–”

Cool fingers wrap around hers, she’s filled with a sudden, complete sense of comfort. Her words evaporate on her tongue, lost. “I know what you mean. Go on.”

Haki blinks, staring at the long, strong hands that cover her own. This must be what it’s like for people who have moms. “I want to make a difference. I don’t want to do what my dad does and just…make money.”

There’s more to it than that, so much more. She’d never thought about money before, only known that she had it, had a lot of it, and then she’d went to college and–

And she’d found out the price of it. Filled in swamp lands and critically endangered animals. Weather growing worse each year as the earth changes, forced to be flat so hotels and condos and timeshares can be built on it. Laborers who work grueling hours and still can’t pay rent, who have to choose between dinner and a doctor’s visit. All to line the pockets of her father and his friends.

She can’t do it anymore. She can’t be happy knowing what she knows. She doesn’t want to be forty, seated on the couch with all the other wives waiting to be swapped out for someone younger, someone stupider as her husband brags about destroying the Everglades for a parking lot.

No, she wants to be the one that stops it. “I want to be a lawyer. A, um, environmental one.”

The woman squeezes her hand, reassuring. “That won’t be easy.”

“I know,” she sighs. “My dad will never let me.”

“Of course not.” The woman smiles. “You’ll get really good at lying.”

She stares. Adults aren’t supposed to give you this sort of advice, she’s pretty sure. Especially not moms.

“There’s a half dozen majors you can do and get into law school.” She shrugs. “Pick something that your father expects from you. Business. Literature. Political Science. And then take whatever classes you need to learn what you have to.”

It sounds so easy when she says it. “But what if–”

She holds up a finger. “Ah, remember: Axel Bergstrom never checks up on an investment when he feels like a return is assured.”

“Right. But…” Her teeth snap down with a click. “How do you know who my father is?“

One of the woman’s hand’s lift, tilting up her chin. “Oh, Haki. You do look so much like your mother. And seeing you here, sitting right where she did…”

She blinks. The picture. Her mother, Cecile Seiran, and–

“Haruto Wisteria,” she breathes. “You’re Haruto Wisteria.”

Her mother’s closest friend. And Izana Wisteria’s mother.

Oh, god.

“You…you’re…” she feels faint.

“She’d be so proud of you, you know,” Haruto says, her thumb rubbing coolly across her cheek. “She always worried the money might ruin you and Makiri.”

She can hardly breathe. “My mother?”

“Oh, of course.” Haruto smiles, distant. “She chained herself to a bulldozer once, protesting the destruction of some natural landmark in Sweden. That’s where she met your father actually.”

She doesn’t need to be told which side of the bulldozer he was on. “And then they…?”

“He was charmed by her tenacity. And Ingrid thought she could change the world, let alone a single man.” Haruto lets go of her chin, mouth giving a rueful twist. “We were young then.”

Haki can hardly picture it; even if her mother wasn’t just a blur in her memory, the though of her father young and in love…

Well, it seemed far-fetched.

“I meant to keep in touch, after…” Haruto’s voice quivers, and she takes a sip of her cocktail. “Well, sometimes we know what we should do, but the pain stops us from doing it. You understand?”

Haki stupidly, blurts out, “No.”

She expects offense, but Haruto only smiles fondly. “No, of course not. Ingrid was always the strong one.” Her hand squeezes tight around Haki’s. “I’m so glad to find you’ve followed in your mother’s footsteps.”

There’s so much to say, but she can only manage, “My mother tied herself to a bulldozer?”

Haruto laughs. “Chained, dear. Chained.”

It’s almost too much to handle. “I��I came here because I read an article about my mom. An old one. And I’d been feeling so lost lately, I just though maybe…maybe if I came here, I’d find myself too, like she did.” Haki hesitates, looking out toward where the sky has begun to pink. “But I think what I was really looking for was my mom.”

“That’s why I come here too,” Haruto murmurs, her voice suddenly thin. “I never feel her so much as I do here. If we get to choose where we are when…when it’s all over, Ingrid would be here.”

Haki turns to her, seeing the shine in her eyes, the fondness in her expression, and even though she’s only ever been a story in a magazine to her, it feels– like more than just one meeting. Like a history stretched out behind them and before them.

“I don’t remember much about my mom,” she admits, “but I feel like she’s here. With us.”

Haruto smiles down at her. “I’m glad you stumbled up onto my terrace, Haki.”

She squeezes her hand, the sky blurring. “Me too.”

Vogue: Where is this, if you don’t mind me asking?Bergstrom: A rooftop in Oia. We thought it was abandoned, only to be joined by the owners a few moments later!Vogue: Oh no!Bergstrom: No, no, they were too gracious! They let us stay, gave us cocktails. Told us to come back any time. And we have! I think they didn’t expect that (laughs).Vogue: Is this your favorite place to watch the sunset?Bergstrom: Yes, yes! I think if I die this will be my heaven. No matter how much I love my husband, my children, part of my heart will always be in Oia.

“You know,” Haruto says as the sun sets over the horizon, leaving only the palest sky behind, “you should meet my son.”

Haki nearly rolls out of her lounge. “What? R-really?”

“Oh yes.” Haruto’s lips twitch as she looks down at her. “I think you’d give him a real run for his money.”

#Anonymous #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #hakizana if you're haruto XD #ans #i cannot say how much of a breeze the first half was #only for the last half to be the world's BIGGEST BITCH #but i think i finally got it where i wanted #also once again i wish i had known haki's last name #before i'd had to make one up #but now i am locked in #since i'd already gone and made a backstory about it #before the arleon reveal #DEEPEST SIGH #now all i need is for the 'brothers' tranlsation to be right #and there's like three arleon brothers to joss me or something

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thebeautyofdisorder · 6 years ago

Text

Blog of John H. Watson, Hidden Post #57 (Adlock Drabble, Post S4)

This is what happens when I’m bored at work and speculate on the possible dynamic that could spawn out of Irene’s continued presence in Sherlock’s life being revealed in The Lying Detective, as well as the thought that John totally keeps an up to date documentation of Sherlock’s bullshit, even when he doesn’t share it. Short head canon in a blog post. A happy medium ending shall we say. Compatible with canon.

Rated T, for language and innuendos.

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Sherlock Holmes is not a romantic, by any meager stretch of the imagination. In fact, if there were a term in the English language adequate enough to be defined as the polar opposite of a romantic, I wouldn't hesitate to employ it in regards to the world's only consulting detective. But, as with everything else in the complex world surrounding him, it's never quite so simple as that, either. For every area of disinterest in his over-wrought brain, there never ceases to be an exception to the rule. He hates the television, except for when he needs to pass the time.; he's seemingly ignorant of any charms the fairer sex may possess, until he decides to point out which one's they're lacking; he doesn't eat while on a case, unless you buy a very particular brand of biscuits and force them into his line of sight; and he doesn't have a single romantic bone in his body until The Woman is brought into the equation.

Now when I say 'romantic', don't think I mean that in the normal sense of the word - marriage and babies aren't something I can see him ever willingly seeking out, even for the likes of her. That man's idea of a valentine is probably the still-beating heart of one of her enemies, but thankfully (dreadfully?) that woman would happily accept it, and even prefer it over the largest diamond at Tiffany's. Domesticity, suffice to say, has never been a prominent part of their 'relationship'. They do so enjoy flirting with it though. The way anyone else would take a holiday from their mundane desk job to somewhere more exciting, every once in a great while, The Woman formerly known as Irene Adler takes a brief respite from whatever chaos she's getting up to on the other side of the pond and finds her way to Baker Street. Sherlock never seems surprised, though whether that's because she warns him ahead of time of her eminent arrival or if he can sense her presence like some sort of lovesick bloodhound, I don't know (I mostly suspect the latter). But one moment everything is perfectly normal, and the next she's there - and the world has turned upside down. It's never really that dramatic a shift, though, truly. Sherlock is still very...Sherlock. Not even Cupid could fix that. It's his resolute single-mindedness that suddenly seems to take its leave. Whatever has been at the forefront of his thought process is, if not completely usurped, carefully shifted over as if to make room for her. Normally anyone or anything having such an impact on his needle-point focus would annoy him - and sometimes it still does, 'defiance' added to the cluster of other emotions that seem to radiate from him in her presence. More often than not, however, he accepts this adjustment without complaint. If he's particularly deep in the depths of boredom, dare I say with relief. One moment he'll be in a rush to go over some experiment or contact a client, and then there she is - sometimes sitting in his chair looking over a file he'd left lying on the floor or lounging in the bathtub as though she had always been there, and hadn't just broken in. If the timing is really inconvenient, he might shoot her a look not unlike one you or I would give a beloved but stubbornly misbehaved house cat - but it still happens, the immediate recalculation of his priorities. He probably just pulls up a day planner in his mind and starts crossing things off and pushing them around. Brooding can wait ‘til next week, there'll be time to annoy Mycroft tomorrow afternoon, etc. The case - if there is one - still gets solved, of course. No force, however unstoppable, would ever halt the investigative side of his brain. If anything we just gain an amused spectator or even another educated opinion. However as soon as the thinking is done and the only thing left of it is the 'boring' part - contacting the client, handing over evidence, explaining all of his elaborate deductions to a mostly confused and unappreciative audience - I tend to finish it out. Hell, I volunteer to do so, or else it simply doesn't get done. Found that out the hard way once when he stopped answering Mycroft's phone calls halfway through halting a smuggling operation and - well, suffice to say he always knocks now, even if he did have a spare key made just to be intrusive. Not that it seemed to phase either of them. Hardly anything does, during these short visits. As affronted or even offended Sherlock will no doubt be at the turn of phrase, the world by and large ceases to exist to him when The Woman is in town. Once the mostly-metaphorical detective hat is off, there's nothing that can begin to compete with her hold over his attention. I've certainly never had any interest in trying. It took me less than five minutes, the first time she showed up, to see how obviously under-stated he had been when he told me that it was 'just texting' between them that first night I discovered their continued interaction. There had been a tension between them since the moment they'd met, obviously, but it had evolved somehow. It wasn't the unresolved curiosity it once was, but it wasn't a comfortable fondness like most couples have after a reasonable period of time either. It was trapped somewhere in the middle: a constant thrum of kinetic energy almost. It was the power of uncertainty and yet the knowing acknowledgement of potential. I've never seen it’s like anywhere else, probably because no other two people in the world have the patience and tenacity to make such an unreasonable constant work. Coupled with the fact they seemed to be in a continuous competition with each other, for what stakes I still don't know, it was a tangible thing. I'd call it a 'battle for dominance' but that seems far too on the nose for my taste. No, the only thing out of the ordinary about her physical proximity to the detective was that I was now privy to it. I'd say I'm now 'in on the joke', but that doesn't sound right, as funny as the idea of Sherlock shagging a (former?) dominatrix sounds. More like being an unwilling member of an obscure and elitist secret society whose meetings I don't attend and yet end up bearing witness to anyway. Then again, with Sherlock Holmes, when don't I feel like that? Neither of them have ever asked me to make myself scarce during these periods (the shortest being all of 12 hours or what I would deem An International Booty Call - the longest was a full week: Christmas to New Year, leading into a suspicious spike in our usual caseload), but I often do it anyway. No matter the innocence of the conversation they're having - or not having, it seems voyeuristic somehow. And not just in the sexual way. There's a certain foreign intimacy to their seemingly benign interactions that makes it almost more intrusive to walk in on them having tea than any of the more explicit scenarios that end up occurring at 221B Baker Street behind closed doors. There are exceptions of course - the three of us have managed a few pleasant evenings (as pleasant as Sherlock is capable of), but all in all, I leave them to themselves. For as suddenly as she arrives, she's just as quickly gone - leaving no obvious sign of her presence save the lingering of her perfume and usually some spontaneous possession that finds its way to the mantelpiece, and remains there until the next time she inevitably appears in another few months. Hell, maybe the next year. A bottle of red nail lacquer, a hair pin. Last time it was a dagger. I think it's probably deliberate - an excuse, outside of sheer interest, to return. Or maybe some sort of weird code, fuck if I know. Regardless, as soon as her presence dissipates, the Consulting Detective is back to his obnoxious and hyper vigilant self, as though nothing and no one could ever distract him from his single-minded search for problems to solve and humans to outsmart. If Sherlock's unhappy with this unstable 'arrangement' - hell, even if he's perfectly happy with it - he's never really said. In fact, he makes almost no comment about her at all when she's not here. This alone, apparently unbeknownst to him, makes her unique in the whole of the human race. The only exception seems to be under the specific pretense of making his older brother look both nauseous and disapproving at the same time. As for Mycroft Holmes, if 'The Ice Man' ever had any specific ill intentions towards The Woman who nearly brought the nation to its knees, he's apparently given up on them for now. He's even stopped making lewd comments about beheadings just to make Sherlock angry. Every once in an even greater while - only thrice in my memory - some mysterious 'case' will arise from overseas and Sherlock himself will vanish from the streets of London for a number of days. He always asks me if I'd like to come along, and I always give some sort of excuse to remain: can't find a sitter for that long, my passport expired, etc. I know what he's really doing, just as he knows that my passport is perfectly legal, and yet neither of us say a word. I don't know if it's some twisted way to extend the 'mystique' of a secret tryst, or he's just helping her out with something very illegal, but I'm not sure I want to. It's not up to me to say if this sort of dynamic will last - if either of them will eventually require something more steady or resolute, or simply grow bored with one another. But for now, as I write this, Sherlock is restocking the kitchen for the first time in months without being harassed and has ceased whining about Lestrade not calling him back all weekend - so I doubt it's going to be a concern for a long while. By morning I'm sure I will walk in to witness my boorish and manner-less best mate who will rarely even boil his own water trip over himself to have her coffee made by the time she wakes, so he can regale her with the gory details of how he solved the grisliest murder we've had since her last visit. And they say romance is dead.

#my writing #adlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #irene adler #post series 4 #john's blog #the adlock yacht #narrative nonsense

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