#like it's kind of forced at times and a lot of the humour lands flat

[hella1975]

the monk: it's not the pain which ruins us, my child. it's the things we do to avoid the pain

tiuri: i fear it might break me

the monk: then break. break. let spirit crack you open. let yourself be forged in the crucible of your own agony, transformed into the most perfect instrument of destiny

me who's so far been watching 'the letter for the king' as a guilty pleasure bc it's kind of shitty but in a good way and i'll watch anything fantasy, not at all expecting anything profound from this show:

[ruby-whistler]

the difference between static and dynamic characters on the dream smp

Hi, hello, it's Ruby, back with another PSA because this fandom (specifically the people on Twitter) keeps getting worse.

/dsmp /rp

Recently, people started claiming c!Techno was boring because he never had any character development.

Now, this may come as a surprise to some of you, but if you in any capacity decide to study the ins and outs of creative writing, you'd learn that characters don't need to have character development to be compelling, loved by the audience, and have a complex personality.

This is what is called a static character. Not to be confused with flat characters. What's the difference?

Most articles seem to agree on this;

"Static characters should not be confused or mixed up with flat, one-dimensional characters. Though neither changes as the story progresses, if a character remains unchanged, it does not mean that he is one-dimensional like a flat character. A static character can be perfectly interesting, like Sherlock Holmes, who is completely ingenious, eccentric, and sometimes jerky. He never changes, but the audience still loves him. Thus, a static character could be the protagonist too, and a flat character, on the other hand, only plays a side role in the story." - ( link to definition )

Static characters are ones that don't experience any personal growth during the span of the story. They're often used in writing, because they're realistic and can be interesting if well-written. This article provides examples such as the aforementioned Sherlock Holmes, Captain America from The Avengers, and TommyInnit from the Drea- [gunshots]

But in all seriousness, c!Tommy is very easily a static character; a lot of the criticism of his character is about the fact that he doesn't change. He does gain experience and new relationships, he does suffer and becomes more and more traumatized, he does make choices out of impulse or emotion, but none of that is character development - he never overcomes his character flaws, including selfishness, stubbornness, and a lack of compassion or empathy for others. And I do not blame him for it as a person, and I do not consider him a badly-written character, even if he's a little frustrating to watch sometimes.

c!Tommy has two main reasons why he remains a static character.

a) he doesn't live in a constructive environment

It is normal for boys Tommy's age to be low on empathy. It's completely normal for them to be chaotic, immature pricks, because that is part of their growth. All of this would be just fine if c!Tommy was growing up in a highschool; however, he in actuality grew up on a land ruled by politics, wars and conflict.

I do not like using the age excuse, because I do not believe it makes his bad choices any more justified, but it's easy to realize why him being in such a position could stunt his personal growth.

At that age, you need guidance, whether it be from teachers, parents, or whatever other figures you're able to find around you. Usually, it is not difficult to find good people to look up to in today's world, but for c!Tommy, that isn't true.

In the pre-L'Manberg, post-Tommy era, there was moderate peace. Yes, there were conflicts, but none of them were damaging in the long term for anyone involved, and they were chaotic scuffles more than fights of ideals.

Once c!Wilbur came along, c!Tommy latched onto him. We all know how that went.

None of the adults Tommy had looked up to were in any capacity helpful to him growing or becoming a better person. He helped lead a revolution to help Wilbur gain power, he was lead to help Wilbur lead and unfair election, and witnessed the breakdown of the man he trusted shortly after. He was subjected to emotional manipulation by Dream, and then came to the wrong person for help. None of these things are reasons for positive change.

b) it's his major character flaw

Even in the few chances he had at genuine change, at forgiveness, at letting go, all provided by the environment or people around him, he didn't take them. Tommy doesn't like change, he fights it, and that is why he always loses. He doesn't want to change for the better, and he despises himself when he changes for the worse.

He looks for peace in a lack of activity, growth, or development. He searches for happiness in not letting go of the past, but hanging onto it for dear life, terrified that the people around him might change because he doesn't want to. And that is why, as long as he keeps this mindset, he'll never find it.

While other characters, such as Tubbo, Dream, Wilbur or Quackity seek to change the world around them, for the better or the worse, to rewind or to progress, and are willing to change themselves accordingly, Tommy does the opposite, because his biggest fear is people drifting apart and leaving him behind.

Let's get back to the point, then; what makes Technoblade a static character, and a good one at that?

His motivation is simple; he is a lawful character who sticks to his morals through thick and thin, follows a strict inner code, and is loyal to people above all.

On top of that, he is given no reason to change his morals.

No one's arguments against c!Techno have ever made much sense, let's be honest, and ever since he'd entered the server, Techno's been proven right over and over and over again.

He saw Wilbur face the consequences of having power over other people and then losing it, seeing the influence of corruption on the man he worked with. He was forced by the government to kill another person, to kill an ally, to kill an innocent. He was betrayed and used by the Pogtopian revolution, which knowingly kept things from Techno and fought to seize power, rather than destroy it. He was unfairly executed without a trial by corrupt politicians just absolutely demolishing the Geneva convention, holy crap people call Techno a war criminal, just in that one stream New L'Manberg commited so many war crimes-

Point stands that people say one thing and then do the other. Talk of freedom and then force people to do things (and no, forcing people not to force other people to do things doesn't count nor does it make Techno a hypocrite, get a better argument). Techno was never manipulated or swayed to someone's side against his ideals because he's not a man of words; he believes in what he sees, not what people tell him, especially since he's been repeatedly lied to.

That is the first thing a good static character needs; a strong motivation. Through everything that's happened, I'd say without a doubt that Technoblade has the strongest motivation out of everyone, which is to emancipate people from the tyranny of their rulers - not just sing about it and then establish a dictatorship - but to in fact do it, no matter the cost.

He's a very Paragon-type character, which is a common type of static; his moral code is too strong to allow emotional change.

Another thing a static character needs is personality. And Techno - if you watch his streams, not just others' perspectives - has a lot of that. From his bond with Phil and Ranboo to fondness of animals to sense of humour, the character is entertaining to watch and follow. You know what to expect of him, you know he won't betray, and that despite the flaws he has he will not let personal issues hold him back. He wins because he trains, and he puts hours into pulling crazy stunts, and he's persistent - it's satisfying for the people watching his perspective to see his efforts pay off.

His interactions with others are characterized by an attempt at kindness, no matter how many times he might fail at separating his personal life from the ideals he's pursuing.

And that is compelling! To draw parallels to Tommy again, the kid has so much personality that other characters could borrow from him and he'd still be fun to watch!

Neither Tommy nor Techno are flat characters, and I think that is the mistake a lot of people make when misinterpreting both the characters; Tommy and Techno are amazing examples of great static characters in fiction, and I'd like to applaud cc!Tommy and cc!Techno for being brilliant writers.

[willow-salix]

How about I throw out a new chapter?

That'll be nice for a Saturday, right?

Meh, have one anyway.

Here's a snippet:

Selene grabbed a slice of pizza from the box on the table and dropped down onto the couch next to Gordon, uncaring as to the fact that he was barely dressed. When you watched him dive in and out of the pool in his Olympic issue swimming speedos just because he felt like it, you were pretty much desistized to anything.

She took a bite and made a face, it wasn’t the best pizza she’d ever had, not that that would stop her, she started to chew. Tonight was definitely the time for comfort food and pizza, even when bad, is still pretty good.

“Why are you in my flat?” she asked around a mouthful. She chewed some more and swallowed quickly when she saw the look on his face. “Not that I mind you letting yourself in, you know you’re always welcome. But I thought you were with Penny for the whole weekend.”

Gordon shrugged casually, but his eyes flickered towards the discarded pile of clothes on the floor beside the couch. It looked like one of his new suits and really shouldn’t have been treated in such a way. The jacket was scrumpled in a ball and the pants left where they had fallen, the shirt lay tossed over the arm of the couch and the shoes had been kicked off haphazardly, one lying under the table while the other had flown clear across the room to land by the dresser.

“Didn’t feel like it once I got there, I left Penny to her networking and caught a cab back here as I wouldn't have been able to get into the manor.”

Selene scowled, that wasn't like him, he was one of the more social Tracys and, since he was still relatively young, he usually jumped at the chance to spend time off island if he could. A party or a dinner was usually greeted with great enthusiasm. She decided to ignore that for now, he'd tell her in his own time. Years ago she would have pushed him more, but now they all knew her well enough to know that she was there to listen whenever they needed her and would seek her out if they wanted to.

"How was the conference?" she asked instead, swiping his bottle of beer, one of John's he had obviously liberated from the fridge, and taking a sip. "You must have been so excited to be asked to speak."

Again he shrugged. "It was OK, I'm pretty sure they only asked me out of courtesy for Penny and because it looked good to have someone from International Rescue on the schedule. It was pretty boring really."

"Why did you say yes then? It's not like you don't have a good excuse to get out of anything you don't fancy."

"Penny said it would be good for me to start making a name for myself, she's right, I'm not getting any younger-"

Selene snorted at this, Gordon was only 26, he had his whole life ahead of him. Although, if anyone knew that your life could be changed or even snuffed out at any moment, it was Gordon, so she kept quiet.

"She said that I should start thinking about my long term plans. We can't be doing International Rescue full time forever and, while we do have enough money to never have to work, you know we'd all get bored. Everyone else seems to have a backup already, John does his remote lectures and writes his books, and you know that he's always being called on to consult or collaborate with someone for something or another. Virgil has that fancy engineering degree of his, he's always tinkering around with Brains and the things they invent together could keep them busy for years to come. Alan is all fresh and new, he's already making a name for himself online with his team ups with Brandon, and Scott could walk into a job with the air Force or the GDF without even pausing to ask, then there's me, no college education, no specialist subjects-"

"Bullshit," Selene cut in. "A college education isn't for everyone, just because you don't have a piece of paper doesn't mean you aren't smart or an expert in your field. Someone once told me that, because I didn't have that kind of higher education I wasn't as smart as them, that I wasn't capable of making decisions because I didn't have the same knowledge they did. But knowledge is subjective, babe."

Gordon snorted at that, he knew what it was like too, he knew how people would judge him as the dumb brother because he'd chosen a different path than the more academic one the others had taken.

"It's true," she insisted. "Look at John, as much as I adore that man, he's proof that all the book smarts in the world can't always compare to common sense or life experience. You can know all about astrophysics but if you don't know how to interact with people or how to survive in the world then you're fucked either way. You are amazing, you know science and biology and genetics or you wouldn't have made those beautiful fish or done so much for marine conservation and, no matter who you're dating, the Friends of the Ocean yearly conference would not have let you speak if you didn't know your shit."

"I know," he sighed, "but it doesn't always feel that way, you know?"

"Oh, believe me I know," she rolled her eyes and reached for another slice of pizza.

"I guess it's just hard to be surrounded by such high achieving brothers. I look at Penny and I think what is she doing with me? She would be much better suited to someone like Scott, or John, you know."

"I'm pretty sure that Cat and I would have something to say about that. Besides, look at me and John, it's not like anyone would put us two together. On paper we shouldn't work at all, we're far too different. Yet we do. You can't help who you fall in love with."

Gordon's eyes slid sideways to watch her, the tone in her voice telling him that she wasn't just talking about his brother at that moment. There was something there that spoke of past experiences that didn't hold good memories for her.

He frowned, a thought occurring to him, one that he just had to voice.

"Sel, why are you here? You don't have any clients booked, I know because you said that was why Scott had to drop me off, because you weren't heading back for at least a week."

Selene kept quiet, her eyes on her pizza slice. This wasn't like her, she usually needed to be prised off his brother and dragged away kicking and screaming. She liked to spend the majority of her time on the island with them even if John wasn't home.

"Did something happen?" Gordon's voice was quiet, comforting, not pushing her to speak but inviting her to confide in him if she wanted to.

"I just needed some space, some time alone," she finally admitted, still not looking at him as she fiddled with the crust of her pizza.

"Oh, do you need me to go? Sorry, I know I should have asked but I didn't know where else to go and I couldn't really face the questions back home." Trust him to burst in and make himself a nuisance when he wasn't welcome, it seemed to be the story of his life.

"No, you're fine," she assured him, patting his bare knee. "I get it. I don't need space from you, just your idiot brothers."

"Which ones, I have a lot," he grinned, relaxing a little now that they were back on more familiar territory.

"John and Scott."

His eyebrows rose at this. Scott he could understand, but she never needed time away from John, in fact she was always complaining that she didn't get enough.

"I walked out on my husband," she whispered, the slice of pizza hanging limply from her fingers. "He was upset and so was I but I left him, I walked out."

Gordon could not have been more shocked if she had suddenly grown a fishtail and whacked him in the crotch with it.

"Tell me what happened," he said, it wasn't a question, it was a silent demand, showing him to have the same authority that his father had, just in a more laid back package.

She didn't want to talk, she didn't want to drag it all up again now that she had finally calmed down from her breakdown at ten thousand feet. She didn't want to start thinking about it all again, but Gordon was there, all endearing face and big brown eyes that implored her to talk to him, to trust him. Maybe he wouldn't judge her too harshly, maybe he would understand. She risked a glance his way, seeing the firm set to his jaw, letting her know on no uncertain terms that he was not prepared to let this go.

"John punched my ex-fiance in the face and broke his nose," she answered, knowing she had no other choice.

OK, if he had thought her last statement was shocking this little revelation shot it into orbit.

"He…what? John? My brother John?"

"Yep, with the other dumbass tagging along for good measure apparently."

"OK, OK, give me a second to get my head around this, I need to process. My brother, the one that is usually so against violence of any kind, straight up punched your ex?"

Selene nodded.

"Come on, surely you aren't pissed off at him for that? He must have had a good reason for it!"

"Well, Nathaniel isn't a good guy at the best of times..."

"Nathaniel? I don't know about him."

Selene frowned, glancing his way again. Was he being honest with her right now, did he really not know? Surely if Penny knew then she would have told Gordon too?

“Penny didn’t tell you?” she asked, needing to clarify.

“One thing to remember about Penny is that she's very good at keeping secrets and knows how to keep things close to her chest. She only ever tells what she thinks you need to know,” he chuckled lightly but to Selene's ears it lacked his usual humour, sounding a little flat. “So, spill, I’m all ears. You know that a problem shared is, well maybe not a problem halved but at least you won’t be suffering on your own.”

Selene smiled softly, he really was the best boy. She'd admit that if she had to pick someone to open up to and talk to about her problems, Gordon probably wouldn’t be at the top of her list, but in times like these he reminded her of just how awesome he really was. It was easy to forget that he could be serious, it often got lost in the bad jokes and his general enthusiasm for life, but that didn't mean that he wasn't as dependable as the others.

"It's a long story."

"I've got time," he gestured down to his almost naked self and the half eaten pizza. "Not like I'm going anywhere."

Selene paused, did she really want to dredge it all up again? The answer was no, but, whatever Nathaniel did as retaliation, and there was no question that he would, was bound to spill over into all their lives. They would all find out sooner or later, hell, it seemed like half of them knew already, it would be better for it to come from her in her own words.

"We're gonna need more beer,” she sighed, tossing the half eaten pizza slice back in the box.

Read the rest here on Ao3 ➡

[tessiete]

Prompt request where crechemates Obi Wan, Quinlan, and Luminara catch up after Obi Wan’s year on Mandalore. They’re Jedi but they’re also lifelong friends and Obi Wan is sad...

ANON!!! I’m so sorry this has taken ages, but you know - we did it! Thank you so much for the prompt. It was an absolute joy to write Luminara, and try to meld together my Legends peeps with canon. ❤️❤️❤️

THIS TOO SHALL PASS

He comes back changed, so different that in that first brief moment between arrival and recognition, Luminara thinks she’s never known him at all. There’s a stiffness to his spine that speaks of something deeper than injury, and a weariness to his eyes that comes not from fatigue, but wisdom. His master’s hand lingers on his shoulder, and Obi-Wan leans into the touch, his frame trailing like the tail of a comet in Qui-Gon’s wake. But then he sees her, and he smiles, and he looks like he always has.

“Senior Padawan Luminara,” he says, stepping close and bowing deep. “I heard the good news on the platform as soon as we touched down. Congratulations.”

She bows back, neither as deeply, nor as grave, his impish humour undeserving of too much indulgence.

“And you as well, padawan,” she says. “Only you would manage to find a Council-sanctioned reason for skipping an entire year of Astronav.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” he says, eyes alight with mirth. “It was a matter of utmost political delicacy, and I am honoured that the Council, as well as the Chancellor himself saw fit to trust my master and I with such a task.”

“Ah, yes,” she says. “You are well known for your love of politicians. Tell me, is the Duchess of Mandalore very pretty?”

He falters then, a furrow forming between his brows, his lashes fluttering and eyes sliding away from hers in search of something that isn’t there. Ah. She raises her hand, and with a slender forefinger, smoothes away the crease.

“Hush, Obi-Wan,” she says. “This too will pass in time.”

He takes her hand in his, and holds tight. A smile, just as tight, flits bravely across his face, and he inhales sharp, and bright.

“It’s nothing,” he says. Then, as though for proof he adds, “And she was very pretty.”

But Luminara isn’t fooled at all.

She watches him at meals, and in classes - though with a year between them now, their schedules don’t quite match as neatly as they once had. Still, she sees. There are the usual things that linger in any padawan, or knight, after more difficult missions, of course. He keeps his back to the wall. He looks for exits. He always is the last to leave a room, and tries to be the first to enter one, but there is more than that.

There is a softness now. It’s...it’s nearly unnoticeable, and even more undefinable, but there is something soft about him that wasn’t there before. He listens more attentively. He watches more carefully. He frowns and thinks before he speaks, and the little furrow between his brows is remembered by his skin.  He leans close when she whispers to him, so near that his hair grazes gently over her lips, and he doesn’t stare at Siri anymore. Not like he used to. But he laughs, and he offers her his hand instinctively, when they take an aircar to the lower districts one evening.

He has learned intimacy.

“Must’ve been some kind of girl!” Quinlan shouts, as they reminisce over drinks in a seedy little club in CocoTown. Obi-Wan grimaces as Quin lands a jocund punch on his bicep. He’s in high spirits tonight, having managed to scrape his way through Theoretical Basic with Obi-Wan’s help. “I know you’d never leave me to suffer as I did for just anyone.”

“Cut it out, Quin,” says Siri, knocking back a shot of something thick and glowing. “Can’t you see he’s distraught?”

“I’m not distraught,” Obi-Wan protests. “I’m just embarrassed to be out in public with you lot.”

“Aw, Obi-Bi,” says Quinlan. “You missed us. Admit it. There’s no duchess in this entire Force-forsaken galaxy that can hold a candle to the pleasure of my company.”

“Oh, please,” scoffs Siri, her mouth grimacing at the sour twist of liquor and Quinlan’s own peculiar arrogance. “You make Gardulla the Hutt look like Alderaanian royalty.”

“Hey Tachi,” says Quinlan, “Aren’t you too young to be out without your master?”

“Hey Vos,” she retorts, “Aren’t you too old to still have one?”

He flicks a protato wedge across the table, which Siri dodges easily, snatching it out of the air with a deft application of the Force, and eating it while he protests her theft.

“I paid for that!”

Garen laughs, while Reeft is too busy scarfing down half a nerf to offer his opinion one way or another. But Luminara watches. Obi-Wan smiles, and smiles but it never lasts for longer than he is observed. It falls away quickly when he drops his eyes, or ducks his head as though the weight of it is pulling his whole being down. His presence in the Force isn’t dimmed. He is as cool, and clear as he has ever been, but she cannot sound him. Like the ocean, he is fathoms deep.

She nudges his foot beneath the table, and he looks at her, attentive to whatever she might need, for surely there is something he might do, something he might say that would fulfill her want and distract him from his own. But she only cocks her head, and studies him, mouthing “Are you okay?” over empty drek and ale bottles.

He blinks. Confusion springs up like a keen defensive blade and he nods as though she were a fool for asking. She presses her lips until they are thin as flimsi, and takes a sip of drek.

“Here, Obi,” says Quin, shoving a shot into his hand. “You and me are gonna drink Tachi under the table.”

“And no purging,” Siri adds. She raises her own glass in salute. “Last woman standing wins!”

And with a cry, and an encouraging hand guiding his own, Obi-Wan joins in the competition, drinking until Quinlan winds up half-conscious in the fresher, and Siri is slapped with a lifetime ban. Reeft, and Garen stagger off to Dex’s, while as penance, Siri vows to see Quinlan safely to the Halls of Healing. Hopefully Bant is on duty and will take pity on them.

“If I really grovel, she might even hook us up with one of those Corellian selamine drips!” Siri slurs, Quinlan draped over her shoulders and drowsing.

Luminara seriously doubts that is a possibility, but says nothing. She only nods encouragingly, and adjusts her hold on her own unstable burden. Obi-Wan has fared better than Quinlan, knowing better than to challenge Siri to a bet, and having learned, somewhere along the way, that some battles are better left unfought, but still he struggles to keep his feet, and Luminara braces herself to steady him.

They squeeze into the aircar together, but are forced to walk the last few blocks to the Temple, when Quinlan unceremoniously vomits out the back window. Most of it is whipped away by the wind, but their driver is furious, and refuses to go any further. And while guiding the steps of three drunken beings is more tedious than simply shoving them in a taxi had been, there is some fortune in this outcome as they manage to make it past Temple security with far less notice than if they’d had to be cleared at the private docks.

Still, Siri and Quinlan make no secret of their passage, laughing and giggling at every missed step or absent whim. At the crossroads between quarters and the Halls, she waits until they stagger out of sight before turning her charge towards his master’s rooms. He’s quiet, pliant, and easily led - a state that she cannot attribute to anything except the quantity of drink in his system, since his stubborn willfulness is something which was left quite unchanged.

“Come on, Obi-Wan,” she whispers, as they approach his chamber door. “Help me out, here.”

She nudges him in the ribs, and lifts his arm while his head lolls sideways to tuck under her chin. She feels his lips against her neck, his breath hot. He smells of sweat, and stale cigarra, and brittle nighttime wind.

“Rejorhaa'ir ni meg gar copad, Sat’ika.”

The words are soft, reverent, hardly more than a kiss upon her skin, and Luminara knows they are not for her. She shakes him harder. Hard enough to dislodge him from his perch atop her collarbone, and drop him into wakefulness.

“Satine?” he mumbles, blinking in the dark. He speaks the name like an orison, and Luminara feels her heart ache with the weight of his prayer.

“I’m not Satine,” she says. “You’re home now. You have to open the door and go in.”

“What?”

“The door, Obi-Wan.” She nudges him further ahead, forcing his feet to accept the responsibility of gravity.

He stumbles, but catches himself, and lets out a sigh.

“Master Qui-Gon is never going to let me hear the end of this,” he says, pressing his palm flat beside the door, and staggering through as it slides away with a hiss.

She follows him in, catching him at the waist as he makes an aborted attempt to collapse across the couch in the common room. His hand hits a clay pot, sending it spinning, and his foot strikes a hollow note against the little wooden table at his side.

“Careful,” she scolds, righting the plant, and listening for the sound of a wakeful master. “We’re going to go to your room.”

“Ah, Padawan Unduli, you’re trying to sed-”

“Padawan Kenobi, keep quiet, lest you wake your master.”

“Right,” he says. And that is sufficient threat, for he keeps any further jibes and jokes to himself as they pick their way down the hall to his room.

This time, she opens the door, her hand firmly in the middle of his back as she escorts him in. The room is still musty from his time away, and though it is no bigger than any standard issue room in any other double suite, it still feels empty and cavernous around them. Obi-Wan hasn’t lived here in a very long time. The walls themselves have forgotten him.

“Thanks for helping me home,” he says. He drops upon his bed, shrugging off his cloak and pulling at the clasps upon his boots. His fingers are wild and clumsy. She watches him struggle for a moment, before pity takes hold, and she kneels down to assist. She brushes his hands aside, and he falls back against the wall, his breaths rasping loudly in the dark.

“If you’re going to be sick let me know,” she says, with a brow raised in barest concern. “I don’t want you to aspirate on your own.”

“I’m not going to be sick,” he insists, voice thick.

“Or if you’re going to cry,” she adds.

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m not. I missed you.””

She shucks the boots, and lifts his legs onto the bed, pulling a blanket across him. He closes his eyes but his jaw is tight, and that furrow in his brow remains. She reaches out to smooth it.

“I missed you, too. Sleep now,” she says. “And dream of lovely things.”

“I’d rather dream of nothing,” he whispers. “I’d rather not dream at all, if all I’ll see is her.”

His hand clenches over the edge of the sheets. She sits, and folds his hand beneath her own. In the stillness of this empty room, and the comfort of his childhood bed, he fights. He bites his lip, until the blood has fled, and the tender flesh turns white. He turns his head, and swallows hard, again and again to drown that anguish, to bridle that emotion, and master himself, just as a Jedi ought. At the corner of one eye, sorrow beads and slips across his cheek. She soothes that injury, too, and murmurs to him sweetly.

“Hush, Obi-Wan, you’re home, now. You’re safe. You’re here. I’m here. Be here, with me.”

“But I will never be there again,” he says, choking on the words as they break free. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I’ll miss her forever. It’s all over, now.”

“It is,” she sighs, stroking his hair. It has grown long in a year, and his braid is nearly hidden. “It’s over, but it happened. You loved her. And she loved you.”

“I could have stayed,” he cries. “I would have left for her.”

“But you didn’t. You came back. Do you now regret it?”

He gasps. A wretched sob breaks loose, and he surges up, panic, and despair, and overwhelming loss sending him reeling into her arms. He weeps against her chest until he is exhausted, and her robes are crystalised with salt.

“You can still go back,” she whispers, a secret in his ear. “If you wanted. The choice is yours to make.”

He shakes his head, and tightens his grip.

“I made my choice,” he says, tongue thick and slow. But his tone is clear. His heart resolved. He knows what it is he speaks. “I am a Jedi. This is where I’m meant to be.”

“Then trust the Force,” she tells him, gently. “And trust yourself. This, too, shall pass in time.”

[47-shades-of-hitman]

In Your Likeness | Chapter 5 - A sliver of humanity

“Hey, you down for a run?”

Agent 47 looked up from the folder Diana had given him and saw you standing on the threshold, hands on your hips. Your hair had been tightly tucked behind your ears and instead of your usual Assassin’s attire, you now wore a somewhat more casual fit.

“Why not.” he said, standing up and putting away the documents.

You hummed and plopped down on one of the available chairs.

“Well then, I’ll wait here for a bit until you’re ready to go.”

He frowned. “Wait for what?”

“For you to put on your training gear, or something more breathable.” you said.

After a moment of silence you turned to him.

“You aren’t going to tell me that your plan was to… To run in that suit?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, a lot actually.” you explained, “People will stare. Besides, it’s very hot outside.”

“I function just right in this no matter the heat.”

You arose from your seat and crossed your arms, opposing him. “It looks ridiculous. A man sprinting in a suit like that through ancient Jerusalem. Tell you what, we’ll take an alternative route instead.”

Agent 47 wasn’t sure what you meant – “Alternative route?”

Instead of answering, you turned on your heel and left the room, the hitman soon following. He easily caught up to you and in silence, you left the Brotherhood’s quarters.

Despite the scorching heat, you broke out into a slight jog to warm up.

“Do you do parkour?” you quizzed upon approaching a wall.

“Excuse me?”

You flung yourself onto it, grabbing ridges and bricks that were sticking out, climbing up with practised ease. In about six seconds, you stood on top of a two-story building, peering over the edge to see what was taking him so long.

“I’m not sure if I…”

You pointed at the drainpipe on the side of the wall, shrugging. “Just use that. You’ll learn.”

47 climbed up and dusted down his slacks right after. “Heavily reliant on scaling buildings, aren’t you?”

You chuckled dryly. 

“The Assassins have been doing that since the beginning of the Brotherhood. If anything, it’s one of our most important skills. It’s a fantastic way to go from A to B unseen, and way quicker at that. I don’t carry them on me at this moment, but on one of my bracers I do have a grappling hook which I can use to my advantage.”

Walking over the flat rooftops, you hopped from one house to the other, staying out of sight from balconies and cameras.

“The beginning of the Brotherhood,” Agent 47 repeated. “How far back does it date? Golden Age? Middle Ages?”

A laugh fell from your lips and you jumped down a ledge before propelling yourself up a higher wall, gripping the edge. After hoisting yourself up, you turned back to help 47 out, but he managed just fine on his own.

“No, 47. The Brotherhood of Assassin originates in ancient Egypt.”

“Egypt?”

“In the time of Cleopatra. The Hidden Ones were the first ones, but no one knows who they really were. Eventually, it grew out into a Brotherhood for people carrying out assassinations and protecting our employers. Long story short: through the ages, we spread all over the world. Greece, Italy, America, France, England… You name it.”

47 let out a sound of surprise, since he had never known that it dated so far back.

“Our cause was to fight for peace above all things. Protect the people who needed us to do so. Working in the dark to serve the light. Our motto –  nothing is true, everything is permitted .”

You halted and looked out over the Wailing Wall, folding your hands on your back. Taking in the sight of Jews gathering to pray brought a sense of serenity.

“We fight for peace in freedom. And in that, we differ from our enemies, the Templars, or their more public name nowadays, Abstergo Industries . Once founded in the early thousands, set on claiming back the Holy Land under a veil of Catholicism, but under the surface, a whole lot less to do with whatever peace the church preaches. The Order of the Knights Templar once believed that peace could only be gained through oppression of lesser people and dictatorship.”

You shuddered even though the weather was far from cold – thoroughly appalled by the idea of them.

“And eventually, it became an institute of rich men seeking to become more wealthy and powerful. And then came the Pieces of Eden. Of course they already existed, but the more modern war about them, I mean.”

For a moment, you looked over at 47 to see if he was still listening. His eyes were as blue as the sky and made your heart skip a beat. Every time you saw that colour you remembered that they were the bluest shade you had ever seen.

Deciding to proceed walking, you stepped away, 47 in tow.

“I promise I won’t bore you for any longer.” you said, “If I’m talking too much, just say the word.”

“Well,” 47 began, “I was the one who asked you to teach me about the Brotherhood of Assassins, did I not?”

Your lips quirked upward and you exhaled. “I suppose. Tell me about you first, it would only be fair.”

“If you insist.” he said, “At the moment, I work for the ICA. It’s an organization handling contracts given by clients. I’m their hitman for particularly difficult jobs.”

“Like seeking out a secret organization created by both of our enemies.”

“Correct. As you know, I’m genetically made to be the best assassin one can create, with a very low failure rate.”

You hopped down a few roofs and reached a lower wall, where you jumped off, landing on the cobble street. Your conversation hadn’t made you able to do some parkouring through the town, anyway.

“Since you told your story quite quickly, I shall make mine short, too. I killed Ort-Meyer, who created me through his experiments, wanted to leave the world of killing by living with a priest, but eventually, he got kidnapped and I was pulled back into the trade. After all, I barely know how to do anything else.”

A large grin spread over your face as you two walked down the street, pushing past a few tourists in the process. “A priest? Never expected you of all people to take interest in such things.”

“I tended to the garden.” 47 explained, unsure why he was telling you this – after all, he barely knew you and whatever he was telling could be used against him, for he couldn’t be seen as weak.

But your eyes were kind and glimmered in amusement as you looked at him.

“Look at you, the one purely created to take lives, tends and cares for it.”

47’s gut twisted in confusion at the lack of humour in your voice. Where he had expected you to mock him for it, you were inexplicably accepting. “I suppose.” he mused.

“And here we are.” you added. “This way.”

You guided him outside of the ancient city and went uphill for a while, the Mount of Olives at your right hand.

“The Pieces of Eden, then.” 47 reminded you.

“Oh, yes.” you breathed, “The Pieces of Eden grant the holder great power over others. The Templars want those artefacts for themselves, so the Creed countered by making it their duty to do all to prevent that. And if we know where those artefacts are, we can keep an eye on them, take them to hide them away and most importantly, avoid conflict.”

“Avoid conflict? That clashes with our current mission.”

“Well, if it  can  be avoided. We’re not afraid to fight for it. Peace through freedom, I mean. Sometimes force is needed, and so it shall be done.” you concluded, shrugging a little.

“And you, what is your story?” 47 quizzed as the pair of you halted on top of the Mount of Olives. You were slightly out of breath because of the heat, holding your hand above your brow to shield yourself from the sunlight. The golden Dome of the Rock stood shining brightly.

“I’m (Y/n) (L/n), thirty-five years old, Master Assassin of Jerusalem’s Brotherhood. Nothing that you don’t know of.”

Agent 47 huffed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Why the interest?” you softly quizzed. “It’s not that it matters.”

“You said you wanted to become acquainted.”

You smirked, folding your hands on your back, closing your eyes to enjoy the light of the sun on your cheeks.

“I was born into the Brotherhood, like my father and his father’s father. Needless to say, we have a long history in the Creed. Not the most prominent or anything, but quite famous. My father’s side of the family consisted of ruthless Assassins, living for their trade. My father fell in love with a young female Assassin and married her – my mother. They had my brother, Joseph, and me. All was well and my parents were loved by the Brotherhood, but one day, my father died while on duty.”

Your voice faltered upon ending your sentence, and you looked at your boots for a moment, exhaling deeply. “I never really got to know the man who he was behind the blade. He trained us, and everything I know, I know from him. In hindsight, he was more a mentor than a father. I respect him greatly, but I never felt like I was his daughter. I suppose it’s a bit strange… Well, not for you. In theory, you killed the man who put you onto this Earth.”

Agent 47 hummed, breathing in the scorching air.

“And your mother?”

“She’s in Thailand, in a retirement home set up by Assassins. There she can live her final days in peace, try to forget about the passing of her husband and her son, but with her later stage of Alzheimer’s, I’m not sure where her emotions are at the moment.”

Gesturing to the side, you told Agent 47 to head down the street.

“What happened to Joseph?”

You halted in your tracks, a few tourists that had been walking behind you nearly bumping into you, muttering something angry in what you recognized to be Spanish –  Perdona , you murmured, shaking your head before resuming your walk, albeit at a quicker pace now.

“I don’t like to talk about it.” you said, “Maybe another time. I’ve already told a lot about myself. Enough for now. We should get to actually working out, now.”

Breaking out into a jog, you started running down the street, passing by tourists every now and then.

“Do you often run?” 47’s voice was unusually steady given that you were dashing forward at quite a pace.

“As often as I can. Keeps me fit.”

He hummed in agreement. “Can’t argue with that.”

You went running through a few streets before speaking again – “Mind if I spice this up a bit?”

Before 47 could respond, however, you were already scaling a high wall on your left, pushing yourself up with practised ease. He spotted a drainpipe and sighed in acceptance, soon following you up the roof.

When he finally vaulted onto it, he saw that you were already a few buildings away, leaping from one with so much as the bat of an eye.

“Are you seeing this?” he asked, then realizing that Diana couldn’t hear him – after all, he wasn’t on a mission and thus he didn’t carry his trackers – and he knew that pursuing you wouldn’t bring him anywhere. Another thing he recognized was that he lacked an important skill he hadn’t realised he didn’t have, until now. You leapt further and further away, gracefully so, as if you were dancing.

Where he mostly blended into the crowd, hiding in plain sight, you were away in the blink of an eye, gone with the wind.

You looked over your shoulder, seeing him just stand on the roof where you had left him. He was watching you with an odd posture, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of your antics.

Smirking, you shook your head, resuming your trip back to the headquarters. Bouncing to the edge, you peered down the side of the roof to see if it was all still clear, and upon seeing that the bushes were still soft and plump enough to fall upon, you spread your arms, diving off.

Agent 47 felt his stomach churn in shock, his breath hitching as he watched you jump. As if snapped out of a trance, he darted to the end as quickly as he could, immediately figuring out the importance of scaling and parkour in the speed at which he was currently going.

He came to a halt at the edge and leaned over it to find you standing with your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I thought you…”

“Hm…” you replied. “Come on, let’s get back to the headquarters.”

47 slid down a drainpipe and walked up to you.

“That was… Impressive.” 47 stated as you resumed your trip back to the base.

“Thank you.” you mused, “That dive was a  Leap of Faith. Took a long time to master.”

“I can imagine.”

You turned your face away, smiling in amusement.

Even though it was tiny, a bond was starting to form.

These months were going to become interesting, you figured.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Fics where they pine over each other while the other one is in a relationship? Example: Sherlock pines for John while he's with Mary or someone else. Or John pines for Sherlock while he's with someone else. Preferably with a happy ending!!

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: Do you know of any fics where either John, Sherlock or both of them are in relationships which stops them from getting together? Idk if I’m explaining this well. Kind of like fics where Sherlock is pining for John but they can’t be together bc John’s already with Mary or someone else but there’s still a lot flirting and stuff. Or it could be the opposite where John pines for Sherlock but Sherlock is dating someone else. And ones where there’s a happy ending, and they get together! Thanks!!

Hi Nonnies!

I’m feeling like you’re the same nonny, since these came in around the same time and are worded very similarly, but I’ll assume they’re not and put these together since they’re very similar :) I for sure have fics with these parameters on these lists here:

Pining Sherlock || [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

John Marries and Sherlock Admits his Feelings

Mutual Pining

Infidelity

John Chooses Sherlock Over Mary

I have a couple other pining lists I’ve still to post, LOL. But let’s go through my bookmarks and see what I got for you. Some of these are like… really LIGHT on the “relationship as an obstacle” but they’re the catalyst of sorts. I’ve certainly missed a lot, these are just the ones I recall for sure that there was a relationship of sorts before Johnlock LOL. I might have messed up on one or two fics but I hope you don’t hold it against me, LOL

——–

RELATIONSHIPS AN OBSTACLE TO JOHNLOCK

I don’t mind by beltainefaerie (G, 221 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Stag Night, 221B, Post-TRF, Angst, Longing) – Sherlock is more vulnerable than he pretends. Part 4 of Bel’s Tumblr Ficlets

And Then I Fall by sherlockholmes_doctorwatson (G, 973 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Unrequited Love, POV Sherlock, Reichenfeels) – He was right. Falling is just like flying.

The Talons of Sentiment by dearcst (G, 1,463 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV, Angst, Unrequited Love, Pining Sherlock) – I promised myself long ago I wouldn’t succumb to something so degrading, something so vicious. I promised I wouldn’t let myself fall. But that was before him. That was before I met John. In sleep there is such bliss and peace, and as John slept on my shoulder, it killed me inside to know I was so close yet I could never touch him.

In Which John is Attractive and Sherlock is Angry by kim47 (T, 2,382 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Est. Rel., Jealous Sherlock) – Sherlock’s reaction to finding out that everyone wants HIS John, and how he told them to piss off and get their own Watson.

and stand there at the edge of my affection by coloredink (G, 2,683 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Letters, Clueless John) – “You’ve written love letters,” Sherlock asserted.

No Strings Attached by Elster (G, 2,714 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Fairy Tales, Love Confessions, Fae/Faeries) – To save John from being spirited away Under the Hill, Sherlock challenges the fairy queen to a fiddle contest.

Turn the key, and come home by TooManyChoices (M, 2,718 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Angst With a Happy Ending, Emotional Messes, Implied Sex, Angst and Humour, Bed Sharing, Post-TRF) – Sherlock and John have been dancing around what’s between them for years. Will John return to Baker Street, and if so, will things ever be the same?

Let Go by thisisforyou (G, 2,743 w., 1 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious / Worried Sherlock) – In the end, separating John’s things from Sherlock’s in the chaos of their sitting room is like pulling a limpet from a wet rock. Especially when the rock is clinging on for dear life, because Sherlock doesn’t want to let go. Short, fluffy h/c Johnlock oneshot.

It’s After That Hurts by jonnyluvssherlock (T, 2,791 w., 1 Ch. || City of Angels AU || Fantasy, Fallen Angel Sherlock, Soldier John, Pining Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Permanently Incomplete Fic) – Sherlock’s an angel stuck as a guardian to danger addict John Watson. Everything is fine until he gets too involved. Now he has to make the choice, eternity alone or one life time with a man who may or may not love him.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

Until the End of the World by SarahCat1717 (G, 3,049 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, First Kiss, Pining Sherlock, Oblivious John, Drunkenness) – Taking place in Season 3, John listens to an old favourite song and sorts through his memories and feelings about Sherlock and Mary.

MR# 1430155 by blueink3 (T, 3,560 w., 1 Ch. || Talks of Parentlock, Baby Watson, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Fluff and Angst) – John paces the length of the not inconsiderable hallway and glances at his phone for the tenth time since he exited the hospital room seven minutes ago. Sherlock’s last text was sent at 5:06pm. It is now 5:39pm. He should be here by now. After all, his daughter is 46-minutes-old and if John is going to share this momentous event with someone, it sure as hell isn’t going to be the woman who just gave birth to her. Part 5 of Tumblr Prompts

But Tonight You Belong to Me by esplanade (T, 4,296 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff & Angst, Pining, Stag Night, Sad Ending) – “You. It’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right.”

The Prize We Sought Is Won by deathfrisbees (E, 4,610 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Mild D/S, Oral, Military Kink, Bottomlock) – Sherlock’s in love, or in lust, or both–unfortunately, the object of his affections is not only his completely oblivious flatmate, but said flatmate would probably run screaming into the hills should he find out. John’s been invited to a wedding–unfortunately, the groom used to serve under him back in Afghanistan, and requests that John wear a uniform he’s honestly not sure he fits into. Unfortunately for both flatmates, Sherlock’s got a military kink the size of Kandahar and John wants to know if he actually can fit into this uniform or if his eyes are deceiving him. It goes from there.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want by hubblegleeflower (E, 4,804 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Sexual Tension, UST / RST, First Time) – John wants. He always has, but now that he’s living with Sherlock again, it’s all he can do to hold it back. And Sherlock isn’t helping…

No Light, No Light (in your bright blue eyes) by orphan_account (G, 5,915 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Songfic, Mutual Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension, UST/URT) – Relates to both Sherlock’s and John’s feelings for each other and highlights select moments of hurt and inner turmoil starting from right before the fall all the way to HLV.

Recovery by thesignsofserbia (T, 5,948 w., 1 Ch. || HLV-Fix It / Rewrite, Villain Mary, Pining Sherlock, Major Character Injury, Scars, Self-Hatred, POV Sherlock, Doctor John, Friends to Lovers) – Set after the confrontation with Mary, and Sherlock’s cardiac arrest, John stays at 221B to aid Sherlock’s recovery, forcing them to confront wounds both old and new as they try to heal their damaged relationship.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It’s a perfectly normal thing to do. If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that’s no one’s business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

The Light of Day by allonsys_girl (M, 7,297 w., 4 Ch. || First Kiss, Angst, TSo3-Fix-It, Possessive Sherlock) – Rewrite of the end of Sign of Three. John actually notices Sherlock leaving the reception early, and chases after him. Angsty Johnlock. Happy ending, for sure. Part 1 of The Light of Day

On the Losing Side by missselene (E, 8,210 w., 1 Ch. || Anal / Oral, First Kiss / Time, Angst, Misunderstandings, Mild Dub Con / Drunk John) – After Mary’s death, John moves back into Baker Street, but is still upset at the loss of his wife and child. Eventually, he and Sherlock stumble into a sort of relationship, but it’s more physical than anything and they don’t talk about it. They especially don’t talk during sex. If they are going to have sex, Sherlock notices the signs hours beforehand, and he prepares carefully. The lights are off, they’re under the covers, he prepares himself using lots of lube so he can make it feel as much like a woman as he can, and he doesn’t let himself make any noise so that, if John wishes, he can pretend that he’s still with Mary.

The Engine by stitchy (T, 8,294 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, ASiP Do-Over, Sci-Fi, Time Travel) – Shortly after the events of His Last Vow, Sherlock has an opportunity to revisit the night of A Study in Pink and get some perspective on the destiny of he and John’s relationship.

Every Night I Look for You by destinationtoast (E, 8,377 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Post-TRF, Angst, Mystery, Unsafe Sex, BAMF John) – Every night, John looks for familiar hints of Sherlock in the men he meets in bars, and he does with them all the things he wishes he’d done before. Eventually, he stumbles into a situation that Sherlock would know how to handle, and John must decide whether he can handle it without him.

Matters of National Security by mistyzeo (E, 8,465 w., 1 Ch. || BAMF John, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Dating, Bisexuality, Arguing, Stupidity, Teasing, First Kiss/Time, Hand Jobs, Frottage, RST, Idiots in Love) – John starts dating a male client of Sherlock’s, and Sherlock can’t figure out why he’s so incensed about it.

To Quote Malcolm Tucker; or, Get The Fuck In or Fuck The Fuck Off by kim47 (T, 8,484 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous Sherlock, Flirting, Cockblocking) – Sherlock is cockblocker and a prick tease and John is not amused.

Never Been This Swept Away by estalita11 (T, 8,531 w, 1 Ch. || Post-TAB, Mary is Not Nice, Drug Use, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Set immediately after TAB, Sherlock visits his brother to definitely not apologize about earlier and ends up finally learning a few things that would have been nice knowing about months ago. Mycroft never wants to deal with lovestruck idiots ever again.

High Tide by stardust_made (T, 8,540 w., 1 Ch. || Jealousy, Angst, First Kiss) – A little favour Sherlock stupidly agrees to do for Mycroft leads to John meeting a handsome, affluent man, who is going out of his way to woo him. Sherlock struggles with the situation and with his own reactions to it. Part 1 of The High Tide Series

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8,737 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Stroppy Sherlock, Love Letters, POV John) – Sherlock asks John for relationship advice. Little does he know that it’s him that Sherlock is in love with.

All the Times Something ALMOST Happened by allonsys_girl (T, 9,049 w., 6 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Angst, Friendship/Love, UST) – John and Sherlock dancing around what they dance around in canon.

How To Give Your Boyfriend Who Doesn’t Know He’s Your Boyfriend the Best Valentine’s Day Ever by unicornpoe (T, 9,832 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Crack, Soft Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock is pretty sure that John Watson is his boyfriend. He’s also pretty sure that John doesn’t know it. But with a little help from a magazine, some friends, three crepes, five dates, one awesome CD, and a stalker van, John is bound to realize just in time for Valentine’s Day.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John’s identity tags around his wrist.

Paparazzi by SilentAuror (E, 10,543 w., 1 Ch. || Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Post S3) – John moves back into 221B Baker Street after his marriage falls apart and the paparazzi won’t leave him and Sherlock alone about the status of their supposed relationship. Sherlock, of course, never denies it, until one day he does…

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w. || UST/RST, For an Experiment) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by “accident”, it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (M, 12,757 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, POV John, Phone Sex, Texting, Masturbation, Long Distance, Drunk Texting) – What am I doing? he wondered. The answer came back at once: Flirting. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there. He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes.

I’m content as we are (but) by inqui (The_Circus) (E, 13,086 w. || Jealous John, UST/RST, Pining, Victor Trevor, Minor Whump, First Kiss / Time, Misunderstandings) – In which John Watson sees something unusual, becomes jealous, and makes too much of a small thing as an old friend of Sherlock’s shows up in the middle of a case.

Say For Me, Love by MirabileLectu (T, 13,147 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Drama, Pining John, Victor Trevor) – If you had asked John this morning what the result of his quiet afternoon at home would be, discovering a truth about Sherlock’s past startling enough to shift the foundations of their friendship would not have been his first guess. So naturally, that was what was bound to happen.

The Nutcracker by Odamaki (T, 13,758 w., 7 Ch. || Nutcracker AU ||  Christmas, Dark Magic, Dolls) – Sherlock is unimpressed with Uncle Rudy’s present. A doll? What does he want with a doll?

Barricade by stitchy (M, 14,127 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix It, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending, UST, Mary’s Not Nice, First Time, Pining Sherlock, Time Skip Filler, Drunkenness) – Sherlock has been struggling to keep his feelings at bay for everyone’s sake. Part 1 of Barricade

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w., 1 Ch. || POV First Person Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Stroppy Sherlock, Light Humour, Friendship, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Wall Kisses, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – Sherlock doesn’t even know why he resents John’s dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don’t let that scare you off!)

Second Chance by SilentAuror (E, 15,816 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Divorce, Friends to Lovers, UST, Romance) – Now that John’s divorce has gone through and the dust is settling, Sherlock thinks that he would very much like to see if there is any possibility of moving their friendship in another direction. The only thing is, he has no idea how to go about doing that…

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John’s preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Software Malfunction by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (E, 16,679 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Android Sherlock, Love Story, Unhappy Ending, Angst, Suicide, Jealousy) – “You think I can’t love you? Just because you’re made with metal, and detailed programming?” The doctor propped himself on his elbow, and looked down at it. “I am nothing but blood and bone, and tissue. Things just managed get mashed together in a manner that made me like this. Just like you were put together to make you how you are. When I kiss you-” he did so, briefly, to prove his point. Then more deeply, and lingering, because he could. “When I touch you, or smile at you, does it make you feel different from when others have done it in the past?”

Best of Three by SilentAuror (E, 17,473 w., 1 Ch || POV John, 3G Moment, Porn with Feels, Post HLV, Rimming, Denial, Anal) – “You want to have sex with me,” Sherlock announces one evening about a year after John’s divorce. John’s vigorous denial sparks a three-day wager wherein Sherlock is determined to prove his point, and John is determined to hold onto his heterosexuality. Set well after HLV. (Canon-compliant). PORN. With feels.

Let’s Make a Bed Out in the Rain by theimprobable1 (M, 17,664 w., 11 Ch.|| Pining Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, First Kiss, Unrequited, Jealous Sherlock, Protective Sherlock) – John is devastated after his long-term girlfriend leaves him. Sherlock helps him through it.

I Think I’ve Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

John Watson doesn’t have a Boyfriend by naughtyspirit (E, 18,932 w., 7 Ch. || UST / URT, Fluff & Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – John’s date has gone very well. Sherlock requires tea. John wishes he hadn’t resolved that their relationship was strictly hands off and isn’t about to address it. Unless he has to. Smut, fluff and shower time for a naked John Watson.

For you, there’s only me by shock_blanket (E, 19,557 w., 7 Ch. || Jealous Idiots, Virgin Sherlock, UST/RST, Pining, Miscommunication, First Kiss / Time, Insecure Sherlock, Masturbation) – Sherlock realizes he has fallen in love with John, but believes he is unlovable. Cue lots of pining and jealousy on Sherlock’s part, followed by our favorite cuddly marksman making it all better. Because for Sherlock, there’s only John.

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slowburn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn’t where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson’s urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He’s charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w., 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 23,031 w., 64 Ch. || Post-TRF, Online Dating, Pining, Epistolary, Cybersex, Long Distance Romance) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.) Part 1 of Dear John

Once Upon a Beast Becoming by antietamfalls (T, 24,042 w., 6 Ch. || Beauty and the Beast AU || Magical Realism, Folklore, Celtic Mythology) – An act of pride, a druid’s curse, an enchanted leaf; Sherlock’s torment has lasted an age. Hope arrives in the form of one John Watson, a man uniquely suited to break the spell. But with a single night to win his affections, Sherlock finds his carefully laid plans disrupted by a monstrous killer whose sights are set on the only thing he has left to lose: John.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they’ve made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

Tomorrow’s Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w., 4 Ch. || S3 Fix It, Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance, Humour, Masturbation, Love Declarations, Bottomlock, Brief Suicidal Ideations) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they’re both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

Dropping the Act by jadztone (T, 27,258 w., 10 Ch. || Parentlock, Fake Relationship, Mary’s Family, Post-S4, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Pining, Christmas) – Sherlock and John are quite happy living together with Rosie in Baker St. They might be even happier if they didn’t act towards each other like their love is only platonic. Mycroft brings troubling news in the form of Mary’s parents wanting to know just what their grandchild’s home life is like. The boys decide to spend Christmas pretending like they are in love in order to seem more like a “normal” family. It’s easy enough to pretend when all you’re doing is dropping the act.

Don’t Leave Anything Out by lookupkate (E, 27,422 w., 24 Ch. || Letters / Epistolary, Misunderstandings, Angst, Happy Ending, Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock in Love, Pining Sherlock) – The first letter John writes home from Afghanistan is meant to go to a woman he went on only one date with. How it ends up in Sherlock’s hands is completely innocent. What happens next is not. What do you do when you find out the person you’re in love with has been lying about something as monumental as who they are? What do you do when you’re the one who lied?How on earth do you put the pieces back together?

Sherlock Holmes & The Mysterious Ex by Gatergirl79 (M, 27,942 w., 16 Ch. || Family, Romance, Holmes Family) – Sherlock and John are forced to spend Christmas with Sherlock’s family. An unsettling idea especially when John will have to play ‘Boyfriend’ thanks to Mycroft. But why exactly does Sherlock want to avoid a family party?

Another Auld Lang Syne by DiscordantWords (M, 30,234 w., 31 Ch. || Post S4, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Introspection, Parentlock, Christmas, New Year’s, First Kiss, Past Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending, Drinking, Sherlock Whump) – There had been years of missed chances.

The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death (E, 30,856 w., 15 Ch. || Sickfic, Angst with Happy Ending, Case Fic, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Jealous Sherlock, Body Image Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional H/C, POV Sherlock, Oral / Anal, Thong, Frottage) – John brings home a boyfriend, shocking Sherlock, who long ago gave up hope that his straight flatmate would ever take a romantic interest in him. In a bid to reconnect with John, he tries to infect himself with a “harmless” virus. Neither of them is prepared for the emotional fallout that results.

Shallow Grave by SilentAuror (E, 31,672 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, HLV Fix It, Infidelity, Pining Sherlock, First Person POV Sherlock) – Starts as Sherlock’s plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he’s being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It’s a lot less cracky than you’re probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,690 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (E, 35,353 w., 7 Ch. || Humour and Angst, Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, UST / RST, Friends to Lovers, Jealous John) – Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody’s happy.

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, MollyxJohn [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon…or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn’t know what Molly’s up to…but he knows he doesn’t like it.

Classified(s) by blueink3 (E, 36,153 w., 4 Ch. || Wedding Date AU || Fake Relationship, Jealous, PIning, H/C, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending, Mary is not Nice, Escort Service) – Clara’s American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger. See, Clara is not only American (and wealthy to boot), she’s also best friends with John’s ex-fiancée. Whom she’s placed in the wedding party. As Maid of Honor. And John just happens to be Best Man. Bloody brilliant.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Malediction by MapleleafCameo (M, 36,680 w., 11 Ch. || Ladyhawke AU || Magical Realism, Romance, Curses, Eventual Happy Ending) – Cursed to a half-life, John and Sherlock must fight the forces of evil to be reunited once again.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Sherlock Has a Boyfriend) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Act IV by SilentAuror (E, 39,707 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV Sherlock, HLV Fix-It, Infidelity, Angst, Drama) – After Sherlock is shot, John moves back into Baker Street. They spend the autumn together as John tries to make sense of his life and make some important decisions about both Mary and Sherlock. Canon-compliant, excerpts from His Last Vow.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

The Curious Adventure of the Drs. Watson by ShinySherlock (M, 40,883 w., 14 Ch. || BBC & ACD Fusion || Victorianlock, Time Travel / Magical Realism, Friends to Lovers, Love and Kissing, Romance, Body Swap) – What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places…  “Imposter!” Hands clenching the lapels of John’s coat, Holmes shoved him anew. “Yes!” John agreed, nodding, and then grimacing. “Sort of!”

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w., 4 Ch. ||  H/C, Injury, Slow Burn) – When John’s left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she’s about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Soul Remembers by i_ship_an_armada (E, 43,636 w., 10 ch. || Oblivion AU || Post-Apocalypse, Movie Fusion, Science Fiction, Action/Adventure, Angst, Dreams, Bittersweet Ending) – John Watson is the lone security repairman stationed on a desolate, nearly-ruined future Earth. His dreams are plagued by a tall, dark-haired man, and when his dreams meet reality, he will be forced to question everything he believes is the truth about his life.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || Post S3 || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock’s first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst (E, 58,611 w., 10 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Experiments / Sexual Experimentations, Multi Pairings, Voyeurism) – John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes should admit that he, Watson, is more of an expert on sex than Sherlock is. But Sherlock refuses to concede the point. He comes up with an experiment plan that will resolve the issue. The results will determine who wins the prize. But sometimes even the best thought-out scientific study has unexpected consequences.

Scars by SilentAuror (E, 60,493 w., 5 Ch. || Rape / Non-Con / Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dub Con Elements, Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending, Mary is Not Nice) – S3 rewrite, showing Mary’s manipulation of John as he realizes his love for Sherlock. Mary is not having it.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes by ivyblossom (E, 62,006 w., 25 Ch. || First Person Sherlock POV, Pining, Angst, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Sherlock Learns About Himself, Happy Ending) – Sherlock struggles with his feelings for John, makes a mistake, and learns just how important he and John are to each other. Non-BBC Mary / John, but it’s a *complicated* relationship.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he’s consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w., 10 Ch. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary’s betrayal and Sherlock’s deceptions.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 27 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

[wistfulcynic]

Honeysuckle

Summary: Emma finds herself in a precarious position while trying to return some library books and shy librarian Killian comes to her rescue. He’s sweet and kind and Henry’s bookworm hero but there’s also something about him that she doesn’t know. 

(Something good)

a/n: All the thanks to @shireness-says for letting me borrow the adorable cinnamon roll that is Librarian!Killian, and also for inspiring this fic with her actual life. Librarian!Killian is a bit Deckhand Hook, a bit Lt Jones, which is a version of Killian I’ve never written before. It’s been fun, and not coincidentally this is the only thing I’ve ever written with a G rating. 

(Thanks also to @katie-dub whose beautiful fic Her Happy Beginning inspired me to try a new style of narration.)

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainsjedi @kmomof4 @thejollyroger-writer @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @teamhook

Rated: G

On AO3

Honeysuckle: 

Life, as some wise person once said, is just one damned thing after another. It’s full of frustration and elation and misery and comedy and so, so much embarrassment. And sometimes, on those most rare and exquisite of occasions, all of these factors coalesce into one grand, transcendent experience that makes the person living it wish simultaneously to die of humiliation and live in that moment forever. 

Dear Reader, such was the experience of one Emma Swan, medical assistant and single mother, on the third day of the sixth month of the twenty-eighth year of her life. 

The day began as an unremarkable one. Emma dragged herself from bed at the unholy hour of six-thirty am, banged on her son’s bedroom door on her way to the kitchen, and spent the next ten minutes mainlining coffee and forcing herself into full consciousness. When Henry appeared she poured him a bowl of cereal, kissed his forehead, and headed for the shower. So far so ordinary. 

Things didn’t start to go wrong until Emma, showered and dressed and with her still-damp hair pulled into a practical ponytail, took the opportunity of Henry’s regular morning dawdling session to reread the latest letter from her secret pen pal. 

(Secret only because Emma was perhaps overly conscious that having a ‘pen pal’ in this day and at her age might be seen by some as rather ridiculous. Not even Henry knew, although she’d had the pen pal far longer than she’d had the son. Since she was ten years old, in fact, and her fourth grade teacher had arranged a writing exchange with a class in England. For reasons Emma could never fully articulate she had bonded instantly and strongly to the boy across the sea known to her only as ‘K’ —again for ‘reasons’, these best known to themselves, they addressed each other by their initials only— and throughout her life of foster families and failed relationships he remained the only person who had never left her. Virtually anonymous though it may be, it was by far the longest and most stable relationship of Emma’s life and nothing but Henry had ever been more precious to her. But she kept it secret because it was ridiculous. Yep. That’s what she told herself.)   

But back to the letter. 

On my way to work yesterday I came across what I think must be some of the first lilacs of the season and I thought of you, it read. I always think of you when I see flowers and I can never decide which one suits you best, which probably makes sense since I have never seen your face. Are you sweet and springlike as lilacs are, or are you more of a full summer flower like a rose? Maybe you are a slim and elegant calla lily, or perhaps a tall and slightly terrifying sunflower? (Don’t laugh, E, sunflowers are scary! Have you ever seen one? They remind me of Triffids (that’s a book reference, love, and before you ask yes there’s a movie as well. Read the book first) and the way they move to follow the sun is creepy.)

(I know you’re laughing at me. Stop it.)  

It is true I regret to say that Emma had laughed the first time she read the letter, also the second time and possibly the third. But this being the sixth or seventh (tenth) reading the words elicited a smile that came less from mirth and more from a sort of sighing wistfulness as she imagined her never-seen dearest friend sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. 

She wished she knew what he looked like. 

She had tried many times to paint his face in her mind, one that fit the beauty of his words, but found she very literally could not imagine it. Emma’s experience with men was one that is sadly not uncommon among beautiful women whose positions in society are tenuous. As a single mother with only a high school diploma Emma had encountered more than her share of creeps and assholes, men who mistook her vulnerability for weakness and attempted to take advantage of her.

It was a mistake they did not make twice, but the sad result was that Emma had soured on men and relationships and all but given up hope that she would ever find someone who loved her. And as for a man so sweet and kind that he stopped to admire lilacs and wondered what kind of flower she might be, well, he was an impossibility in her experience, simply too good to be true.

She knew of course that K was real. Someone had been writing to her for nearly twenty years. She had no desire to meet him, though (she did) for fear of the crushing disappointment if he didn’t live up to the image she had of him in her mind. No, he was much better left to her imagination and the pages of his beautifully written letters. She couldn’t bear to lose those letters.  

She was just indulging in speculation over what sort of flower he might be when Henry’s voice and the thud of the books he dropped on the table in front of her brought her back to reality. 

“Mom, these books are due back today,” he said. 

“What? Why didn’t you take them back yesterday?”

“I forgot them at home. I didn’t even remember they were due until Killian reminded me. But we can return them now, can’t we?”

Emma tried to remember that he wasn’t trying to exasperate her, he was just absent-minded. “Henry, we are already late. Can’t you take them after school today?”

“No, I have D&D after school.” 

“I’m sure you can miss it one time—” 

“No, Mom, we’re in the middle of a campaign and I have to be there.” 

Emma threw up her hands. “Okay, fine, but you’ll have to take the bus to school.” 

“Mo-om!” 

“No, I do not have time to take you to school, then go to the library, then work. I’ll drive you to the bus stop then swing by the library and put your books in the drop. Hurry up now, are you ready?”

“Yeah, just let me grab my backpack.” 

He ran to get it and Emma absently slipped the letter into its envelope and the envelope into one of Henry’s library books before gathering the books in her arms and slinging her tote bag over her shoulder and herding her son out the door and into her car. 

(I wonder if you can spot where this is going yet?)

Ten minutes later Emma pulled into the library parking lot with as close to a squeal of tires as her creaky Bug could manage and grabbed Henry’s books from her passenger seat. Hurrying to the book drop she tipped them in…

And remembered. Far too late. 

“My letter!” she cried, and without thinking of anything beyond recovering the treasured words, Emma dove headfirst into the book drop, trying to catch the book that held her letter before it fell. She was a slender woman and the book drop more sizeable than most, but it was decidedly not designed to accommodate the ingress of any size of human, and so all she accomplished was to wedge her shoulders tightly into the narrow space with one arm stretched out in front of her inside the chute and the other sticking out of the drop’s opening at an odd angle. With the toe of one foot she could just touch the ground while the other one dangled helplessly in the air. She kicked with her leg to try to yank herself free but succeeded only in sending her practical flat shoe flying off her foot and landing with a splash in what she felt certain was a mud puddle, just as the sound of Henry’s books landing in the bin at the bottom of the chute reached her ears. 

Perfect, she thought. Just perfect.  

This, as I’m sure you have deduced my lovely Reader, has been the embarrassment and yes also the comedy portion of our tale. The former feeds the latter until it is fat as we all know from our own lives, and in the years to come Emma would learn to laugh when telling and retelling the story of her predicament. Though it must be said that, as is often the case with embarrassing things, she saw absolutely no humour in it at the time.

The frustration came into play moments later as Emma made further attempts to extricate herself from the drop, only to find that the position of her shoulders and her hands and her legs left her entirely unable to get enough purchase on any solid surface to provide sufficient counterbalancing force to un-wedge her. She was well and truly stuck, profoundly uncomfortable, and by that time almost certainly late for work. 

It was then that the misery kicked in. 

“Fuck,” she shouted, and the word reverberated down the metal chute, echoing back to her in a way she considered almost insultingly on the nose. She closed her eyes and let her head fall against the side of the chute and wondered just what the hell she was going to do now. 

(It will not, I feel certain, have escaped your notice that we have not yet had elation. Fear not, gentle Reader, for it is to come, and far sooner than Emma expects.) 

Fortunately both for Emma and our story a rescuer soon arrived, not on a white charger as in a fairy tale but aboard a practical secondhand Volvo in a rather nice shade of blue. 

Now Killian Jones may well have wished, deep in his heart, in that remote corner where he kept his love of adventure stories and even fancied himself a bit of a rogue, for something sportier, something a touch more dashing. But Killian Jones was a librarian, and the financial realities of our world dictate that librarians do not drive sports cars. So Killian had sighed for what was never to be and bought the Volvo —and adamantly rejected the silver one, he was not a vampire, sparkly or otherwise— and it had to be said that he’d never regretted it. 

All he regretted that morning was the broken shoelace that had made him too late to walk to work and smell the lilacs. 

As he pulled into the parking lot he was surprised to see a yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked haphazardly in the closest spot to the door that wasn’t reserved for the differently abled. It looked very much like the car that he’d frequently seen young Henry running to, the one that would naturally be driven by his mother…

Impulsively Killian pulled into the space next to the yellow car instead of continuing to the employee lot. His heart had begun to pound and his mouth was dry. 

It’s probably not her, he told himself firmly. There have to be other yellow Bugs in the neighbourhood. 

(There definitely weren’t.)

But if it was her he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to stutter a few incoherent words before excusing himself awkwardly and fleeing to a private corner where he might catch his breath, which was what happened every time he tried to talk to Henry’s mother.

Now Killian Jones, as, dearest Reader, you well know, was a handsome man, and one not so caught up in books and fantasy that he was unaware of this fact or of the effect it had on women. He could be smooth enough with the female species when he put his mind to it but something about Henry’s mother —he didn’t even know her name— tied his tongue and stopped his throat and robbed him of every shred of eloquence he may otherwise possess. 

This didn’t stop him from trying, though. The humiliation was worth it to see her smile. 

He got out of the car as quickly as possible, cursing as he caught the strap of his satchel in the door, then hurried to the library’s main entrance, looking around in a way that he hoped didn’t make it too obvious that he was looking around. Where would she be? he wondered. If she was here that is, if it was her. Come to think of it, why would she be here? Why would anyone? Who went to the library an hour before it opened to, what, stand around in front of the door and wait? 

His attention was finally drawn, after a moment or two, to the after-hours book drop when the person stuck inside it began banging and shouting loudly enough for even the most distracted bookworm to notice. 

Wait… the person stuck inside the book drop?

Killian turned to look, mouth gaping open in astonishment, too taken aback to even feel ashamed that he very definitely recognised that arse. 

So that’s where she was. This simultaneously answered several questions and posed a good few more. 

He hurried over, knowing that he ought to do something, but very uncertain as to what that something ought to be. 

“Um, hello?” he ventured. “Excuse me?”

Her voice was muffled but the annoyance came through loud and clear. “Oh thank fuck, I thought you’d gone,” she said.  

“Um. What?”

“I heard your car door slam so I started banging to get your attention, but then no one came and I thought you’d left, or gone in another direction or something.” 

“Ah. Er, no. I’m, uh, I’m here. What, um, what can I do for you?” He winced even as he spoke the words.

(She robbed him of all eloquence, you recall, even when all he could see was her backside. Perhaps especially then.)

She paused just long enough to make her opinion of his question clear. “Get me out of here!” she shouted.

“Aye, of course, lass, but, er, um—” Killian assessed the situation from three different angles just to be sure that there was no other option, that it wasn’t simply his physical attraction to her getting the better of him “—I’ll have to, uh, there’s no other way except to, er, touch you—”

“Yes, yes, I know that’s fine, just get me out!” 

“Aye, all right, um, can you push on the inside of the chute at all?”

“Yes, but I can’t get enough purchase on the ground to counterbalance, so I can’t force my shoulders out.” 

“Ah, yes, I see. All right, well you push and I’ll just, um—” Cautiously he wrapped his arm around her waist and braced his hand against the wall of the library. “I’ll brace you. Are you ready?”

“So ready.” 

“Okay, on three. One… two… three!” 

Killian planted his feet firmly on the ground and he could feel her muscles tense and flex as she pushed on the wall of the chute, and with her body braced against his she was able to un-wedge her shoulders from the narrow space and then with a final heave she freed herself from the drop, the force of it sending her stumbling backwards against Killian, whose other arm automatically wrapped itself around her and held on tight. 

She smelled like honeysuckle, was all he could think.

Too soon she was straightening up and he forced his arms to let her go, and she turned around with a smile that nearly ended him. 

“Thanks,” she said. “I thought I’d be in there at least until the library opened.” 

Emma was trying to be cool but the truth was that even from inside the chute she’d recognised the voice and accent of Henry’s favourite librarian, his hero really, the man who had recommended all his favourite books and who always had time to discuss them with him. Henry talked about him almost nonstop. 

“Ah, it’s Killian, isn’t it?” she said. “We’ve talked a few times before, I’m Henry’s mother.”

Killian swallowed hard and forced himself not to panic. “Aye, I remember. Er— sorry, I don’t know your name.” 

He’s so cute, thought Emma. She’d always thought so, if she was honest, not just his face but the adorable way he couldn’t quite manage to talk to her. It was sweet, and frankly a blessed change from the way men usually acted around her.

“It’s Emma Swan,” she said, and held out her hand. Killian took it gingerly, like he was afraid it might bite him. 

The jolt of sensation that went through both of them at the contact seemed to confirm his fears.  

They both pulled their hands away, laughing nervously, and thorough the haze of his confusion something prickled in Killian’s mind. E. Swan, he thought, just like…

“You must be wondering how I managed to get stuck like that,” said Emma, interrupting his thoughts, attempting to brazen through her own jumpy nerves by talking.

“Well, yes, I confess it did cross my mind.” A complete sentence in her presence, that was a first, he thought. 

“Yeah, it must be a pretty weird thing to encounter first thing in the morning.”

“I assure you, lass, we’ve seen weirder in this library.” Two complete sentences, what had come over him? 

“That’s nice of you to say. Okay, here’s the thing. I kinda… left something really important in one of the books I returned, and… look I’m so grateful to you for rescuing me but would you mind maybe going to see if you could find it?” She kept her face calm but he could sense her anxiety in the way she twisted her hands together. “It’s, well, it’s personal and I don’t want to lose it, or you know have strangers reading it—”

He waved his hand to cut her off. “Say no more, it would be my pleasure to retrieve it for you. Um, what is it?”

Her smile shone relieved and brilliant, and Killian’s powers of speech abandoned him yet again. 

“It’s a letter. In an envelope. I mean, just like a normal envelope. But… open.” 

He nodded, groping desperately for his words. “Letter. Envelope. Got it. I’ll, um, go now. Uh, stay here.” 

“Where else would I go?” she asked his retreating back. 

Killian hurriedly unlocked the main doors and raced down the stairs to the bin at the bottom of the book drop’s chute. He realised he’d forgotten to ask Emma —he felt a small thrill using her name— which book she’d left her letter in, but fortunately he remembered which books Henry had checked out during his last visit. They’d had a long conversation about each, after all. He ruffled through the first one but no letter fell out, the same result for the second. The third, however, produced its treasure, an ordinary, unremarkable white letter envelope. 

One that looked strikingly familiar. 

Killian stared at the letter in his hand, addressed to one E. Swan, in a firm, flowing, elegant script.

A script he recognised. 

Because it was his own. 

Bloody hell. 

(Be honest, now, kind Reader, you aren’t going to tell me you didn’t see this coming?) 

Killian wanted to hyperventilate. (Is it possible to want to hyperventilate?) His favourite patron’s mother, the woman he’d admired (and yes, done a bit of pining for) from afar was also, somehow, the pen pal he’d had since he was ten years old. His dearest friend. 

It was too ridiculous. It was impossible. 

(It was actually just a very strange coincidence, and who among us hasn’t experienced one of those? But Killian was feeling rather dramatic in that moment, so we’ll give him a pass.)

 (Now Reader, you are likely wondering how it is possible that two people who communicate via letter, a medium of communication that requires the knowledge of one’s recipient’s address as a matter of course, could possibly be unaware that they lived in the same neighbourhood of the same small town, mere blocks from one another as it turns out? The simple explanation is this: Both some years ago had arranged P.O. Boxes for their letters to each other, finding it easier (and if we are honest, more securely anonymous) to simply ask the post office to forward their letters as they moved around rather than keep updating each other directly. Killian’s P.O. Box was in Syracuse, NY, where he had gone to library school and his first port of call in the USA while Emma’s was in Tallahassee, FL, where she had stayed for two years after Henry was born.

Could they have saved themselves a fair bit of time and no small amount of loneliness had they just used their real addresses? Or, you know, their actual names? 

Yes. Yes they could. But then we wouldn’t have a story.) 

As Killian reeled from his astounding discovery, Emma was sitting on the hood of her Bug, wincing as her shift supervisor (and friend) laughed, so long and so hard Emma feared she’d give herself an aneurysm. 

After a while she began to hope for an aneurysm. 

“Oh my God,” Ruby gasped, once she was finally able to speak through her mirth. “That is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Years, probably.”

“Not helpful, Rubes. I only called to tell you that I’ll be in as soon as possible, I can probably get going in about five, ten minutes or so. I’m really sorry.” 

Ruby’s appreciation for a good joke did not affect her empathy for a friend in need. “Look, Ems, we’re not busy today, three patients have already cancelled their appointments. I can cover what’s left. Let’s just call this a sick day for you and if you want you can make up the shift this weekend. Go home and rest. You’ve had a narrow escape after all.” 

Emma groaned. “I hate you.” 

“You love me, and don’t forget I’m covering your shift today so you really shouldn’t be stuck up.”

“I mean, that’s just terrible.” 

 Ruby laughed. “Call me later. I’ll be waiting so don’t think you can wriggle out of it.” 

“You are the worst and I’m hanging up now. Goodbye. And thanks.” 

“Any time, doll.” 

Emma hung up the phone just as Killian came through the doors holding, she was relived to see, her letter. 

And with a very peculiar expression on his face. 

She felt her heart flutter. He looked… intense. It was a good look on him. 

She remembered how his arms had felt around her and the flutter became a gallop. 

He handed her the letter. 

“You’re honeysuckle,” he blurted. 

“I— what?” Emma blinked in surprise. 

“Honeysuckle. Not lilacs or roses, or sunflowers, thank goodness.” 

How could he… no! she thought wildly. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t have. He seemed so nice. 

“Did you read my letter?” she cried, somehow feeling more betrayed than angry.

“No! That is, I sort of did, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking distressed. “Oh, I’m doing this all wrong.”

“Just what exactly are you doing?” she snapped. 

He took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye. “Let me introduce myself,” he said. “We really haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Killian Jones. Killian with a K.” 

Emma gasped as the import of his name plus the fact that he knew what was in her letter hit home. K. Jones. 

“You— you’re K?”

“Aye. I mean yes, I am. And you’re E. Who smells of honeysuckle. I’ve always wondered.”

“You wondered what I smelled like?”

“I’ve wondered a lot of things about you, love.” He smiled, not the awkward, shy smile he normally gave her, but a bright and brilliant one full of joy and just a hint of mischief. It made her feel feather-light and ridiculously happy. This man she could definitely picture sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. He was real, and right in front of her, and her imagination had utterly failed to do him justice. 

“Listen,” he said, more confident than she’d ever seen him but with nervousness just creeping in at the edges, rubbing at a spot behind his ear and looking just over her left shoulder, “Would you, um, like to have a drink with me? You probably have to get to work now, but maybe later—” 

“I have the day off.” The words were out before she could stop them. 

Hope lit in his eyes. “You do?”

“As of five minutes ago,” she confirmed. “My boss said I’d clearly been through enough already today and told me to take a sick day. But, I mean, don’t you have to work—”

“I’ll take a sick day too,” he said hurriedly, pulling out his phone. “Just give me a minute.” 

The phone rang only twice before Belle picked up. She was nothing if not efficient. 

“Hi, Belle, it’s, er, Killian.” Of course she knows that you numpty she saw your name come up on the screen, he thought. 

(Killian is a terrible, terrible liar.)

He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m, um, so sorry but I’m not well today.” 

“Not well,” repeated Belle.  

“Er, no, I think I’ll have to stay home.” 

“You sound fine, Killian.” She sounded strict, when she was usually so kind. He forced himself not to panic, and attempted a little cough. “No, I assure you,” he said, “I’m very ill.” 

“Very ill, you say.” 

“Er, aye.” Why is she repeating everything?

“Too ill to come to work.” 

“Um, yes.” 

“Too ill to come to work and not in fact currently standing in the patrons’ car park with Henry’s mother?” 

He gaped. “How do you—”

She laughed, a familiar, warm sound, and Killian felt the knot of tension in his chest begin to melt. “I heard you come in through the main door and I came to see what was going on,” she said. 

Killian felt a stab of guilt. “Belle, I can explain—” 

“You don’t have to. At least, not yet. I’ll be demanding a full explanation tomorrow, when I feel certain you’ll be well enough to come to work.” 

“Of course. Thank you, Belle, you’re a treasure.” 

“Just be sure you actually talk to her this time.” 

“Aye, I think I can manage that.” It was easier now that he knew he’d actually been talking to her for the best part of twenty years. 

He ended the call and turned to smile at Emma who smiled back at him, and now, my darling Reader, we come at long last to the elation. The sheer, shining joy of experiencing something you’ve wondered about for years and finding it surpasses even your most elevated expectations. 

They went for coffee. They walked to the coffee shop, past the lilacs which were just beginning to fade, and they sniffed them together. 

Their conversation flowed with surprising ease, or perhaps not so surprising. In a way of course they had only just met but in another way they had known each other for years, and they were pleased to discover that there was no awkwardness between them other than that which results naturally between two people who are wildly attracted to each other and only just beginning to explore it. 

They explored it eventually. And thoroughly. 

And when the following year they stood in a country garden with Belle and Ruby and a Henry who was almost dancing with excitement and exchanged rings and promises of love and fidelity, the trellis above their heads was heavy and fragrant with honeysuckle in full bloom. And not a sunflower in sight. 

(Ah, I love a happy ending, I hear you sighing, beloved Reader. I do as well but I fear this is not one. It is of course a happy beginning.)

[seokeros]

An Oath for Sinners, 4 (Sort Of)

for those who don’t wish to read them on wattpad, here are the final two scenes of an oath for sinners. they’re only 1.3k words in total, so not a giant and juicy read. there was also supposed to be another big scene in between them, so there’s like a 6-month time-jump between these two scenes. but I hope you all enjoy the softness of our fav vampire/escort duo!!! 💗

"Your eyes, Yoongi," she murmurs, the fingers of her right-hand noticeably twitching as if she wishes to caress the side of his face. Still, she keeps it restrained at her side. "Are you sure you'll you be okay?"

"I'll be fine. It's not going to do your body any good for me to drink from it tonight. You need some rest." Yoongi takes her wrist, leading her sweatsuit-clad self onto the mattress. "Come on, in you get."

She rolls her eyes and sniffs, wiping her wet nose on the sleeve of her sweater. Seeming to realise she just did that in his presence, she hesitantly glances at Yoongi through the low lamplight, but is only faced with an expression of nonchalance. What she does not seem to understand is that Yoongi has clawed out intestines and eyeballs throughout the younger years of his life—snot is certainly not going to be high on his list of grotesque and cringeworthy things.

"So... University is wearing you out, huh?" Yoongi begins as a feeble attempt at conversation while she tucks herself under the covers. He swiftly follows, keeping a metre of space between them, yet he desperately wishes to smother his face against her warm throat.

"Yeah, you could say that. Just a whole lot of assignments being due at the same time, and I've never dealt with stress all that well." She raises an eyebrow at him, a question in her gaze. "Can vampires get sick? Why are you so far away?"

"Oh." Yoongi blinks once, very slowly, and props himself up on his elbow. "No, we can't. Do you want me closer?"

She sees right through him. "Yoongi, I've known you for a year now. If anything, it looks like you want to be closer," she says, grinning wickedly. Yoongi is about to protest when she continues. "It's okay, I'm down for cuddles. I won't bite."

"Wow, a vampire joke said to the vampire himself. How awfully lame of you."

"Just hush and cuddle me, okay?"

Yoongi hardly hesitates to oblige, sliding across the silk linen as effortlessly as being carried by a current of water. His arms snake around her waist, pulling her close against his torso as her own arms loop around his ribcage. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck, breathing deep, his skin tingling over her sugary red wine scent. She moans—the sleepy kind that squeaks a little at the end—and Yoongi's stomach turns into a pathetic puddle of goop.

"Yoongi," she murmurs into his tousled hair, and he reluctantly withdraws his face from her sweet-smelling throat, only to find himself nose-to-nose with her. "Hi."

"Mm, what?" he hums back, suddenly feeling so tied down with lethargy, as if it has simply seeped from her bones and into his with the entwining of their bodies. Truthfully, it's most likely because his system is running so low on human blood consumption.

A challenge dances in her drooping eyes, one full of mischief and light. Yoongi knows he should probably snap right back into a fully conscious state of mind to stop whatever she is about to do or say, but his will to please her every wish sufficiently suffocates such logic.

Which is how he finds his lips suddenly enveloped by her own.

There is a moment where it feels ridiculously cliché: Yoongi is frozen with shock, but it hardly takes long for him to thaw. Every single one of his instincts screams at him to stop, to politely push her back, to insist that she does not want to do this. But Yoongi has been a sinner from the start, and he cannot help but indulge in the soft warmth of her kiss.

Carefully, he brings a palm to her nape, guiding her mouth closer against his own and encouraging her lips apart with his tongue. He can feel them tilt upwards against his own as her tongue greets his. They glide gently against one another, feeling out this territory that has been left unchartered for an entire year. God only knows how they lasted this long, and Yoongi cannot help but realise what glory he has been missing out on. Sure, making her scream is something he thoroughly delights in, but this is like clearing away the clouds on a rainy day and bringing the sun out to play with his bare hands.

Yoongi teases her lower lip with his teeth and she gasps, her heart speeding up in unison. He can hear it pulsing like a hummingbird; can feel it against his own deathly motionless chest at such an extremity that it almost feels like it is his own, thumping as wildly as it would have when he was human. Yoongi breathes her in, sucking on her lip as he has done so on her neck a countless number of times, and is overwhelmed by the frightening thought that this is better than sucking her blood.

Steadily, like a wave losing its momentum, their mouths slow in their lazy yet insistent movements. Yoongi is the one to pull back first, but not without securing another small kiss on her pouting lips.

"This is very bad," he murmurs, thumb sweeping over her bottom lip, which stretches into a smile. Air escapes him—not that he needs it, anyway. But the effect is there: The bloating of his heart until it crushes his ribs and squeezes his lungs, allowing not even a mouthful of oxygen to be drawn.

"We can be bad," she reassuringly whispers. Then, without any semblance of fear, she kisses him again, and again, and again, and Yoongi lets her. He lets himself, too. He kisses her with everything he has; with her face cradled so adoringly between his palms; his tongue stroking at her own in careful sweeps.

This is bad, because this might be love.

Yoongi has never felt so terrifyingly hopeful about such a fact in all of his centuries.

Two vampires walk into a bar, and that’s the end of the joke, because neither of them are the type for humour. Not a soul suspects them to be anything beyond a pair of mid-30’s human beings, even though they have lived through so many lifetimes by now that they have lost count. The oldest orders himself a whiskey and the younger a scotch, and they take their drinks to their favourite spot: In front of the windows that look out onto the bustling, currently rainy street of New York City.

The oldest vampire in existence grins, lifting his glass to his lips. “So, Seokjin. How’s this plan of yours going? Any interesting developments that the clan should know about?”

Kim Seokjin stares at his leader, Jung Hoseok, with an expression as flat as a still lake. “Don’t you think I would’ve notified you of them by now, if that were the case?”

“I don’t know. Would you have?” Hoseok challenges, knowing of Seokjin’s personal bond with the very subject of their conversation. He had a point, but Seokjin still feels a little wounded that the vampire believes he would go behind his back—behind the backs of his entire clan—to protect Min Yoongi.

A small voice in the back of his mind insists that he probably would, but Seokjin smothers it with a sigh.

“Yes, I would’ve told you. But if it’s any reassurance, I don’t believe there will be any issues. Kim Namjoon, Yoongi’s human secretary, has been sending me monthly reports for the past year and a half. Everything is still smooth-sailing between the couple, and I dare say that this oath has actually transformed Yoongi into a better person.”

Hoseok does not seem so convinced. Or rather, he appears disappointed that there are no dilemmas to report. He has always had a chip on his shoulder when it came to Yoongi, and Seokjin is certain that nothing would please the vampire more than plunging a stake right through the lawbreaker’s chest.

“Well, it’s only so long until he becomes bored, and she becomes nothing more than another strike on his list of murders.” Hoseok sighs, following it with a sip of whiskey. “I know you’re terribly fond of him, but I also know that you know his head will be completely severed from his body the moment he stops that girl’s heart. Truly, with a madman like Min Yoongi, it’s only so long until he gets restless.”

Seokjin nods, disinterested, and instead watches an expensive-looking couple through the window, standing on the opposite side of the road with an umbrella shared between them. Rain cascades as light as snow around their figures. Despite their haute couture attire, the woman keeps teasing the man by tilting the umbrella further her way, causing the droplets to land in his dark hair. He seems to be doing his best to ignore her meddling as they wait for the crosswalk light to turn green, but his calm facade appears to slip when a substantially larger splash of water pours right onto his head from a gutter above, soaking his hair through to the roots.

At a speed that could only be described as inhuman, he sweeps his arm around the woman’s waist and hugs her right against his chest, forcing the umbrella over the both of them. She is laughing now, the head-tilted-back kind, pure delight beaming from her expression. And it seems to be contagious, because the scowl on his rain-smattered face is almost immediately softening into a smile, as much as he tries to maintain his frown.

Seokjin tears his eyes away from the scene and smiles into his glass, finally responding to Hoseok.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, old friend.”

[amuseoffyre]

Crossing Paths - 30AD - The wilderness, Judea

And now, a vague disclaimer: this chapter contains a rogue Jesus. Whether he is/isn’t the Messiah or is just some random fella is entirely up to you. But given that he’s a holy figure for in several religions, I think it can be agreed that he’s considered a holy person. (There are also some bonus verses in there, because Dude was knowledgeable about the Book)

30AD – The wilderness, Judea

Day 1

Crawly would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous.

This was Someone Important. No specifics, but enough to get the bigwigs downstairs anxious. A virtuous person. Ripe for corruption. The more they talked, the more he suspected it was some kind of big-name prophet. Prophets were always a bugger and a half. Some of them liked the ascetic, others were mad as land-locked fish. And then there one the ones who were so blisteringly holy that being around them was like being sandblasted in the face.

Still, Beelzebub had looked him full in the face and told him that this was his role. He’d tempted the first human and caused mankind to fall. If anyone was going to be able to tempt this one, then it was him. They were sure he could do it, they said, sending him out the door with a slap on the back and a target on his chest.

It wasn’t because he was good at his job.

Well… technically, it sort of was. But it was also because if he got himself melted by some holier-than-thou nutter, they had plenty of people who could step in and fill his sandals and probably bend their ear a lot less about the magic of beer.  

Only good thing was that he was in the middle of nowhere. No witnesses if he got embarrassingly combusted or something.

Instinct, habit – and maybe a little bit of fear – had him shift back to his older form. Better for the desert, he reasoned with himself. Made for deserts, snakes. Good at slithering. Plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in. Good way to get up-close and take a peek without being spotted. Just in case.

The… yeah, call him a man. Easier to call him a man. Not quite as panic-inducing. The man was up ahead, sitting on a low outcrop, his eyes closed, his legs folded under him, his hands resting loosely in his lap. He could’ve been any of the men Crawly saw day in, day out, in Judea. Sun-blasted brown skin, black hair, hands roughened by labour.

And then he opened his eyes.

It was – Crawly thought peevishly – very hard for a snake to gasp.

Holy, it was then.

Crawly stared at him across the rocky ground. He was still hidden in the prickling bushes, but he was close enough to feel the fervour.

“I knew you would come, my friend.”

The voice from up ahead made him recoil instinctively into the undergrowth. He saw the man tilting his head, found those eyes – not a mad one, this – gazing at him. The touch of the divine was there, but it was pure human in those eyes. No fear, though, which was bloody unfair.

Instinct made him hiss.

The man – Yeshua – smiled and nodded as if that was the answer he’d expected, then closed his eyes again against the brilliant daylight.

 Day 2

He’d managed to get out from under the bushes and wriggle a bit closer.

If this Yeshua was worried about it, he was doing a good show of acting casual. He spent a lot of his time in prayer, which – to Crawly – seemed a bit pointless. With all the people in the world, it had to sound like the drone of the bees now. Had to be a bit mad if you thought anyone was still listening.

But then, he was a demon sitting ten paces away from a very pious holy man. If anyone was mad, he was pretty sure it wasn’t the human.

When Yeshua looked at him, he reared up defiantly. Definitely not showing fear. Ha. Didn’t before. Won’t this time. Whatcha gonna do? Make me fall? Whoops. Too late. Been there, done that, had the sulphur bath.

“It’s all right,” the man said, his voice dry from lack of water. “Don’t be afraid.”

Crawly stuck his tongue out at him.

  Day 4

It was bloody hot out in the desert. There were no other humans for miles. No supplies. No provisions. The only time the man ate or drank anything was taking water from a small spring that broke through the rocks near his small encampment.

Crawly blinked slowly, watching as the man walking across the open ground in front of him. He was still as annoyingly calm, but his legs weren’t so steady when he rose from his sleeping place to go to the smooth rock that he sat on to pray.

Well, Crawly was meant to tempt, wasn’t he?

“You sure I can’t get you a sandwich or something?”

Yeshua looked over at him with a small smile. “No. Thank you.”

Crawly wrinkled his nose. “Probably don’t need me to do it anyway, do you?” He nodded at the rock beside his head. “Y’pray enough that you could probably just say ‘Oi! Rock! I want a falafel!’ and it’d turn into one for you.”

“Probably,” Yeshua agreed, sitting back down, cross-legged. “But man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.”

The snake sniffed. “Yeah. But I’m pretty sure the bread helps.”

He was fairly sure that a holy man wasn’t meant to laugh at that, but Yeshua did.

  Day 7

“Shouldn’t you be going to the Synagogue about now?”

Yeshua opened his eyes to glance across at Crawly. “Hm?”

The demon had given up hiding in the bushes. Instead, he’d found a sunny spot directly opposite the place where the man sat. No reason not to be warm and comfortable while getting on with the job. He lifted his chin from his coils. “Shabbat, innit?”

“My Father will understand.”

Crawly snorted. Father. That was a new one. “You sure about that?”

Those ink-dark eyes met his. “Mankind will be tested. You know this.”

Crawly sank back down, a shiver running through him. He remembered those words from a time… before. The Almighty had spoken and they had listened, but oh, they hadn’t understood what it would mean and by the time he stopped to ask, it was already too late.

“What’s that got to do with you?” he demanded snippily.

Yeshua smiled. “Am I not a man?”

“Technically, yeah.” Crawly agreed grudgingly. God, he missed shoulders. It was easier to shrug with shoulders. “So?”

“Mankind,” he repeated in a voice that was and wasn’t the one Crawly remembered, “will be tested.” And then he smiled, creasing lines into his face. “And so I am tested.” He inclined his head. “You are my test.”

“Yay for me,” Crawly muttered, shoving his nose back into his coils. Wasn’t sulking if they couldn’t tell you weren’t just going to sleep.

 Day 10

Sometimes, you needed hands.

Especially when you had an itch right between the shoulders you didn’t have.

Crawly thought Yeshua was still asleep. He looked like he was, but Crawly wasn’t about to Look closer for fear of melting his eyeballs right out of his head. He stretched out his body, letting bones expand and limbs emerge and even his wings unfolded, which was a good thing because that was exactly where the itch was.

The demon twisted up his arm to prod between his shoulder blades when he became very aware that Yeshua was not – in fact – asleep.  

He was watching with apparently interest.

“You have wings.”

Crawly self-consciously snapped them shut. “Yeah, and? Was an angel, wasn’t I? We’ve all got them.”

“I’ve never seen them before.”

Crawly snorted – a lot easier with a proper nose, definitely more resonance. “Obviously.”

“You all have them?”

The demon made a face. “You’re the holy man. I thought…” He waved vaguely skywards. “Aren’t you given divine insight into everything?”

Yeshua laid one foot flat on the ground, propping his arm on his upraised knee. “I know enough, but I don’t think I know everything. Not yet. What I need to know, I know. What I do not need to know, I do not until the time is right.”

“Oh.” The demon cocked his head, looking at him. “Must be annoying.”

Yeshua raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“You’ve got this whole galactic font of information you could get access to, but you can’t ‘until the time is right’? You just have to muddle through?”

Yeshua smiled at him. “Acquire wisdom, acquire understanding; do not forget, and do not turn away from the words of my mouth.”

Crawly blinked at him. “Did you just memorise the book to show off?”

The man lifted his shoulder and there was a glint of humour in his eyes. “As I said, what I need to know, I know.”

Despite himself, Crawly had to hide a grin.

  Day 13

“What’s your name?”

Crawly blinked at the sky in confusion. He was lying on his back, tracing the patterns of the stars, when the man spoke. He twisted to look over at the human, who was sitting by a small campfire. “Eh?”

“Your name.” Yeshua glanced over at him.

Crawly shrugged. “Kind of expected you to call me demon, to be honest.”

By the dancing firelight, the man’s thin face looked even thinner. “That is what you are. I don’t believe that’s who you are.”

Crawly rolled back to his back, looking up at the sky. “And you know that, do you? You needed to know and so you know that?”

“No.”

Despite himself, he looked back over at the man. “No?”

Yeshua gazed at him across the flames. “You offered me food when I hungered. You laughed. You listened.”

“I’m working,” Crawly said, trying to ignore the worried twist in his chest. “Tempting you, aren’t I? Got to make you like me. Got to make you believe me.”

The man smiled sadly. “As you say.” He poked at the fire with a length of stick. “Will you give me your name?”

“Why?” Crawly breathed, forcing himself to keep looking overhead at the clear, brilliant sky. It had been going so smoothly as well. Why did he want to know? Why did he care? For revenge, he had no doubt. So when he returned to his Father, he would know exactly who to report and the Almighty would try and find something worse than the Fall.

“Why not?” Yeshua murmured.

Some time later, the man was asleep, snoring quietly, when Crawly realised that Yeshua didn’t even need to ask. He was a demon, Yeshua was his victim. He didn’t need to ask. He chose to.

Crawly glanced over.

Despite the mild night, the man was curled tightly in on himself, shivering. The fire had burned low and was almost out.

Crawly sighed, unfolding from the ground, and went across to add some more sticks to the embers. He reached over and drew Yeshua’s robe more closely around his shoulders, watching as the man’s shudders eased.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” he muttered, returning to his own spot on the far side of the fire.

  Day 16

“Crawly.”

Yeshua had only just woken up. He was definitely looking the worse for wear, although Crawly noticed – from the corner of his eye – that the man did smile when he noticed the cup of water beside his sleeping place. “Mm?”

“My name.” Crawly was sketching in the coarse sand with a stick. “It’s Crawly.”

Clay scraped against stone as Yeshua picked up the cup. It would – as usual – be his only drink of the day. Man was stubborn as sin.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t.” Crawly prodded moodily at the sand. “Not for the cup.”

“For your name then.”

Crawly tilted his head to look over at the man. Not many people had bothered asking him for it. He’d almost forgotten how it felt to willingly offer it. And of all the people, it was some religious nut he’d probably never see again once the job was done.

Said religious nut was sitting up now, hands cradling the cup to his lips, but his robe was hanging looser by the day.

“You sure you don’t want me to nip out and get you something to eat?” Crawly inquired. “You’re not going to do much good to anyone if you keel over.”

Dark eyes met his. “You’ve asked before. You know my answer.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, but thought a fortnight in the desert might have knocked some common sense into you.” He shook his head. “Forlorn hope, that.”

Yeshua’s lips twitched tiredly.

“I’m just saying,” Crawly continued, “that it doesn’t have to be anything big. Could get you some of that mushy cheese. The kind that’s so runny you could pretend it’s water. It’s not breaking your fast if you drink it.”

“No. Thank you.”

“Or some wine?” Crawly searched the ever-thinner face hopefully. “S’only water putting on a show, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“What about–”

“Crawly.” There was a soft resonance in the way he said Crawly’s name, a thrum that went right down to Crawly’s bones and stilled his tongue like a rock. He both wanted and never wanted to hear his name spoken like that again. “Thank you for your kindness, but no.”

“No,” Crawly echoed, his mouth drier than Yeshua’s. “Right. Got it.”

  Day 17

The stars were out when Yeshua made a curious sound.

Crawly peered over at him. “Hm?”

“Your name.”

Crawly cocked his head, peering over the flames. “What about it?”

“It’s not– is it because you were a snake? Because you…” The holy man gave a vague, exhausted wiggle of his hand.

“No!” Crawly exclaimed indignantly, hoping his flush wasn’t too visible by the firelight. “It– I– there’s a very good reason for it! And it’s– well, I’m not telling you. I’m offended! That’s what I am! I’m offended you’d think that!”

“Ah.” Yeshua laid his head back down, smiling as a man who has acquired knowledge.

“Oh, shut up,” Crawly grumbled, rolling onto his other side, showing his alleged victim his back.

  Day 19

“Aren’t you bored?”

Yeshua opened one eye. “No.”

“Oh, you must be.” Crawly paced back and forth across the small clearing that they’d been sharing for almost three weeks. “You know what we could do? We could go south. Out of Galilee. I’ve heard they’ve got some pretty wild stuff in Caesarea.”

Yeshua shook his head gently. “When I leave this place, I will see all I need to see.”

“You know,” Crawly said grumpily, “you’re going to annoy people if you keep up the cryptic mumbo jumbo.” He dropped into a crouch in front of the man. “So where are you going to go when you see all you need to see?”

The dark eyes met his, fathomless as the sea. “When the time comes, I will go to Jerusalem.”

“Jerusalem?” Crawly snorted. “Is that all?” He grabbed Yeshua by the arm, transporting them a split-second before he remembered exactly who he was grabbing. Wasn’t often he panicked mid-transit and when they emerged into bright daylight, he staggered back a step and fell onto his arse.

“Bugger…” he panted, bracing shaking hands on the stone beneath him, then yelping as heat pricked up through his hands.

Yeshua sighed. “We should return.”

“Yeah…” His heart was racing like a startled hare and on top of everything, the world around him was pulsing with divine energy. “Maybe in a minute.”

Yeshua sat down beside him. “Maybe next time, you listen to me?”

“Mm.” Crawly squinted around. “Did it though, didn’t I?” He waved a hand out over the city that spread below them. They were on the roof of a building that hummed with ancient power. Crawly’s body was tingling uncomfortably, but not like he could really do anything until his brain stopped flailing. “Look at that. Jerusalem.”

Yeshua gazed out at it, his calm features tensing. “Jerusalem,” he echoed quietly. He looked at Crawly. “You’re in pain.”

Crawly waved a hand dismissively, even if the roof of the temple was a stupid place to have landed them. “M’fine.” He peered down into the courtyard far below. “Y’know, bet you could jump down there with me. Bet She’d send a bunch of angels to hold out a safety net and catch us both.” He paused, considering it. “Or you at least. If you asked nicely.”

Yeshua raised his eyebrows at him. “You recall I memorised the book?”

Crawly winced, shifting from buttock to buttock. “Did I just earn another quote?”

“Do not test the Lord your God.”

Crawly grimaced. “Thought that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Testing? Why I’m stuck with you.” he said, making a face.

“You wanted to test if angels would be sent to catch me. That’s not testing me. That is testing God.”

“Pfft.” Crawly shook his head, hair flying. “Semantics.” He held out a shaking hand to Yeshua. “You sure you want to go back?”

The man’s palm was warm and rough against his. “Yes.”

  Day 24

“Why are you even here?”

“What do you mean?”

Crawly shrugged as much as he could, lying on his back in the sand. He had his hands tucked under his head as he watched the wisps of pale cloud smear across the sky. “Not… here-here. In the desert, I mean. On earth. Why are you – whatever you are – on earth?”

Yeshua was quiet for a long time. “You don’t know?”

Crawly screwed up his face. “Never asked,” he admitted. “Got my job. Came to do it.”

“You could say I’m doing the same thing.”

Crawly tilted his head to look at the man. Yeshua was sitting in his sleeping place. He didn’t walk around so much now. His hands were bordering on skeletal in his lap. “This is your job?” He made a face. “Can’t say I think much of it, sitting in a desert boring me to death.”

One side of Yeshua’s mouth turned up. “This is the easy part.”

“Oi!”

Yeshua raised a hand. “You have been testing me very well, oh great serpent.”

“Now you’re just being patronising,” Crawly grumbled. He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “So what is your job? I mean, I know my lot aren’t too happy that you’re about, but…” He shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t think they know how to be happy about anything at this point.”

“You’ll learn soon enough.”

“Well… that isn’t at all ominous.”

Yeshua inclined his head. “It will be as it was written.”

Written, eh?

  Day 28

“Ow!”

Crawly gave the human another kick. “You idiot!”

Yeshua raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “What is it?”

“Jerusalem! Big plans! My Father!” Crawley waved the rolled-up scroll he was holding in his leather-wrapped hand. “Don’t tell me you think you’re some kind of…” He trailed off, staring down at the man he had just woken.

Yeshua sat up, rubbing his ribs reproachfully. “You read?”

Crawly gestured to his bloodied eyes. “Well, you weren’t about to tell me, were you?” He made a sound of disgust and tossed the scroll into Yeshua’s lap, where it unravelled from its tightly wound centre. “You said you came here with a job to do.”

“I did.” Yeshua laid a hand over the scroll.

Crawly shook his head. “No. No!” He jabbed a finger at the scroll. “If you convince yourself that everything they say is about you, you know how it ends!”

Yeshua nodded. “I do.”

The demon felt like the air had been crushed from his lungs. “You’ll die.” He stared at the human in disbelief. “You’ll die because you think you’re the person they were talking about hundreds of years ago? Are you insane?!”

The man carefully rolled the scroll back up and closed his hands around it. “Do you think I’m insane?”

“Right now? I’m starting to!” Crawly crouched down, searching the man’s face. “D’you want to die? Is that what this is? Because just say the word and I can smack your head in with one of those rocks. Saves you time. Gets it over with.”

Yeshua gazed at him. Crawly wasn’t sure if he was so placid because he was barely more than bones and skin now or because that hot holy fire was burning away everything else. “Dust I am and to dust I will return.”

“Don’t!” Crawly exclaimed. “Don’t! They’re… words! They’re just words!”

“Words have power.” Yeshua’s eyes were boring into his. “Demon. Serpent.”

“Not the same!” Crawly snapped. He pushed his fingers through his hair, swaying from side to side. “How do you know you are… that? The… whatever the hell you think you are?”

“How do you know I’m not?”

Crawly stared at him. “You really believe it?”

“Do you care?”

No, he told himself as he turned and stormed away. No, he insisted, as he folded into himself and slithered into the heat of the desert. No.

  Day 37

“Still alive, then?”

Yeshua looked up with a smile. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

Crawly shrugged, arms folded over his chest. “Someone had to come and check if you’d finished starving yourself out here.”

The man shook his head. “Not yet.”

Crawly dropped down to squat on his toes, folding his arms on his knees. “I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”

“You knew that when you came.”

“Eh.” He lifted one shoulder. “Sometimes holy people aren’t as resolved as they like to think.” He rocked from toes to heels and back. “Then some of them are as daft as you.”

“And still you came back? Knowing you won’t stop me?”

Crawly propped his chin on his arms. “Might as well. Downstairs wanted me to tempt you, so can’t blame me for trying. Got to do the job, eh?”

Yeshua inclined his head. “Then do what you must.”

There was a big difference between must and want.

Crawly unfurled one hand and with a gesture, changed the world around them. Only visions, only illusions, but real enough to touch and taste and smell. White stone sprouted around them, vast buildings, cobbled streets, people, litters, noise and chaos.

“Rome,” he murmured.

Yeshua stared around, his bloodshot eyes wide. “Why show me this?”

“What you’re going to miss,” Crawly said quietly, then moved his hand again. Alexandria first, with its gleaming lighthouse, then further afield. The red sandstone of Arabia Petraea, the vast sprawling city of Pataliputra, even as far as the palaces of Chang’an.

City after city, country after country, field and mountain, valley and ocean. All things a young man from Galilee was never likely to see. People, places, enough to give him a lifetime of memories for the little time he had left.

As he let the visions fade and the heat of the desert wrapped around them again, far later in the day than it had been, he tucked his hand back under his arm.

“Could be yours, you know,” he said, propping his chin back on his arms. “All you have to do is ask and I’ll take you to any one of them you fancy. All of them if you want. All you have to do is live and ask me.”

“It is written–”

Crawly groaned into his arms, rocking back and forth.

“It is written,” Yeshua repeated quietly, “Worship the Lord your God and serve only him.”

“Not asking you to serve me!”

Yeshua nodded. “You know what you’re asking.”

Crawly nodded unhappily. “And I know what the answer is.” He searched Yeshua’s face. “How long?”

Yeshua shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Nothing in your little book?” He wanted to sound angry, wanted to be angry, but instead, he just felt tired.

“You’ll hear of it.”

Crawly unfolded with a shudder, straightening up. “I hope I don’t.” He glanced around, a scent whispering on the air. Celestial. Something way above his paygrade. “You know you can call on me if you change your mind.”

The man gazed up at him with that same small, sad smile. “And you know that I won’t.” He raised a hand, half-farewell, half-benediction. “Your temptations are done. Off with you… demon.”

“Yeah.” He fidgeted with his belt. “Good luck.”

Yeshua bowed his head. “And to you, Crawly.”

Crawly recoiled back a step, then turned on his heel and fled.

[winteriron-trash]

(I Am) A Little Wicked [Chapter 4]

A/N: Happy Thursday! We’re back again with this lovely, dark fic. No, I still haven’t gotten it on Ao3, because Ao3 won’t let me post new works for some reason. I’m trying to fix that. There’s a two-year time lapse from the last chapter, and trust me, we’re getting to the good stuff. Mostly Tony stuff, but a bit of Maria at the end. This is a long chapter too, so strap in. Lemme know if you wanna be added to the tag list, and many thanks to my muse, @lovinthepizzalife

Extreme TW for racial slurs, and graphic depictions of violence in this chapter. if you can’t handle the racial slurs just jump down to the first time skip. All you need to know is Rhodey got beat up by some racist assholes. If you don’t want to read the violence, stop reading at about the part Tony hangs up the phone after talking to Rhodey and pick up again after the next time skip. Stay safe, know your triggers. Sorry for a long A/N, that just needed to be said.

Playlist | Summary/Warnings | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

-

“Tones, I’m telling you, one day all that coffee is gonna short-circuit your brain.” Rhodey elbowed Tony as they walked down the dark streets.

Tony grinned. “Well, where’s the fun if you don’t live on the edge?”

Rhodey laughed, shaking his head. “The fun is in having a long lifespan, man. Living to be thirty.”

“Who wants to be thirty anyway?” Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re old and cranky and you look down on everyone.”

“You won’t be looking down on anyone,” Rhodey promised. “They’ll be looking down at you, short stuff.”

“Hey!” Tony smacked his arm. “You’re an asshole. I’m fun sized.”

“You’re something alright.” Rhodey shook his head with a smile. “Alright, here’s your dorm.” They stopped walking in front of the brick building.

“You didn’t have to walk me, you know,” Tony said, making a face as he got out his badge to unlock the door. “I’m a big boy, I can handle myself.”

“You’re a seventeen-year-old, five-foot tall little shit.” Rhodey corrected. “I’m just looking out for you, Tones.”

Tony stuck his tongue out. “Don’t go soft on me, Platypus.” He opened the door.

“Goodnight, Tony,” Rhodey called out, smiling so hard it hurt. “Get some sleep!”

“Love you too, mom!” Tony shouted back, shutting the door behind himself. Rhodey watched his figure disappear from the view of the windows. God, he loved that scrappy kid.

Rhodey sighed, flipping up his hood. His dorm was on the other side of the campus, and it was already late. Tony was right, Rhodey didn’t have to walk him back, but Rhodey liked looking out for Tony. The kid was smart but eccentric and weird around people. Even if Justin Hammer hadn’t harassed him in years for reasons Rhodey still didn’t understand, there were still others who did. Rhodey just wanted to keep his best friend out of trouble.

Rhodey wasn’t sure how far he’d been walking, he was maybe about halfway to his own dorm when he heard shouting.

“Hey! Fucking nigger!”

Rhodey felt his spine tighten. He couldn’t even walk home, could he? He kept his head down, glaring at the ground.

“Hey, listen to us when we’re talking to you!” A different voice shouted.

Great, so there was more than one. Rhodey’s heart started beating faster. It was fine. They were probably just a bunch of drunk frat boys. It was fine.

“Go back to Africa!” There was whooping laughter at that comment from the entire group. Rhodey didn’t dare look back and try to count, but there were easily more than three. The footsteps were getting closer. It took every ounce of self-preservation Rhodey had to stop from breaking out into a run.

“Hey!” A hand grabbed Rhodey’s shoulder and yanked him back. Rhodey was forced to spin around, heart pounding so hard he could barely see straight. There were five of them, all bigger than Rhodey.

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble-” Rhodey held up his hands, taking a step backwards.

One of the guys stepped forward and shoved Rhodey. “Fucking nigger. Go back to Africa you dumb filthy piece of shit.”

Rhodey swallowed down bile. “I don’t-”

The first hit landed right over Rhodey’s face, sending him tumbling backwards onto the ground. He barely had enough time to cup his own bleeding nose before hands were tugging him back to his feet so he could get punched in the gut.

There was cheering and shouting all around Rhodey, slurs and insults shouted at him. Rhodey lost track of how many times he was hit, or who was even hitting him any more, it was a blur of pain and noise.

“Hey.” A slap cracked across Rhodey’s cheekbone, bringing him back to awareness. “Look at me, you filthy nigger.”

Rhodey blinked hard, trying to focus on the guy in front of him in the faint streetlamp light. He was tall with a leather jacket and blond hair.

“If I see you again, I’m gonna cut your filthy nigger heart out.” The guy taunted, then he punched Rhodey, and that was the last thing Rhodey felt before he passed out.

-

Tony was absolutely seething when he heard the news. He stared at his phone, vision going red. Rhodey. Hospital. The words barely seemed to click, the idea of it made Tony want to throw up. Rhodey was in the hospital. Some assholes landed his Rhodey in the hospital.

Tony didn’t even realize he was dialling Maria’s number until he had the phone pressed against his ear, pacing around his room.

“Good morning, figlio,” Maria answered, her voice warm.

“Madre.” Tony took a deep breath. “My friend is in the hospital.”

There was a pause. “Oh, tesoro,” She said, tone radiating with sympathy. “Rhodes? What happened to him?”

“A bunch of assholes.” Tony hissed through grit teeth. “Racist assholes.”

“Oh,” Maria murmured. “Tesoro.”

Tony glared at the wall. “They hurt my friend, madre. He’ll be fine but…” Tony swallowed. “They hurt my friend.” Tony sat down on his bed, pulling out the knife he kept under his pillow. “I wanted to ask your permission, make sure you were okay with… me taking care of it.”

“Figlio,” Maria said. “You’re a Carbonell. We take care of our family. Rhodes is a lovely young man. I’d send someone in to take care of it if you didn’t.”

“No, that’s fine.” Tony shook his head, twisting the knife between his fingers. “This is personal. I’ll take care of it. Thank you, madre.”

“Of course.” Tony could hear the smile in Maria’s voice. “Tonio, don’t forget I’m leaving for my business trip this weekend. You might not be able to get in touch with me this weekend, I don’t know how busy I’ll be. You can always call Jarvis if you need anything.”

“I know.” Tony nodded, standing up. “Take care of yourself, madre.”

Maria chuckled. “Don’t I always? Goodbye, ‘Tonio.”

“Love you.” Tony hung up and immediately started dialling a new number. He pressed the phone to his ear again, waiting for someone to pick up.

“Hello?” Rhodey’s voice was hoarse, but it was there and Tony felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

“Hey Platypus.” Tony cleared his throat.

Rhodey’s sigh of relief was audible. “Hey, Tones.”

Tony wasn’t sure what to say at first. “So is hospital food as bad as they say?” Tony asked.

Rhodey let out a shaky laugh from the other end and Tony smiled. “Man, it tastes like cardboard. You could cook better than they do.”

“Hey!” Tony laughed. “My ramen is made with love.”

“Love and other diseases.” Rhodey teased.

Tony shook his head. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.” Rhodey deflated a bit. “It’s better than it sounds. Just a broken nose, a concussion, some cracked ribs and a few bruises. They’re gonna let me out in a few days. For now, they’re more worried about the emotional recovery.”

Tony studied his knife. “Did you give your statement to the police?”

Rhodey sighed. “Yeah, but they didn’t seem too interested. They said my descriptions were vague at best, and if I really wanted them to catch the guys I would’ve been more helpful.”

“It was the middle of the fucking night and they were beating you!” Tony nearly shouted.

“I know,” Rhodey said. “I know, Tones. But it’s fine. This kind of thing happens a lot. I’m lucky there was nothing permanent. Just some scrapes and bruises.” His voice was too hollow for the sentiment to feel real.

“What did they look like?” Tony asked, rubbing his thumb along the flat of the blade.

“Tones, why does it matter? You can’t do any more than the police can.”

“Maybe I can go to the police. Say I was a witness. They’ll listen to Tony Stark.” Tony lied without hesitation.

“You don’t have to-”

“Humour me, Rhodes. Please?” Tony begged.

Rhodey let out another sigh. “There were five of them. They were all white.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“They were big. Like, six foot all of them. Easily. Muscular. I think one was wearing a jersey.” Rhodey listed. “It was dark. The only one I got a good look at was the one who said he would cut my heart out. He was blond, had a leather jacket. Green eyes, I think. Southern accent, like he was from Texas or somewhere down there. I don’t really know. It was hard to focus, Tones.”

Tony’s skin crawled with red-hot anger. “He told you he was going to cut your heart out?” Tony whispered jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

“It was an empty threat, Tones. Calm down.” Rhodey tried to sooth.

Tony gripped his knife. “I’ll visit you tomorrow. I’ve got something to do today, gotta do some chores. But I’ll be there bright and early tomorrow, okay?” Tony was already on his feet, grabbing his jacket.

“I didn’t know Tony Stark did anything bright and early.” Rhodey teased.

“Oh shut up. Love you, platypus.” Tony smiled.

“Yeah, you too, Tones.”

Tony hung up his phone, tossing it aside. He knew just from Rhodey’s descriptions who the blond guy was, as well as the other four. A bunch of loud mouth assholes who were on the football team and thought they were hot shit. Tony tugged on his jacket, sliding the knife into his pocket. He should probably bring more than a hand knife, but a part of him wanted it to be up close and personal.

No one touched Tony’s family.

-

Tony wasn’t surprised to find all five assholes crammed into one dorm, drinking and being loud assholes.

“What do you want?” One asked, glaring down at Tony as he answered the door.

Tony offered a sickly sweet smile, trying not to let his gaze linger on the bruised knuckles the guy had. “Just wanted to talk. About what you all were doing last night.”

The guy scoffed. “We weren’t in the dorms last night, so don’t even start with another fucking noise complaint.”

Tony took a step forward, and he must’ve been glaring harder than he thought because the guy took a step back. “I know you weren’t in the dorms. You were beating up my best friend.”

The talking from the other four quieted and they all focused on Tony. Tony shut the door behind himself, hand sliding into his pocket.

“Unless you got a fucking arrest warrant, fuck off.” The blond with green eyes glared at Tony.

“I don’t need one.” Tony tilted his head to the side, offering the sweetest smile, with all his teeth showing.

After that, one of the dudes charged Tony, and Tony didn’t hesitate. He didn’t pay too much attention to his motions, didn’t make it clean or quick. It was bloody and painful, the knife cutting off screams.

He smiled the whole way through it.

Tony did make sure of one thing, though. That the blond was the last one left alone, face covered with a spray of his friend’s blood as he cowered in the corner.

Tony walked over to the blond, stepping over dead bodies. He knelt right in front of the guy, tilting his head to the side.

“What was it, that you told my friend?” Tony murmured, leaning in close. “Something about cutting his heart out?”

“It was just a joke, I didn’t-”

“Do you even know how to cut a heart out?” Tony asked. “The movies make it look like it’s easy, but…” Tony pressed the knife against the blond’s chest. “It’s harder than it looks. You can’t go through the chest, the sternum is in the way. You have to make a cut right across the top of the abdomen instead.” Tony dragged his knife across the guy's skin, just below his ribcage. He was too paralyzed with horror to do anything other than watch. “Then you have to cut through the diaphragm, right under the ribs.” Tony pushed his knife into the cut. “It’s easier to do with a scalpel, but sometimes you have to make do.”

“Please…” The blond begged.

Tony flashed a feral grin. “And after you cut through the diaphragm you take the knife out,” Tony yanked his knife free, putting it back in his pocket. “And reach right inside the chest…” Tony pushed his hand into the incision, curling his hand around the blond’s heart. The way the blond’s eyes went wide was almost comical. Tony could feel his heart beating fast, right in Tony’s hand. Tony leaned in close, lips right next to his ear. “And then all you need is one hard tug.”

Tony ripped the blond’s heart right out of his chest.

Pulling back, Tony watched green eyes go glassy as blood poured out of his abdomen.

“See? Easy.” Tony stared at the human heart in his hand, still pouring blood. He dropped it. “That’s how you cut someone’s heart out.” Tony stood up, running a bloody hand through his hair. “No one hurts my friend.” An old memory surfaced in Tony’s mind and he smiled. “I hope Il Diavolo keeps you warm in Hell.”

Tony turned on his heel and walked out of the room, happily humming to himself.

-

“James?” A knock came on Rhodey’s door and he glanced up from his textbook. A nurse smiled at him. “You have a visitor.” She stepped out of the room, and Tony came in.

“Hi.” Tony flashed a bright smile, walking in with two coffees in his hands. “I’m not sure if you’re allowed to have this, but I charmed the nurse to let me in with it so here.” Tony set a hot coffee down on the desk next to Rhodey.

Rhodey smiled. “Hey, Tones. Nice to see you up and perky in the morning.”

“And it only took me one coffee.” Tony smiled proudly. “Besides this one.” He held up the cup in his other hand, taking a sip from it. Tony’s coffee was iced and probably filled with too much sugar.

“How are you?” Rhodey asked, grabbing his own coffee.

“Shouldn’t I be asking the bedridden one that?” Tony said with a flat stare.

Rhodey waved him off. “I’m fine, really. They’re just fussing over me.”

“You call your mom yet?” Tony pulled himself up to sit on the desk next to Rhodey.

“Yeah.” Rhodey nodded. “She can’t fly out, but my sister’s visiting next weekend.”

“That’s good.” Tony hummed.

Rhodey took a steadying breath. “Hey, Tones?”

“Hm?” Tony glanced up.

“Did you see the news report last night?” Rhodey asked. “About those five dead bodies, they found? At the college?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Heard it was a bloodbath.” He didn’t sound at all perturbed by the information.

“You know, I saw their pictures.” Rhodey cleared his throat. “They looked a lot like the guys who kicked my ass.”

“Weird.” Tony tilted his head to the side. He sounded utterly unbothered. It was… unnerving.

Rhodey bit the inside of his cheek. “Tony, did you know you were the only person I told, about the part where the guy said he was gonna cut my heart out?”

“No, I didn’t.” Tony’s eyebrows jumped a bit, but the surprise seemed beyond fake.

“Did you know they found that guy, and only that guy, with his heart, ripped out?” Rhodey could barely get the words out. “His entire heart, Tones. On the floor in front of him.”

“I heard that.” Tony hummed, stirring his coffee with its straw. “They said it looked professionally done.”

Rhodey flexed his fingers, counted to five in his head before going on. “I believe in coincidences, Tones. But coincidences only go so far.”

Tony glanced up again. “Oh?”

“Tell me the truth, Tony.” Rhodey gave him a hard look. “You didn’t… you have a lot of money. You didn’t hire someone to…”

Tony made a face of pure disgust. “You think I’d hire someone to commit mass murder?” He said and for a moment Rhodey calmed. “I don’t let other people do my dirty work, Rhodey. I take care of my own business.”

Rhodey’s heart stopped. “What?”

“What?” Tony asked, almost innocently.

“Did you…” Rhodey tried to ask, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Tony studied Rhodey. “Alright, let’s be honest here, okay? If I did have something to do with that murder, would you really want to know?” He took a sip of coffee.

“No,” Rhodey admitted quietly. “I… no.” He thought a moment. “How would you-you know what, fine.” Rhodey held up his hands in defeat. “Just promise me something, Tones.”

“What’s that?” Tony tilted his head to the side.

“Whatever side of you that is,” Rhodey stared at him, “the side that we aren’t gonna talk about? Let’s keep it that way. There are some things I don’t need to know about you, okay?”

“Sure.” Tony smiled. It was the first time Rhodey noticed, Tony never showed his teeth when he smiled. “If that’s how you want to keep it. Sure.”

Rhodey managed a hollow nod.

Maybe the scrappy kid wasn’t as scrappy as Rhodey thought.

-

Maria sighed, staring at the empty road. She had nothing wrong with taking back roads, even during the night. They didn’t bother her, and if they proved to be the more efficient route to her destination than they were the most logical choice.

And besides, the quiet was nice sometimes. Away from all the noises and problems she had to deal with around other people. It was relaxing, almost.

So granted, she was startled enough by the roaring motorcycle that had come veering in front of her, making her crash right into a tree.

Maria panted for a brief moment before collecting herself, pushing her hair out of her face. She had no injuries, save a few bumps and bruises.

The revving noise of the motorcycle caught Maria’s attention. It pulled up right behind her car before stopping. There were footsteps coming towards her.

Maria almost might’ve believed that whoever it was, was coming to help her but. But cyclist had come right at her, drove right in front of her. It was a hit, not an accident. Maria pulled out the gun Tony had made for her. It wasn’t lethal, instead loaded with a paralytic. Maria figured it was no use killing a hitman if she didn’t know whom he worked for.

The man walked up right next to Maria’s door, opening it. Maria laid perfectly still, waiting. As soon as he reached out to put his hand on her throat, she pulled out the gun.

It was a bit hard to find a chink in his armour in the dark, but she ended up going for his neck. The man stumbled backwards, but he didn’t pass out. Instead, he fell to one knee, trying to push himself back to his feet. Maria figured not only by his size and gear but also by the glinting metal arm that he was something above human. She shot him twice more and watched his body finally fall limp.

“And who are you?” Maria hummed, mostly to herself as she crouched next to the still body. She checked for a pulse, but otherwise focused on identifying him. She ran her hands over the leather straps of the uniform. They were HYDRA issue.

Maria made a distasteful frown. HYDRA wasn’t something she made a point to avoid, but they also weren’t something she sought out to aggravate. Being on their hit list was… annoying. Worrisome, at most. But, HYDRA or no, Maria could handle herself.

Maria’s mind flashed back to something she’d heard Martinique mention. What did he call it, a Winter Soldier? Some weapon of HYDRA’s. A ghost story.

A man with a bionic arm.

Maria couldn’t help but smile to herself. She had HYDRA’s prize weapon, lying right in front of her. The most logical thing to do would be to kill him. But.

But.

The idea of not only taking out HYDRA’s fist but making him her own… that was something Maria couldn’t quite resist.

Maria pulled out her phone, dialling a number. She’d need a new car and something to haul away the Winter Soldier’s bike. He certainly wouldn’t need it anymore.

“You know, it’s almost Christmas.” Maria mused, smiling down at the limp body, all teeth. “You’d make a lovely present for my ‘Tonio. I’m sure he could do great things with you.”

-

@justjessica131   @smittenkitten143@crazy4thewinbros   @madieorally @lazilymysticalzombie@journeythroughtherain @i-dont-know-just-where-im-going@ibreathebooks-42 @shiroukun@sonofabitch150@daughter-of-infinity@king-stony @cdragontogacotar@creepycrazyshipper@justaboringlurker @sun-at-midnight @bash-it-all @i-dont-know-anything-and-i-worry@shipeveryonetogether @jampottr @itsall-taken @shadowrayven @cdragontogacotar

[marypsue]

Raising Stakes 23 / 24

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen / Part Seventeen / Part Eighteen / Part Nineteen / Part Twenty/ Part Twenty-One / Part Twenty-Two / Part Twenty-Three / Part Twenty-Four  

Well, I split the last chapter. Again.

I’m also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

The postcard was pushed under his door one morning.

It was nothing more than a simple rectangle of card paper, with a glossy picture inscribed with the words ‘Gravity Falls’ on the front and three words scrawled on the back. Stan stared down at it, turning it over and over in his hands until the two sides blurred together. 

He wasn’t sure how Ford had gotten his address in the first place - after all, it'd been nearly ten years since they'd last spoken. But their Ma always had had her own mysterious ways, and now here the postcard was, in Stan’s hands. 

Saying “Please come!”

Stan didn’t need to reread the words. He’d memorised them. But he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ford’s scrawl. 

“Please come!” And Ford’s name. All in quick, sketchy capitals. Like he’d had no time to write anything more. Or been too scared to write anything more.

"Who's it from?" Jimmy asked, leaning over Stan's shoulder, and Stan instinctively pressed the postcard against his chest. He felt a little stupid about it, but - Ford didn't belong in the funhouse Stan's life had been since their dad had thrown his duffel bag on the sidewalk at his feet, and Stan planned on keeping him well out of it.

"Nobody," Stan muttered. "Old friend. Well, used to be a friend."

Jimmy quirked an eyebrow, but he backed off. "You tell me if you need help with any 'old friends', all right? Old friends got a way of becomin' new enemies."

Stan couldn't tear his eyes from the postcard.

"Don't I know it," he muttered, under his breath.

...

Stan spun around.

Ford was still lying in a heap on the concrete floor. He hadn’t moved. But, as Stan watched, the trenchcoat started to shift, rising and falling in time with Bill’s harsh laughter, and Stan realised Ford’s shoulders were shaking. 

In the shadow of Ford’s collar, half-hidden under the flop of Ford’s bangs, one eye snapped open.

It glowed a sickly yellow.

It felt like Stan’s feet had been nailed to the floor. He couldn’t have moved even if he’d wanted to as Ford’s body slowly unfolded from the floor in front of him, rising like a ghost from a graveyard, Bill’s awful jack-o’-lantern grin splitting his face nearly in two. 

Bill gave Ford’s chest an inquisitive pat-down with both hands, before clapping both palms to his cheeks, one hand crawling up his face into his hairline and dislodging his glasses as the other crept down towards his neck. “Hah! Wow, that was easier than I thought! Fangs for the upgrade, Ace! Now I’ve got all your perks and a body with some actual brains -”

Stan punched him.

It was a good punch. Bill didn’t seem to see it coming at all. Stan’s fist collided with the side of his head, knocking Ford’s glasses to the floor and wiping that stupid smile clean off his face. A scowl started to replace it, but before Bill could say another word, Stan socked him in the stomach with his other fist. 

Bill doubled over, coughing. 

“Shut it down!” Stan yelled, over his shoulder, at Fiddleford, who was looking shellshocked, and Susan, who was still frozen in the doorway. “Shut the portal -”

The rest of the sentence turned into a strangled yell as Bill gripped him around the neck with both hands and squeezed. Stan met Bill's eyes, and reached out, grabbed Ford's body by the shoulders, and drove his knee up.

The noise Bill made sounded almost exactly like a broken squeaky toy somebody had stepped on.

“Stan!” Carla shouted, gripping her crossbow pistol in both hands, jabbing it in Stan’s direction. “Out of the way, you’re blocking my shot!”

Stan ignored her. As he hauled Bill up by the collar to his feet, lining up for another punch, Bill started to laugh again, loud and grating and obnoxious.

"Yeah, Stan! Out of the way! Isn't that what you wanted? To get me in an undead body so you could stake me?" 

"Shut up," Stan said, shortly, and punched Bill in the stomach again. 

Bill wheezed, again, but this time he didn't stop laughing. "Oh! Oh, this is priceless!" He thrust his head forward, until his nose nearly brushed Stan's, one too-wide yellow eye peering expectantly into Stan's. "Tell me, Fangs. What're you gonna do if I don't?"

Stan wrapped his hand tighter in the collar of Ford’s shirt, expecting Bill to try to pull his disappearing act again, but Bill just stood there, his face too close to Stan’s, grinning. 

“Well?” he demanded, and Stan gave him a shake. Bill burst into another fit of laughter. “Hey, careful! Don’t wanna hurt your brother!”

For a second, Stan felt like he’d been frozen solid from the inside out.

“You mean he’s still -” Stan stopped, shaking his head. “You’re just saying that to get me to lay off you, right? Ford’s dead. You killed him and took his body.”

Bill drew back, just enough to get a good look at Stan’s face, his eyes sweeping over Stan’s expression with obvious glee.

“Guess you two are more alike than I thought!” he said, brightly. 

Stan narrowed his eyes, but Bill’s smile didn’t waver as he leaned slowly back in to uncomfortably close range.

“I mean, not to tell instead of show or anything, but you know that’s exactly what Sixer here thought about you when you showed up, right? I mean, you seem like a guy with a sense of humour, you’ve gotta appreciate the irony!” Bill’s nose was nearly touching Stan’s again, now, but Stan didn’t dare move. Couldn’t move. “So! I’d be careful how you handle this meatsack! Who knows, your brother might want it back! Better not go breaking it!”

Stan curled his fists into the lapels of Bill’s coat. Behind him, he heard a sharp intake of breath that was almost definitely Carla's, but he didn't take his eyes off of Bill, who smirked back from an inch away.

“I’m not,” Stan said, shortly, and then hauled Bill up off the ground and flung him into the shutter covering the huge viewing window. 

Bill looked shocked for about half a second before his back collided with the metal shutter. There was a horrible shriek as the metal crumpled around him, and he slumped forward. 

Before he could move, Stan leapt up after him, slamming him into the metal shutter with enough force to make the whole thing shiver and shake.

“One nice thing about being undead,” Stan started, drawing back his left arm as he pinned Bill against the shutter with his right, “You get a whole lot more durable.”

Bill opened his mouth, and Stan slammed his fist into his face.

There was a crunch, and something gave satisfyingly under Stan’s knuckles. Bill howled, and spun, shoving Stan away. Stan stumbled back, his foot slipping against the edge of the desk they were standing on, and before he knew what was happening, he was falling. He slammed into the concrete floor ass-first, the breath all knocked out of him in one explosive burst. 

The portal’s hum was nearly deafening now. Stan could feel it vibrating up through the floor, thrumming in his chest almost like a heartbeat. 

“Shut it down!” he yelled over at Fiddleford, who was hovering by a wall of flickering coloured lights and buttons that looked like some kind of controls. “Sometime today would be nice!”

Fiddleford gave a frantic tug on one of the few tufts of hair remaining on his head. “I - I - I know I built mosta this, but I cain’t remember how to work the consarned thing!”

“Well, figure it out!” Stan shouted. He started to push himself up from the floor, but before he could even straighten up, something slammed into his back and he was airborne. He could hear Carla yelling, Susan’s scream, and saw the Ford-shaped indent in the metal shutter speeding towards him before - 

Stan shut his eyes just before he collided headfirst with the shutter. 

The noise the shutter made as it tore was almost deafening. The glass on the other side actually hurt more as it shattered, shards piercing into Stan’s face and shoulders as Bill shoved him through it. Stan ducked his head as best he could, silently begging for no shards of jagged metal or broken glass to stab him in the eyes. 

They burst out the other side in a spray of metal fragments and splinters of glass. Stan hit the ground first, skidding along the concrete on his chest. Thankfully, the polished surface didn’t scrape him too badly, but the impact drove the shards of glass deeper into his chest and upper arms, and his jaw cracked against the concrete so hard that he saw stars. 

A sliver of a second later, Bill landed like a sack of bricks on his back.  

Stan lay flat for a long moment, trying to catch his breath, get his bearings, muster up the energy to try to shake Bill off. There was a sharp pain in his right side that felt suspiciously like it might be broken ribs, his head was still throbbing from when he’d cracked his jaw, and all the little cuts and scrapes on his face and shoulders were starting to burn. The brand on his right shoulder was stinging again, reopened by all the punching, and the bone-deep throb in the muscle of his shoulder hadn't stopped.

“Wow, you’re right!” Bill crowed. “You really are more durable!”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you all over again,” Stan managed, around his closed jaw. 

Bill just laughed. 

There was a pop, a swish, and a thump, and Bill’s laughter cut off abruptly. Stan felt his spine suddenly freeze, thinking of Carla's crossbow pistol, but then Bill cackled again. "Gonna have to do better than that, Pansy! Though I guess I oughta thank you for taking care of this sweatervest for me! Whoof! Ol' Sixer here could really use a personal stylist, am I right?"

There was another pop and a swish of displaced air, but this time, Stan felt Bill’s weight on his back lift, and something clanged against the face of the portal. The sound it made was like someone striking a gong, deep and sonorous, cutting through even the rising whine of the portal powering up.

Stan didn’t waste any time pushing himself to his feet. His ribs and his right shoulder burned, and he nearly toppled right back to the floor when he spun to face Bill. 

Bill’s fist collided with Stan’s face like a wrecking ball. Stan stumbled backwards, his jaw lighting up in pain. Before he could find his footing again, Bill was there, with thick dark blood already crusting in a stream from one nostril down over his upper lip and an expression like murder if murder had an extremely punchable face. Stan threw another left hook, but his form was sloppy, his intent too clear. Bill just leaned out of the way, before stepping in close, pressing a hand against each of Stan's shoulders, and giving him one sharp shove backwards.

Stan took two unsteady steps back, trying to find his footing, but the worn-down sole of his sneaker slipped against something sticking up from the floor, and he tripped. His feet left the floor, and he sucked in a breath, expecting it to be knocked out of him when he wound up flat on his ass on the concrete again. 

He didn’t. 

Instead, his feet left the floor, and didn’t touch back down. Stan flailed, but only succeeded in spinning himself in midair, turning a helpless somersault. The ceiling flashed past underneath him, the floor whirling overhead - with a yellow-and-black-striped band across it. He’d seen it before, when he was untying Susan, but he hadn’t really noticed it. 

He realised, as his spin gradually slowed, that it was probably a warning not to get too close to the portal in case exactly this happened.

Stan couldn’t hear Susan’s yell over the roar of the portal. But he could see her, over Bill’s shoulder, mouth working silently, as she shoved past Carla and out into the lab. She seemed...shorter, somehow. Or just...farther down.

So did Bill in Ford’s body. And the yellow and black line.

Oh, shit.

The sound of the portal was deafening, now. Stan could see his shadow, stark and black on the floor below him, outlined in the brilliant blue light spilling from the portal behind him. 

He could feel it now, too. Not just the strange weightlessness, like falling in reverse, but a pull, dragging him slowly but inexorably backwards no matter how much he kicked and clawed at the air. Stan watched his own shadow inch backwards, over the black and yellow line, as the floor got farther and farther away, his own shouts drowned out by the thundering noise of the spinning machinery behind him.

The vicious smile on Ford’s face glinted sharply in the portal’s blue light. 

And then slipped off of his face again when Susan ran up beside him, breathing hard, and scooped the extension cord she’d been tied up with off the ground in front of the portal. Stan barely caught the sound of his name as she yelled up at him, and then swung the end of the cord over her head before throwing it at him. “Catch!”

Stan scrabbled for the end of the cord, only succeeding in flipping himself into another midair somersault. The plug thwacked him sharply in the back of his head as he tumbled by, and Stan shouted a curse that even he could barely hear over the portal. 

He saw everything in blurry flashes as he spun - the ceiling, the floor, Bill and Susan wrestling over the other end of the extension cord, the ceiling again, the huge accusing eye of the portal, outlined in a frantically whirling ring of white light, and in its depths, in the darkness in its very centre, something sparking to life - 

The extension cord wavered into his vision again, and Stan reached out and grabbed at it. This time, somehow, his hand closed around it. 

Stan latched onto the cord with both hands, pulling himself down along it. It was hard work - somehow, over the last handful of seconds, the pull from the portal had grown so much stronger, like its own upside-down gravity. The rising whine he'd heard earlier was piercing, now, rising over the rumble of the machinery. The extension cord burned the bare skin of his palms as the portal sucked Stan back, and he heard Susan yelp as the cord snapped taut.

Stan clung to the cord, but his grip in his right hand slipped, the muscles still weak after the burn to his shoulder, and he slid backwards, sucked in towards the portal. He could feel something through the toes of his shoes, a strange feeling that almost wasn’t a feeling, like if an electric shock had somehow crossed with the feeling of his foot falling asleep. He glanced back over his shoulder, and saw the centre of the portal filled with blue-white light. 

The tips of his sneakers were just starting to sink into it.

Stan yanked on the extension cord, trying to pull himself away from the portal, but when he turned back towards Susan and the others, the bottom of his stomach dropped abruptly to the concrete below. 

Susan was on the floor, curled up like a caterpillar clutching her stomach in obvious pain. And holding the other end of the extension cord, grinning like he was a cartoon cat and Stan was a mouse he’d caught by the tail, was Bill.

“You know, Fangs, I really shouldn’t keep stringing you along like this!” Bill cackled, and let the extension cord slip through his hands. Stan was sucked backwards, a scream tearing out of him before he was abruptly jolted to a stop when Bill grabbed onto the extension cord again. “Whoops!” 

“Let him go, you big meanie!” Susan yelled, throwing both her arms around Ford’s legs and - Stan blinked. It looked a little like she was trying to hug him into submission. 

“Susan, don’t,” Stan groaned, as Susan’s wording sank in. “Don’t ask him to let go!”

Bill flashed a big, innocuous smile down at Susan, before turning Ford’s head slowly, slowly, back to face Stan. 

“Turning down help, Ace? Might wanna rethink that! Cause it looks like you’re getting pretty close to the end of your rope -”

“Bill!”

Stan’s head snapped up at the sound of the muffled shout. So did Susan’s. Bill kept staring at Stan for a moment longer, his smile slowly dipping into a confused frown, before he turned to look behind him.

The crash test dummy tackled Bill around the waist.

Bill staggered forward, letting out a frustrated snarl as he tried to push the dummy off of him. The dummy clung on grimly with its single arm, wrapping both of its legs around Bill’s knees, and Bill stumbled - right over the black-and-yellow warning line. 

Both Bill and dummy left the ground, rising quickly towards Stan. For one heartstopping moment, the extension cord went slack in Stan’s hands, the portal dragging him back. Then Susan jumped to her feet and snatched the cord out of the air where it was flapping, loose. That strange electric numbness flickered at Stan's spine as Susan teetered on the edge of the warning line, the very tips of her toes brushing against the floor. “Stan! Hang on, I’ve got you!”

“Okay, but who’s got you?” Stan yelled back. 

Bill pressed one of Ford’s hands against the top of the dummy’s head, six fingers splayed, and shoved it away from him. The dummy spun backwards, its arm and legs flapping wildly, sinking down through the air towards Susan even as Bill tumbled in the other direction, heading straight for Stan. 

Stan tried to brace himself, but Bill still slammed into him like a rebounding punching bag. The impact nearly jolted the extension cord out of Stan’s hands, wrenching his shoulders in their sockets. 

For a terrifying instant, Susan slipped, skidded across the black and yellow line. The cord started to go slack in Stan's hands, and he nearly let it go. If he was falling through that portal into who knew what, then at least he wasn't going to take Susan with him.

But the cord snapped tight again as Carla ran up behind Susan and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her back across the black and yellow line. She looked up, and met Stan's eyes, giving him the tiniest of nods and just a hint of a reassuring smile.

Stan ground his back teeth together and clung grimly on.

Bill’s laughter rose from Ford’s body, and even though his back was pressed against Stan’s front, Stan could all too easily imagine the expression on his face. His shoulders shaking nearly made Bill slip away, out of Stan’s grip and into the portal’s pull, and Stan sucked in a breath before letting go of the extension cord with his right arm to wrap it more securely around Ford’s waist. Maybe his brother wasn’t in it right now, but that was his brother’s body, and there was no way he was letting it go. Ford would probably want it back.

The dummy let out a frustrated yell, kicking its legs to try to spin in midair to face Stan and Bill. “Let him go, you idiot!” it yelled, or seemed to yell, at Stan. “Send that monster back to the dimension from which he came!”

Even though it didn’t have a mouth to move, the voice seemed to come from the general direction of the dummy’s head. And though it was disembodied and strangely muffled, Stan would’ve known Ford’s voice anywhere.

Bill’s laughter only got louder. “That’s the Fordsy we all know and love! Even when you’re fighting for your life - or should I say unlife, now? - you still waste your time on grammar!”

“Ford?” Stan asked.

“Yep, that’s your brother, piggybacking off of your great ideas for once! How’s that role reversal feel, Fangs?” Bill twisted Ford’s head sharply sideways, grinning manic into Stan’s face, before wrenching it back to face the dummy - Ford. “But this little self-sacrifice act is getting old, Sixer! Giving up your body to trap me in the Nightmare Realm forever? Booo-ring!”

“Oh, good, the demon guy’s talking again,” Susan moaned, from somewhere below. “Who let him talk?”

Bill’s eyes narrowed, but his smile remained dangerously sharp. 

“Let’s make this a little more interesting!” he chirped, ignoring Susan, and snapped Ford’s fingers. 

Then he blinked, and looked over at his own raised hand as if he’d never seen it before. He was moving slower, too, like he was a stranger to his own body, and as he half-turned towards Stan, raising his other hand, Stan caught a glimpse of his eyes.

His normal, brown eyes, which widened in horrified realisation at the same time as Stan’s did.

From below them, Bill’s laughter rose again, terrible and echoing. Stan and Ford both turned to look down at the dummy, at the slash of red paint across the huge eye sketched on its face. As Stan watched, that eye flared a glowing, hideous yellow, and turned up towards them.

“Well, Pines brothers, it’s been fun,” Bill’s nasally voice crowed from the general vicinity of the dummy’s head, “but the party’s over!” His voice sank through several octaves until it was a booming bass that Stan could feel vibrating in his chest. “See you on the other side.”

“Shit!” Stan shouted, and grabbed at the extension cord, just as the dummy reached out with its remaining arm and yanked the cord out of Susan’s hands. Susan wailed, falling over the black and yellow line as she tried to keep hold of the cord. If gravity had been normal, Stan guessed she would’ve skidded flat on her face. As it was, she turned a slow somersault in midair, head over heels.

Bill raised the dummy’s hand, and waved.

Ford was shouting something in Stan’s ear, some panicked babble about what they should do, what they could do, how they couldn’t let Bill destroy the universe, but Stan barely heard him. There was a little bubble of stillness right below his ribcage, and even though he could feel the strange electric void of the portal licking at the back of his neck, all he could feel was perfect, unshakable calm.

He’d done this before. Maybe Ford knew about monsters and demons and things that went bump in the night, but this wasn’t about magic and mystery anymore. Now this was about some powerful, evil asshole trying to kill them. 

And that, Stan knew how to deal with. 

Before Bill could open his hand and let go of the extension cord, Stan looped his end of the cord around his left hand and yanked. It must have been part Stan’s own strength, part the portal’s pull, part weak gravity, but Bill shot straight toward Stan and Ford like a bullet out of a gun. 

Stan watched as that glowing yellow eye drew closer, and closer, Bill’s scream of rage trailing after it. At the last possible second, when it looked like the dummy was about to smash into both of them, he let go of the extension cord and shoved Ford to his right as hard as he could.

Bill never stood a chance. The dummy flew between Stan and Ford and straight into the heart of the portal, trailing extension cord as it vanished into the blue-white light, Bill’s scream fading slowly after it. The end of the cord whipped through the air as it was sucked through after the dummy, and then it, too, was gone.

“Stan,” Ford laughed, his face crumpling in a way that could have been either laughter or tears as he reached out across the threshold of the portal to Stan. “You idiot, you - you stupid - why did you come back?”

Stan shook his head. The blue-white light of the portal was so close now, nearly swallowing everything. It wouldn’t be long before they both passed through it. He could barely see Ford, there was no way Ford could make out the expression on his face.

“I am your brother,” he managed, and somehow even mustered up a smile.

Ford said something, but it was swallowed by the sound of the portal. That strange feeling of nothingness was spreading, up Stan’s waist and chest, and he couldn’t see anything for blue light.

But he felt it when Ford grabbed his wrist, and when Ford pulled him forwards - not out of the portal, but just enough to make the nothing-feeling retreat a little - and wrapped both arms around his shoulders. Stan froze, not sure what was happening, but all Ford did was hold him, like that, pressed against his chest. It was with mingled horror and something...else, something soft, that Stan realised his shoulder was quickly getting damp where Ford’s face was pressed into it. 

The portal gave one triumphant roar, and Stan shut his eyes.

And then his legs were on fire with the worst pins and needles he’d ever felt, and the blue light vanished, the portal clunking and shuddering through a series of ominous mechanical noises as its whine slowly trailed down through the octaves. Stan hovered for a moment, before gravity seemed to notice that he and Ford had been thumbing their noses at it and rushed in to make up for lost time. 

Both Stan and Ford crashed down onto the concrete, with a jarring thump that made Stan’s teeth rattle in his head and all of his burns and scrapes and involuntary piercings suddenly sit up and make themselves heard. He lay there, for what felt like eternity, with his brother’s arms around him, listening to McGucket hooting and hollering from the control room. 

“I done it! I dadgum done did it! I remembered how ta turn th’ thing off an’ I done it! Glory be!”

The portal was shut. Bill was gone.

Stan leaned into Ford’s shoulder, and slowly, gingerly, brought his own arms up to wrap around Ford’s waist. In response, Ford squeezed Stan’s shoulders so hard that the burn on Stan’s shoulder screamed in protest, digging his fingers into Stan’s back hard enough to leave bruises. 

Even though everything hurt, Stan couldn’t help but smile.

[breadhyunn]

Tea

Characters: Youngjae, Zelo, Himchan (B.A.P)

Length: 1387 words

Setting/Genre: Humour(ish), Butlers!AU, oneshot,

Warnings: None

Summary: Insufferable Pop Star Himchan’s butlers have made a terrible mistake.

 “I may have used poison instead of sugar,” said Junhong, eyeing the two open jars in front of him.

Youngjae’s jaw fell open. “IN WHAT WORLD DO THE LABELS RAT POISON AND SUGAR LOOK THE SAME TO YOU?”

“Hey ever since Himchan decided powdered sugar ‘suited him better’ I can barely tell the difference between all these white powders. Anyway, I’ve just got to throw it out.”

Youngjae forced a smile and walked up to Junhong. “Well, there’s a slight problem,” he said, whispering softly in his ear.

“What is it?” Junhong asked dreamily, flustered to have him so close.

‘’I SENT THE TEA TO HIMCHAN A MINUTE AGO,” screamed Youngjae.

Junhong recoiled violently thanks to the shock to his ear drum and his body. “Oops?”

“OOPS??? IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY??? YOU MIGHT HAVE JUST SET INTO MOTION A PROCESS THAT COULD KILL OUR BOSS???”

Junhong took a step back, and then another, trying to look for anything he could use as defense against Youngjae jumping around. “Umm, instead of yelling at me I think we should get the tea back?”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO,” screamed Youngjae, yet again. “Okay we need to calm down and gather our thoughts.”

Junhong slowly put the spatula he’d picked up back into the drawer, his eyes never leaving Youngjae’s heavily breathing form.

Youngjae clasped his hands together and said, “I think we should get the tea back.”

“Uh that’s what I just-“

“DON’T ARGUE WITH ME LET’S GO.”

They both hurriedly got out of the kitchen; they had about 100 meters to cover before they reached the room specially made for drinking tea. Himchan, was, well, fancy. Being a famous pop star meant having a lot of money to spend. It also meant having an incredibly specific set of needs, something that drove his butlers crazy. On a bad day, Junhong might have intentionally mixed the poison. But alas, the job paid too much for either of them to want to give it up. So they simply gave up a different set of things for it- sugar crystals, regular shoes, the ability to complain, and their dignity.

“Ugh I still don’t understand why he makes us wear these squeaky shoes,” said Youngjae. They were big and ugly with a chick’s face on them which clucked with every step.

“He grew up on a farm he just likes to be reminded of it,” said Junhong, trying not to laugh at the fact that Youngjae’s angry walk with those shoes made him look like a penguin.

“Oh did his farm have a Victorian style tea room where he has to drink tea every morning at 10:04 AM sharp?” Youngjae was pouting. “Sometimes I honestly want to- What are you laughing at?”

Junhong was leaning against a pillar, one hand on his stomach, the other covering his face. “You look exactly like the bird on the shoe,” he said, bursting into another fit of giggles.

Youngjae stood still; it looked like he was regretting all the times he ever found Junhong adorable. “Well that settles it- you’re going to slap the cup out of Himchan’s hand.”

Junhong’s laughter ceased. “Why are we slapping the cup out of his hand? Can’t we just ask him to give it back?”

Youngjae rolled his eyes as they resumed walking. “Well for starters it is 10 o’clock and we can’t remake the tea and get it to him in 4 minutes. If Himchan has to not drink his tea, it has to be because something huge happened. And gosh do you not remember the last time I asked him to let go of something already given to him? He made me dress like a watermelon because I must know my place as a ‘waitermelon’. So yes, we’re going to slap the cup out of his hand.”

Junhong almost laughed again, but the thought of him having no defense against his colleague’s striking abilities made him stop.  “Oh! You said we!”

“Oi I meant you, why should I risk my job? You mixed the poison.”

“But you sent it to him!” said Junhong, as they finally reached the door. Youngjae pulled him back, and they both peeped in to assess the situation, momentarily taking a break from arguing. Junhong’s head was creeping above Youngjae’s.

Himchan was in his purple silk pajamas, sitting on the couch, getting makeup done for exactly 2 minutes as he waited for his tea-time to arrive. The possible murder weapon was on the table in front of him. The possible murder convicts were looking at it for too long.

“What are you waiting for, go knock it down!” hissed Youngjae.

“Listen, we have less than a minute. I’ve been studying science and I think it’ll be better and faster if I threw you at it instead.”

Youngjae looked up with a flabbergasted expression. “Watching 2 episodes of The Big Bang Theory isn’t called studying science, Junhong!”

As Youngjae continued to rant about how tired he was of Junhong, Himchan got up and walked up to the table. Junhong had stopped paying attention at this point, he looked into the room and saw Himchan holding the cup in his hand. This was it, the perfect opportunity to save himself from jail and shut Youngjae up.  

In that moment, Junhong probably didn’t know what came over him, but he grabbed a still talking Youngjae by the hip and flung him with all his might towards Himchan’s hand. From here on, all that was missing was some dramatic orchestral music. Himchan’s eyes slowly widened at the image of a man flying straight towards him, his arms flailing about. Junhong just stood at the door, with his hands outstretched and eyes shut.  

Well, Junhong’s aim was terrible, but the force wasn’t. Youngjae landed straight on top of Himchan, tackling him to the ground. The tea was all over the place, they were safe, or not quite- the expression on Himchan’s face made it seem like he could murder them. Youngjae got up in a hurry, his cheeks completely red.

Himchan’s gaze was piercing through Youngjae’s soul. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? THESE CLOTHES ARE PREMIUM SILK AND YOU JUST SPILLED ALL MY TEA.”

Youngjae just stood there, “Sir, I-I-“

“HE HAS A CRUSH ON YOU,” squealed Junhong.

Youngjae turned sharply. “WHAT.”

Himchan got up promptly. “What?”

Junhong waltzed in and placed a hand on Youngjae’s shoulder. “Sir you shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, you’re so handsome; the symmetry of your face is perfect. The eyes, the hair, your voice. It’s really tough not to like you. Our Youngjae here’s just been struggling with his feelings lately, he’s been falling for you, and I guess he just wanted to experience what falling on you feels like. Isn’t that right, Youngjae?”

A smile crept on Himchan’s face as he pretty much nodded along to what Junhong was saying and he looked questioningly at Youngjae, who at this point was regretting the time he simply found Junhong. His face was devoid of any bubbliness, there was just scathing hatred.

“Isn’t that right, Youngjae?” Junhong nudged him.

Youngjae swallowed. Hard. “Y-yes sir, I have a crush on you. I can’t help it. You’re. Just. Too. Perfect.” He stretched out those words, contemplating saying each one as much as his dignity would allow him to.

Himchan sighed proudly. “Ah I understand what you’re feeling. But if you liked me you could’ve just said so, didn’t have to throw yourself at me,” he said, smirking.

Junhong laughed loudly, the kind of laugh that would utterly flatter someone. “What can I say, Sir, it looks like you’re irresistible. Don’t worry, I’ll drill some sense into this heart-eyed boy here.”

Himchan smiled wide as he said, “I need to go change now, you better make me some more tea by 10:15.” As he left, he smugly smacked Youngjae’s butt, “You can bring the tea to me.”

Junhong waved after Himchan departing, as Youngjae’s eyeballs almost popped out of his head. As soon as Himchan left the room, Junhong ran and positioned himself behind the couch.

“Look, before you say something, remember I did save you from getting fired.”

Emotions hadn’t returned to Youngjae’s face yet. His lips morphed into a flat smile. “Junhong, I think I need to make you some tea.”

A/N: THIS IS THE MOST RIDICULOUS THING I’VE EVER WRITTEN BUT I HAD THE TIME OF MY LIFE SO I HOPE YOU LIKE IT EVEN A TEENY BIT. I honestly giggled at this thought more than I should have, thanks to Lei, and it probably isn’t as funny as I think it is, but I really did like writing it! As usual, comments/feedback is always welcome! I blame pixi, becca,willow and zain for the Younglo feels.

[the-desolated-quill]

Robot Of Sherwood - Doctor Who blog

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

When the Doctor exited the TARDIS and bumped into Robin Hood, who greets him with a cheeky wink before the opening credits, I started to shift uncomfortably in my seat. Mark Gatiss, why do you keep doing this to yourself? You know this kind of light hearted fluff doesn’t suit you. You specialise in the dark and the macabre. The Unquiet Dead and The Crimson Horror are probably your best episodes, and that’s because they play to your strengths. This... I’m sorry, but this is just sad.

Clara wants to meet Robin Hood, but the Doctor is adamant that Robin Hood doesn’t exist, so he takes Clara to Sherwood Forest to prove his point (again, it’s like Into The Dalek. He takes Clara to Nottingham not to make her happy, but to prove he’s right. I really like this more arrogant and stubborn side of him a lot) only to find that Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men are in fact real after all. Or are they...?

To be honest, I kind of half wish they followed through with the idea that Robin Hood really was a robot because that at least may have justified why he’s such an awful caricature. Tom Riley has a decent stab at it, but the character is so one note and so wafer thin that it’s damn near impossible to form any sort of emotional attachment to him. Why should I care about him or his desire to be reunited with Maid Marion? (who is basically handed to Robin Hood as a prize at the end for good behaviour). Some could argue that this was deliberate to keep up the pretence that he might be a robot, but that doesn’t work because once you learn he is in fact the real Robin Hood, he’s still a flat, one dimensional cardboard cutout. And the less said about his so called ‘bantering,’ the better. I’ve had dentist appointments that were funnier than this.

The Sheriff Of Nottingham has the same problem. Ben Miller tries his best, but there’s nothing he can really do because the character is so flimsy. Why is he working with the robots? What’s his motivation behind wanting more power than he already has? And if he’s just a pawn of the robots, how is he able to control them? (On a second viewing, I learnt that the Sheriff is actually a cyborg. This was an explanation that I completely missed the first time around because it was so rushed and I couldn’t hear it because of the sword fight and Murray Gold’s obnoxiously loud swashbuckler theme crashing and banging away in the background. Plus it doesn’t really address what I was saying. In fact it just raises further questions. Why did the robots upgrade the Sheriff? And why give him control over them?).

The robots themselves look kind of cool, I guess. But... robots trying to repair their spaceship using human resources so that they can get to the Promised Land? Isn’t this the exact same premise as Deep Breath? Did they think we wouldn’t notice?

But for me the biggest reason why Robot Of Sherwood doesn’t work (and it pains me to say this) is the Doctor. Now don’t get me wrong. I like Peter Capaldi. I think he’s a great actor, but I think it’s fair to say he can only really do certain types of comedy. The reason Into The Dalek worked so much better as an introduction to Twelve than Deep Breath did was because the story and humour was tailor fitted to suit Capaldi’s talents. Whimsy and goofy just doesn’t suit him. Deep Breath made that painfully obvious. He was miles better at the dry quips and dark sarcasm in Into The Dalek. So it baffles me why we’ve suddenly gone back to whimsy, goofy territory again. Take a look at the opening fight with Robin Hood where the Doctor brandishes a spoon. Now if it was David Tennant or Matt Smith doing that, it could have worked, but with Peter Capaldi, the whole thing just felt really cringeworthy. And I’m not saying it’s because Capaldi is a bad actor or he’s not funny. It’s just not the right material for him. It just doesn’t work with this particular Doctor. Same goes for the gag where he accidentally tells one of the Merry Men he’s only got six months to live. I could see Matt Smith making that work, but when Peter Capaldi does it, it just comes off as spiteful.

I suppose that’s really my main gripe with Robot Of Sherwood, apart from everything else. It feels like its been written for a completely different Doctor. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the scene where the Doctor, Clara and Robin Hood get captured and locked in a cell, and the Doctor and Robin start squabbling like children. This is by far the worst scene in the episode because the Doctor’s behaviour and attitude toward Robin Hood doesn’t make any sense. The only way his behaviour could possibly be justified is if he was motivated by jealousy. Except that’s not who this Doctor is. He has no romantic interest in Clara whatsoever, so that can’t be the reason for his jealousy, and you can’t even put it down to the Doctor being jealous of her hero worshipping Robin because he knows she hero worships him too and wishes she wouldn’t. It just doesn’t work with this Doctor at all.

Speaking of which, this is the third episode in a row where the story revolves around sticking the Doctor under a microscope. Deep Breath was about questioning whether the Doctor is the same man as before, Into The Dalek was about the Doctor’s hatred of the Daleks, and now Robot Of Sherwood is about whether or not the Doctor is a hero (and in case you didn’t pick up on all that, Robin Hood handily explains it all to you at the end because the writers clearly think we’re fucking idiots). I can see what they’re trying to do. The Doctor doubts whether or not he’s a good person and is projecting those doubts onto Robin Hood. This prevents him from seeing Robin as a real man and forces him to conclude that Robin must be a fake working for the enemy. I get it. The problem is in order to make it work, Mark Gatiss has to make the Doctor look like a complete and utter moron. The Sheriff spells it out all too plainly near the end. Why would the robots design an enemy to fight them? It’s just all so bloody obvious, there’s no way the Doctor wouldn’t pick up on that. I’ve got no problem with the Doctor being suspicious of the whole setup, but not if it comes at the expense of his own characterisation.

No. Sorry Mark Gatiss. This really isn’t good enough. You were in the League Of Gentlemen, for God’s sake! Write something better!

[looselucy]

Childhood Friends / 5392 words

Catch up

August 2017

Part One

My eyes were just about revealed over the back of the sofa as I watched Harry pacing his flat, one hand running through his hair and the other holding his phone to his ear. “Honestly… I used to care about this.” He sighed, utterly frustrated. “I used to care, but now… I literally don’t give a flying fuck. Use whatever speakers you think are best.” He’d been on the phone for almost an hour, and with each sentence he spoke, he was getting more and more worked up. He was trying to figure stuff out for the tour, and whoever was on the other end of the phone was obviously not grasping at what Harry wanted, or maybe giving him so many options that Harry had lost interest in something he’d once really wanted a say in. They certainly weren’t getting the point. “Just hang up!” I instructed, but he shook his head.

I could tell he really wanted to hang up, but he didn’t have the balls to do it. I knew he thought it would have been too rude, but the conversation was going around in bloody circles and I didn’t see it ending in any other way. We were in London, back in his beautiful apartment and back to an abnormal normality that I could just about be accustom with. London felt a lot more regular than LA ever would, and it was the perfect middle ground for us. I still found myself baffled, sometimes, when I took in the awards on his shelves and the fact that he could afford to live more than comfortably in London at all, but there was still a familiarity there that helped me feel at ease. “Josh… Josh just use the-” He went quiet again, allowing the guy on the other end to go off on another tangent. “Well what the fuck are those?” I could almost see him slowly losing his mind, and for around half an hour it had been relatively funny to behold, but it was slowly getting less and less amusing. I stood myself up, standing beside his coffee table and watching him pace through his kitchen area, possibly on the verge of a breakdown. I slowly began to undress myself, keeping my eyes on him and smiling smugly to myself, starting with my bottom layers and then moving upwards. I was only in my bra, reaching to unhook the thing, by the time Harry even noticed. He stopped pacing instantly, his mouth dropping just slightly, watching my movement as my final item of layering dropped to the floor. I bit my lip and stood there, probably kind of awkwardly, just waiting for him. “Josh, I’m gunna call you back.” With that, he finally hung up. I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it earlier. He marched around to me within seconds, dodging his sofa with speed and pulling me up and into his arms. I squealed excitedly as I wrapped my legs around his waist, soon lolling my head back to allow room for his lips as they danced across my neck. It was the perfect technique, because not only had it finally got him off the phone, but it meant that I could once again feel his tender lips embellish my tingling skin, exciting me as it simultaneously soothed me. He began carrying me towards his bedroom, my fingers finding their way into the hair at the back of his head, grinning to myself as he slowly made his way through his apartment, trying to find his way without ever taking his lips from my neck. We were unsuccessful, first crashing into the wall beside his hallway, mere inches away from being on track, and then the rug gave way beneath Harry’s feet, and we tumbled. Harry let out a low shout of pain as he landed on top of me, and I just laughed, laying back on the floor and sniggering away to myself loudly, now using my hands to cover my breasts, like I’d gone all shy. “For fuck sake.” Harry managed to laugh, trying to clamber back upright. “That’s the least smooth thing I’ve ever done in my fucking life.” I continued laughing, my boobs jiggling away in my hands as Harry got up to his knees, watching me with a smile as he shook his head, clearly trying not to be impressed with the situation, but it was just so funny. Harry was smooth and controlled with everything he did. From his work, to his sex life, everything was precise and perfect. I got a weird sense of pleasure seeing him mess up. He got up to his feet, whilst grabbing my hand and yanking upwards to join him, putting his hands back on my waist and finally leading me in the right direction again. I was moving backwards with much more speed than I was prepared for, and I was still laughing away to myself as he pushed the two of us back into his bedroom. “Stop fucking laughing at me.” He continued his weak attempts at burying his smile. “I’m sorry.”  I lied, moving my lips up to meet his. “Kiss me.” He didn’t, instead forcefully turning me around and bending my body over so that my breasts were pressed down at the bottom of the mattress, my legs dangling off the foot of the bed, my cheek down against the sheets. Humour drained from the room as I listened out for the noises I knew were coming, Harry routing through his drawers, and my breathing picking up its pace. I cursed quietly to myself, staying on my spot but spreading my legs a little, making sure I was as comfortable as I physically could be. “Gimme your hands.” He gasped, and I could hear his smirk, and it drove me insane. I did as I was told, and the very second I felt him attaching his cuffs to my wrists, I could feel myself getting wetter, closing my eyes as my chest seemed to crush in on itself, Harry wrapping the leather tight before hooping the two straps together. I fucking loved it when he got that way. Once we’d started truly developing feelings for one another, falling in love, it became a bit more of a rarity that he’d delve into that darker side of his sexual desires. So often we wanted to be soft with one another, for each touch to be filled with love and longing. Our meetings were rare and our feelings strong, so it naturally happened that way. But thanks to the fact I’d already been in London for two days, it gave us the time to fall back into old habits, where his stimulation stemmed from the coves of his mind he hadn’t explored with many people. It was entirely thrilling. He came and stood by the side of his bed so I could see him, and that’s when he started undoing his belt, biting his lip as he toyed with the buckle, glaring down to me as my mouth dropped open a little more. He grinned at the sight of me, weak and waiting. He then pulled the black leather from between the slots on his jeans, and once it was out he curved it in his hands, forming a loop which he snapped, the noise sending shivers coiling through my joints and erupting a bruised whimper that slipped from my mouth. He crouched down to my level, tenderly stroking some loose strands of hair from my face. “You tell me to stop and I will.” He whispered. “I won’t.” I smirked. “Lamb, I’m serious.” His voice lowered even more. “If it’s too much, you’ve gotta let me know.” I nodded, wetting my lips again and watching his grin grow, my heart beating harder and harder in the lead up to what was about to happen. He shot back upright, disappearing from sight as he moved to my rear end, snapping the belt once again. Not being able to see what he was doing sent my nerves spiralling out of control, my thoughts ablaze as I anticipated his next move. But he somehow still managed to catch me completely off-guard. It was his lips, soft against my bare skin. Where I had expected to feel a sting, he had honoured me with a sublime tenderness, kissing briefly up my right cheek, and then the touch was gone, replaced with the feeling I’d been expecting. He whipped me, hard. I let out a low growl, my legs feeling as though they were about to give way but I somehow remained upright, seething in the feeling through gripped teeth. “Again.” I panted. “Harder.” He complied, the second sting so much greater than the first that it produced a noise from within me that I previously wasn’t sure I was able conjure. That’s when he placed his body on top of mine, crushing against my back and pushing me harder downwards, leaning his lips towards my ear. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” He groaned, fingers reaching down and stroking between my folds. Then he was gone again, once again leaving me with no touches or sounds or any idea what his next move would be. It was exhilarating. Every single thing about it. I loved being utterly clueless, just balancing myself there waiting for him to make his next move. There was this gorgeous sense of uncertainty that I couldn’t help but fall in love with. What I adored about Harry was that his desires weren’t black and white. He didn’t just crave the power he had then, but he craved the weakness too. He didn’t just want to see me in cuffs, he wanted to be bound by them himself. He was both gentle and brutal and it seemed we both wanted exactly the same from each other at exactly the same time. We clicked. We worked, no matter the circumstances. His desires, like my own, were bursting with colours that our eyes couldn’t even comprehend, bright and beaming and shrouded by a mist that sparkled. It was everything I’d ever needed without even being aware it was something I wanted before that first time Harry had slapped his belt against my soaking core, the very first time we were together that way. The belt hit my skin for the third time, and I suppose I’d predicted I’d start to cower away from the pain, but if anything, I pushed my backside closer to him, desperate for more. “Holy fuck.” I gasped, my skin creasing thanks to the pain, but a smirk putting itself upon my lips. He whipped me again, and I could feel the heavy force of his movements in the air, just about being able to make out his satisfied grunts that followed the sound of leather meeting skin. My wrists were beginning to strain against their entrapment, laying bound at the bottom of my spine as I awaited more pain willingly. That’s when I felt his lips again, kissing passionately over my red skin, his tongue touching over the area beautifully as he whispered that he loved me, the words seeming to sink into my flesh, a grateful sigh prodding out from between my lips. “You look so good like this.” He whispered, moving his lips higher and beginning to kiss up my back, two fingers dipping between my dripping folds. “So vulnerable for me.” His body lay back on top of mine, heavy and heated, and then with no warning whatsoever he forced himself into me, causing me to let out an exhausted cry. I hadn’t known he was going to do that, every movement he’d made had been completely out of sight. Feeling him enter me fully like that with no warning somehow made me feel even more exposed than before, my stomach roiling and my heart beating harder. I bit at my bottom lip, hard, feeling him slowly rolling his hips towards me a few times, his teeth nibbling at my earlobe before he lashed back upright, his hands grabbing furiously at my hips as he started pounding into me relentlessly. I’d been close to coming before he’d even entered me, the feel of the sting upon my skin being such a turn on for me, but now he was working into me as perfectly as he always did, I knew I couldn’t hold it in any longer. My whole body was alive with the feeling. It fizzled through my blood and set my bones on fire. The leather of his belt was replaced by the palm of his hand as he slapped at my arse, and I finished, my mark of pleasure pushing onto him and erupting his own end, his body stilling as we rode out our orgasms together. It wasn’t long before he fell breathlessly onto the bed beside me. I turned my head the opposite way so I could see him, his hand on his chest as he stared breathlessly towards the ceiling, my wrists still bound together. “I feel like… I could play out every single fantasy I have with you.” He struggled to talk, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. I grinned to myself, silently hoping that he didn’t just mean his sexual fantasies, but all the fantasies he had for his life. Sexual, career wise, personal. I hoped he thought he could pursue them all, with me by his side.

Part Two

I’d become a bit of a wallflower during lunch, because really, I didn’t have much to say for myself. We’d met up with Nick and Alexa to grab some food, and the three of them were all talking excitedly between themselves and pulling up memories and scenarios that I couldn’t even dream about being involved in. So I just sat there, nodding along and smiling and laughing whenever I could, but barely saying a word. “That was easily, the wildest party we’ve ever been to.” Alexa chuckled, grabbing at some food from the platter in the centre of the table. “You tried these?” “No.” I shook my head. “You should, they’re amazing.” It wasn’t that any of them were being rude; far from it! Nick and Alexa had been making an effort with me and always acknowledging me and asking me things whenever they could, but their lives were so far from mine that it wasn’t easy to jump in on things and find common ground. All their friends were celebrities and every event they went to was high class and it managed to make my entire existence seem monotonous, compared to theirs. It was easy with Harry, because we’d grown up together, and most of the time our relationship barely touched the celebrity side of his lifestyle. But whenever it did, I found myself feeling withdrawn and baffled by just how different things were. It wasn’t just when he was walking the red carpet, or performing for thousands of people, or promoting a blockbuster movie, but it even meant that his friendships were different, his entire life built around things that I would never be familiar with. I loved him, endlessly, but sometimes it felt like I was trying to play catch-up in a race I’d never taken part in. Alexa and Harry continued to talk about this party they’d all once attended together as Nick looked my way, waiting until he’d swallowed before he spoke. “So how long you in London for?” “I’m going again tomorrow.” I tut. “That’s shit.” He sulked. “I’m having a party on Monday and it would’a been nice to have you there.” “What are you celebrating?” “Just… life, I reckon.” He shrugged. “Any excuse.” “Huh?” Harry joined in our conversation, a little behind. “I was gunna invite your missus to my party, but she’ll be home by then.” “Well, she’s thinking of maybe moving here, aren’t ya?” He nudged me. “You serious?” Nicks eyes went wide. “That’s amazing!” “Gotta be more exciting here than Swanage, right?” Alexa grinned. I merely nodded, and smiled as Harry leaned in and kissed my cheek, excited over the thought of us living in the same city together. “So, anyone exciting going to your party?” Harry asked Nick. “Other than us, obviously.” “I think Ronnie is gunna make an appearance this time, y’know.” “My boy!” Harry smirked, grabbing a little more food. “I’ve missed him. It’s been ages!” “Don’t say you’re talking about Ronnie Wood.” I cried. “Just don’t do it.” “Harry and Ronnie are thick as thieves.” Alexa smirked, shaking her head. It was crazy to think that somewhere along the line, Harry had been able to stop idolizing people and just start calling them friends instead. It wasn’t a big deal for him to be seeing Ronnie for any other reason than the fact it had been a while. I just couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Our meal continued and they all chatted between themselves, and I went quiet again. Harry placed his hand upon my leg at one point, under the table, gripping at me as though silently trying to encourage me to join in a little more, but I couldn’t. What the fuck did I have to say about fashion or award shows? Once the food was done, I was tucked under Harry’s arm, cuddled into his side and laughing at a story Nick was telling us about his dog throwing up in a cup of tea he’d just made, when three shy looking girls approached the table, giggling coyly to themselves. “Oh my god, hi.” One of them spoke, greeting Harry directly. “I love you so much, I’m sorry for interrupting, but do you mind if we get a picture?” “Of course not.” Harry obliged, getting up to his feet immediately. I moved my legs to allow him to scuttle past me and join the girls who all looked like they were on the verge of minor breakdowns. All but one, anyway. She was just staring at me, brows furrowed. They gathered for a picture, and snapped it quickly, Harry seemingly grateful for it. I knew he was usually more than happy to take pictures as long as it didn’t take up too much of his time. He was sat back down with me, and placed me back beneath his arm, and the girls hadn’t moved. “I’m seeing you in October.” It seemed only one girl had it in her to talk, another one just crying and the final girl still staring at me. “I can’t wait!” “Oh that’s sick.” Harry nodded. “I hope you like the show. I’ll do my best to make it a good one.” “Can you get us VIP?” “Uh… It’s not… something we’re doing this time around. Sorry.” He smiled. “Have a good day, alright. Nice to meet you.” He was trying to get rid of them as politely as he could. The girl who had been staring at me whipped up quickly and began whispering in the vocal girls ear, covering the words by using her hand as a shield, and then once it was done they both just burst out laughing. “Thanks, Harry.” She bid, as they began walking away, still laughing together and making me feel utterly nauseous. That was that. Harry carried on like normal, chatting with Alexa as Nick glanced across the table to me with his brows low, questioning what the fuck had just happened in the same way I was. But neither of us said anything. None of us said anything about it at all. I think Harry liked to brush over those things and carry on with his existence, like he could ignore the fact that he couldn’t just go out and grab some lunch without being reminded about his job, and the fact it was almost impossible to escape. Because that was what helped Harry. Viewing it all as part of the job, helped him to separate things and stay sane. I think he just got frustrated by the fact that no matter how he tried, it was difficult to stumble across a day where he didn’t have to work. A day where he could forget about his job and just exist for a while. But as always, Harry didn’t allow himself to just bitch about it, even a little bit. He just carried on his day, as graceful as ever.

Part Three

“I think those girls were laughing at me.” I mumbled. “What?” His bedsheets covered my legs as I pulled them up towards my chest, wrapping my arms around them and watching Harry as he undressed. “Those girls who asked for a picture today at lunch. I dunno, I just… I think they were laughing at me.” “Why would they be laughing at you?” I shrugged, and dropped my head. I could have probably named a few reasons those girls were laughing at me. They were used to seeing Harry with models, and I was a far cry from that. They were used to seeing Harry with gorgeous girls who they could look up to, girls who made their own money and featured in fucking Vogue, girls whose names they’d read online. They didn’t know anything about me other than the bare tatters of information the media had wildly tried to throw together. I think the idea of us, in a way, was laughable to some of his fans. It made perfect sense to us, and we’d known each other for years, but I knew that it didn’t make sense to a lot of other people. I suppose those girls seeing me, and seeing how utterly normal I was, average in every single way imaginable, had been what cause them to snigger at me. Even sat on that table with the three of them that day, I knew I stood out like a sore thumb. Harry noted the sad little look upon my face, stripping down to his tight boxers before climbing over the bed to me, pressing his forehead against mine before kissing me sweetly. “You’re just being paranoid, Little Lulu Lamb.” He wittered. “They were just excited and giggly. Don’t overthink it.” “Okay.” I mumbled. “Who even gives a fuck if they were?” He kissed me again, forcefully, so that I ended up laying back on the bed, his body light atop mine. “You’re here, with me. That’s all that matters.” Harry had grown thick skin over the years, but it had taken time. I was still new to everything, and although I wished it was something I could ignore, it wasn’t as easy as that. It would take some adjustment. I stroked my fingers through his hair and kissed him back, sighing appreciatively when he licked his tongue into my mouth, just briefly before he pulled away, a soft smile making his pretty lips even more pinker. He fell to his side of the bed and started scrambling beneath the sheets, relaxing into his bed which was, by far, the comfiest thing I’d ever slept upon. I turned on my side, watching his eyes closing slowly, wetting his lips and shuffling until he was as cosy as possible. “Harry, I need to tell you something.” I whispered. He opened his eyes and turned his head, and I noted how kind his eyes were. It was a certain shade of green that I was sure only existed within his orbs, a beautiful window into his soul. “Everything okay?” “I got a promotion.” His eyes went wide immediately before he sat up, balancing on his elbow and glaring down to me. I smiled innocently. “What?” He cried. “You got a promotion?” “Yeah.” “Lulu that’s amazing! HUG ME!” I giggled as I moved up to hug him, and he swayed us happily. I could feel his large grin upon the side of my face as we cuddled, and I was happy with his reaction thus far, but I wasn’t sure he’d entirely thought it through before getting excited. “So what’ll you be doing?” He asked once we parted. “I’m gunna be the head of editing so… people will come to me their final pieces, and I’ll be able to help decide what’s published and what’s not. It’s good. It’s really good.” “What the fuck? I’m well chuffed for you.” His grin then dropped. “Why didn’t you tell me? You’ve been here three days!” “I didn’t wanna upset you.” “On what planet would you getting a new job upset me?” “Because… in LA… you really wanted to me to think about living here and now it can’t happen like… I wanna stay in Swanage.” I spoke, and I could see from the look on his face that the truth of it was finally sinking in. “I love it there, Harry. I’ve made this really nice little existence for myself there. All my friends are there and, now I’ve got this great job that I think I’m really gunna love. That’s where my life is, and that’s where I want to be. I love you so much, and I’d love this to be a little bit easier than it is right now, but… I don’t wanna live in London. I wish I did, in a way, but… I don’t. I’m sorry.” His fingers were playing fretfully with his bedsheet, eyes watching the nervous movements of his fingers, and I could tell there was a part of him that wanted to put up a fight, advertise London to me, present the idea of a life where the two of us actually lived close by, but we both knew it was useless. I had my mind made up. I was staying put. I hated the thought of moving to London and changing my entire existence, only for Harry to go and spend months on end touring and being miles away regardless. It didn’t make sense to me. “Remember when you just lived down the road from me?” He grumbled downwards, smiling just slightly at the memory. “Five minutes, and you were mine.” “I’m yours now!” I called, reaching out and cupping his cheek. “I know.” He ached, turning his head and kissing my palm. “I just wish you were always five minutes away. I am happy for you, Lulu, of course I am, but… I dunno. I miss you like mad when we’re not together and, I guess I always like the thought of coming home to you.” “I like that thought too.” I whispered. “But it can’t happen right now.” He nodded, and I could tell how hard he was taking it. It was clear in his sloped shoulders, the way he wasn’t looking at me, the way his lips were slightly jutted. He’d gotten his hopes up over the past month, hoping that I would change my location just to make things that little bit easier for us. He’d had his heart set on it. He shook it off as quickly as he could, looking back up to me a forging a smile. “I’m genuinely so happy for you, Baby.” He leaned in to kiss me again. “Congratulations.” “Thank you.” I blushed, kissing him back sweetly. “I’m gunna have a party in a few weeks, to celebrate. You wanna come?” “I’d love to. When?” “I’m thinking the second of September.” “I’m pretty sure I’m free then, to be honest, so that works well.” “Good. It’ll be nice to have you there.” “So… Does this mean I’m gunna meet your friends?” His grin was becoming more genuine. “I guess so. Shit. I hadn’t really thought about that.” “Nah, it’s good. I’m excited. I’d like to charm them.” I’d mentioned to Harry that the girls had become a little worried about our relationship. I kept quiet about it, most of the time, so they were getting their information from ridiculous and inaccurate articles they’d read. They knew the image of Harry, and not the actual boy. I think he was excited to work his magic on them. “I’m sure you will.” I blushed. We lay back down again, turning my body so that Harry could wrap his arms around my waist and shell himself around me, kissing tenderly at the back of my neck as our day began to end. Harry was usually the type to be in bed at a sensible time, but since we didn’t get that much time together, we usually fucked up our sleeping patterns just for an extra few hours where we could drink one another in. We’d been quiet for a while before I spoke again. “Haz?” “Mm?” “What kinda future do you see for us?” “Hm…” He took his time, mulling over his options. “Well, eventually we’re gunna get a house together. Maybe I’ll… find a job on my team, and you can work for me and then you’ll always be around.” “You’re ridiculous.” I giggled. “We’ll probably get a dog. Name it something stupid. Live in a really private area in LA.” “I’m not living in fucking LA.” I huffed. “Hey, you’ll warm to it. It’s pretty nice there, I’m telling ya.” “I’m not doing it!” “Yeah, we’ll see.” He tut. “We’ll just… find this perfect way where our lives work together, like they did when we were younger. Might even marry you one day.” “Harry!” I cried. “What?” “Don’t talk about bloody marriage! We’ve only been together for five months!” “Yeah but I’ve known you for over ten fucking years, and I know what I want! I want you! I want us! Besides, it’s now officially been over a year since the first time I appeared at your front door in Swanage, and… I still get that feeling when I see you, like… It’s still the most exciting thing. I think that’s a good sign, right? It’s been over a year now and I still feel so… weird when I see you. It’s fucking thrilling.” I turned around, unable to hold in the absolute need that was pulsing through my blood, this need to kiss him and hold him a little tighter, hooking my leg over his hip and moaning sweetly against his tongue. “I love you.” I whispered. “I love you too.” He groaned, gripping his hand in my hair and fucking his tongue into my mouth.

Part Four

Waking up to see Harry in a rush was never a good thing. I groaned numbly, running the back of my hand over my eye and yawning in a new day, seeing Harry practically throwing on the first items of clothing he could find. “Wh-what’s going on?” I could barely speak, sleep still thick in my body. “Shit.” He turned to see me, but didn’t stop rushing. “You’re awake. Hi.” “Hi. Where ya going?” I was sulking already. “I gotta go.” “You said you weren’t doing-” “I got an audition.” “What? You did?” “Yeah.” He was practically jumping around the room. “And I really didn’t think I was gunna get it, and they’ve called last minute offering me a slot, so I need to go. I’m sorry. What time’s your train?” “Like… Two, I think.” “I’ll try and get back before then, but I can’t make any promises.” He jumped onto the bed, crawling across and giving me the quickest kiss he probably could before he was up again, grabbing his phone and jamming it into his pocket. “I… Okay.” I was a little struck for what to say, my mind unable to keep up with what was going on. “There’s a spare key in the drawer next to my TV… In case I’m not back. Just keep it.” “Um, okay?” “I love you, alright? Get back safe.” He blew me one more kiss, and then he was gone. The sound of his front door slamming sent shivers down my spine, wondering why Harry rushing out of the front door felt like a fucked up summary of our entire relationship, where Harry was too busy to stay in one place and I was left reaching out for the heat of where his body had just been. I sat upright, finally, stroking the tips of my fingers over his side of the bed, praying the audition would just last the morning and I could see more of him before I made the journey home. He didn’t make it back in time.

[dzamie]

Fuckton of OC questions: HM

Questions from @liaraliara‘s post here. Doing these for HM, will do more for other characters eventually, whether y’all want me to or not.

anyway so the prompt is clearly intended for, like, normal human OCs rather than murderous dragons, but let’s see where this goes

1. What’s their full name? Why was that chosen? Does it mean anything? H.M. Deshulian. The initials stand for [DATA REMOVED], although he’s rather sensitive about anyone he doesn’t fully trust knowing that. And by “sensitive” I mean “vicious and lethal.”

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them? At least one town calls him the Green Reaper, which he’s rather proud of, but often times, much of his antics are attributed to Dzamie, a fact that annoys both of them.

3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory?  Rather average for a dragon, actually. Instead of sparring with clutchmates or playfighting with his parents, he and Dzamie would hone their skills against each other - particularly useful, as it gave Dzamie experience against a real dragon, and HM experience against a dragonslayer’s style of fighting. Regardless, he certainly didn’t go hungry, and keeping the warm-blooded and soft-furred Dzamie around kept him comfy at night (the Katul eventually got used to being used like a mattress).

4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memory with them? Did they know both parents?  Has no clue who his father is or was. His mother is definitely dead; there is no need to go looking for her, especially if you’re a dragonslayer tracking a large bounty. He will eat anyone who claims to the contrary.

5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults? Dzamie’s his half-brother. They’re very close, despite what seem like occasional attempts to kill the other. The two have gotten closer since childhood, owing in part to spending most of their lives around each other and also a mental link that they often forget about.

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate? HM associates “school” with dragonslayers, and thus doesn’t think too highly of it. He’s great at mechanical and electrical engineering, though. Not sure where he learned it.

7. Did they have lots of friends as a child? Did they keep any of their childhood friends into adulthood?  He had approximately one friend, who happened to have spotted fur and a full set of dragonslaying gear. Other friends generally didn’t stay long or died. Being around either Deshulian is pretty dangerous, since one is a danger magnet and the other seems to seek out violence.

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals? Occasionally jokes that he has a rambunctious cheetah as a pet. He likes animals! They’re usually very tasty!

9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals?  He tends to terrify animals. This means their instincts are functioning well.

10. Do they like children? Do children like them? Do they have or want any children? What would they be like as a parent? Or as a godparent/babysitter/ect? Can’t stand ‘em. Generally asks permission to maim and/or eat them after about 10 minutes of being around them, grants himself permission anyway after another 10.

11. Do they have any special diet requirements? Are they a vegetarian? Vegan? Have any allergies? 100% carnivore, ideally live, sapient food. Vegetables and grains are mildly poisonous, though a built-up resistance means they just taste bad and don’t do anything for him.

12. What is their favourite food?  Dzamie.

13. What is their least favourite food? Porcupines. Far too much effort and risk for such a little reward.

14. Do they have any specific memories of food/a restaurant/meal? Nothing in particular.

15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking? He can stop meat from being raw, but he’s not good at making it appetizing for non-dragons.

16. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it?  A nice hoard of shiny stuff - gold, gems, armor, stolen won weapons, and a few trophies with the nameplates removed that he refuses to tell anyone where he got them.

17. Do they like to take photos? What do they like to take photos of? Selfies? What do they do with their photos? Nah. Cameras are hard to work with his paws.

18. What’s their favourite genre of: books, music, tv shows, films, video games and anything else He likes racing games and Smash Bros, is a fan of what he nebulously describes as “flying music,” and most any movie or book with a dragon protagonist (at least, the ones where it’s not “yeah he’s a dragon but he spends 99% of the time looking human because reasons”).

19. What’s their least favourite genres? Death metal for music, rhythm games, and soap operas. For books, it’s a tie between romance novels and historical fiction and nonfiction.

20. Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when they’re favourite song comes? Theaters rarely allow dragons, especially dragons with his body count track record. Music’s definitely more Dzamie’s thing, but he’s got a few songs he likes. When a song he enjoys comes on, he’ll usually at least move his head to the beat, fall in step with it, or time his flaps to the music.

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper? It’s pretty hard to make him truly lose his temper, but that rarely matters because “kill and possibly eat non-dragons in the immediate area” isn’t too high up on his reactions scale. When he does get truly angry, the best course of action is to either return the important hoard thing to him and pray for mercy, or to vacate the surrounding twenty miles or so immediately.

22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back? He doesn’t usually see a reason to insult people. He knows where he is on the food chain.

23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces? He can recall every bit of treasure in his hoard, and has also memorized pretty much all of the pseudo-laws he has to follow as per the agreement with the dragonslayers’ guild. Knows it better than most actual dragonslayers, really.

24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress? Generally diurnal. Does not snore, prefers to sleep on Dzamie, part of his hoard, or a firm mattress, in that order.

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves? He finds dramatic irony to be the absolute best, particularly when it involves someone underestimating him or Dzamie.

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?  He tends to hold his head higher, and his tail swishes back and forth, or taps whatever it’s resting on if he’s lying down - though he’s careful to make sure it lands with the flat of the blade, so as not to accidentally ruin whatever he’s sitting happily on.

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad? I don’t think he’s ever actually been sad, at least for long.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared? Death, so generally only an angry Dzamie or Kenneth can actually scare him. Or a literal deity, or the few dragons who are significantly stronger than he is. When scared, he pretty much throws up all the defensive spells he knows and tries to escape the situation. Also scary: seeing Dzamie running very quickly away from, not towards, something. “Tactical retreat” means the cheetah annoyed someone strong; “flat out booking it” means everything in its path is is in peril.

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective?  Tease or exploit, depending on if he likes that person.

30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out? HM likes to fly and fight rampage/slaughter, but he’s not much for structured exercise. If someone does get him to work out, he’s generally grumpy going into it and ready to set several things and/or people on fire afterwards.

31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing? Nope. Drunk firebreathers are a bad idea.

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like? He sometimes wears his wingblades, but for the most part he’s completely naked. Scales are handy.

33. What underwear do they wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties? Once more, quadrupedal dragons tend not to wear clothes.

34. What is their body type? How tall are they? Do they like their body? At his usual size, HM’s about 3′6″ at the shoulder, carrying his head just under 6′. If he undoes his size transformation (or it’s forcibly undone), he’s roughly two stories high. He’s very fond of every part of his body, especially his jaws (he has a very strong bite, and has paralytic saliva if he so chooses).

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?  His guilty pleasure is letting Dzamie rub or scratch him in just the right places. He purrs for very few people. His unguilty pleasure is probably wanton destruction. Or eating Dzamie, though that involves significantly less fire.

36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing? To quote TF2′s Spy, “your deadly skill is jogging? Mine is murdering people!” Though, to HM’s credit, he really just hunts a lot; most of his kills vanish down his throat. He’s definitely fond of the whole violence thing. He can sing, to an extent. He doesn’t have the best range, and he doesn’t really compare to a human or Katul singer, but he’s better than the average dragon.

37. Do they like to read? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or non fiction? He’ll read short things if Dzamie suggests them, but is otherwise uninterested.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had? Strength and fighting ability (and taste, but he doesn’t envy that). He does wish he had the quick spellcrafting of Kenneth or Dzamie’s impressive range of abilities.

39. Do they like letters? Or prefer emails/messaging?  Emails. He’s accidentally incinerated too many would-be important letters to be fond of them.

40. Do they like energy drinks? Coffee? Sugary food? Or can they naturally stay awake and alert? He sees energy drinks and stuff like that to be human things. Sweet things are nice, especially when his prey is covered in it, but a fine-tuned survival instinct keeps him as awake as he generally needs to be.

41. What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive? Physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship? Physically, 100% into dragonesses. Human women are a nice substitute, but he tends not to think highly of them (though, considering his baseline for humans is “food”...). He generally isn’t much for long-term relationships, though Dream is an exception - primarily by way of being more a friend-with-benefits than a romantic partner.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition? His goal is to have a very big hoard, and possibly see if he can’t start a cult that ends up occasionally sacrificing a member to him or something. He’d sacrifice anything but Dzamie’s life to preserve his own, and anything but his own life to save Dzamie’s. His secret ambition is to be able to solidly beat Dzamie in a fight - they’ve always been pretty even.

43. Are they religious? What do they think of religion? What do they think of religious people? What do they think of non religious people? HM is not religious at all. He acknowledges the existence of some deities, generally because either he or HM has met several of them (again, some of the few times one can actually see them actively prepare many layers of backup escape plans), but isn’t interested in worshipping anyone. He’s generally neutral about most religious and nonreligious people, and hasn’t quite made up his mind about the religious ones who think he’s a demon to exorcise - on one hand, they’re annoying, on the other, they’re generally unprepared enough that they make an easy snack.

44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most?  Summer. Dragon likes heat. He complains about the snow a lot, and generally doesn’t leave his fuzzy heat source Dzamie’s side during the wintertime.

45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?  As a violent psychopath who’d probably eat the world if it was feasible and tasty enough. He’d agree.

46. Do they make a good first impression? Does their first impression reflect them accurately? How do they introduce themselves? He can make a good first impression - he’s not completely tactless, and can even hold a small Facade for a while. It’s pretty quick to tell his personality, though. HM prefers to introduce himself a couple seconds after his most recent victim dies, but, to his distaste, he far more often introduces himself in a more normal manner.

47. How do they act in a formal occasion? What do they think of black tie wear? Do they enjoy fancy parties and love to chit chat or loathe the whole event? He can act all proper and stuff, especially if Dzamie’s nearby to give him pointers, but not for an extended period of time. He prefers to wear as little as necessary, but will put on a few things to keep up appearances when needed. He enjoys chit chat to the extent that it can lure unsuspecting prey towards a secluded area.

48. Do they enjoy any parties? If so what kind? Do they organise the party or just turn up? How do they act? What if they didn’t want to go but were dragged along by a friend?  He does actually host more casual parties somewhat often. Generally, his guests are dragons, though occasionally a Serperior or a sphinx has shown up. He’s actually a pretty good host. Though, remarkably often, he and a bunch of guests end up in a scaly pile on or around Dzamie when they awake.

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them? Well, there’s Dzamie.

50. If they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? What do they consider their essentials? A water bottle and as much of his favorite non-Dzamie things from his hoard as will fit. Everything else necessary can be found pretty easily, especially as a flying, magical dragon.

[maxa-postrophe]

About Fire Emblem - Conquest

Wow it was longer than I thought! Don’t worry, this is a one time thing only!

This text will explain my perception of the story of Fire Emblem Fates : Conquest. Expect some ranting,  spoilers (if you didn't play the game yet) and a lot of english mistakes (sorry for that). Also, I still have the final maps (27-28) to complete so I can't talk about the end of the game.

 This game... ah, well, to begin with, I must say that I liked this game  despite its flaws, as it's a really solid tactical rpg game. It's seem very odd why I want to write such a wall of text on a game, because it's not the only one with a story far from perfect, but, let's say it's professional deformation. As a comic author, I'm often thinking about stories I watch. I 'm not saying I would have done better, but this story in particular made my brain race for some reason.

As you already know, fates is about the hero/heroine Corrin choosing between two nation : Hoshido and her/his real family, or Nohr and her/his adoptive family. of course whatever story you choose, expect internal conflict, tragedies and drama. Since Nohr is the "invading ntion ruled by evil king", you can expect Conquest to be a thorny path. And, boy, I didn't exect that many thorns.

1 - Of Black and White

To put it bluntly, the story doesn't make mystery about making it a war between the white country of good and love versus the black EVIL country ruled by an EVIL king with EVIL monsters and basically anything EVIL you can find. And that's okay. The point is to support your adoptive family you care about and the nation you grew in, despite their flaws, over your newfound family whatever well intentioned they are. So by trying to end the war from the inside, you're between the hammer of our real family you're fighting and the anvil of your king (and adoptive father) you will betray.

On paper, I find it more interesting than magically making Hoshido an awful and demonic country all of a sudden. However, like everything, if you're not balancing some things, it falls. And in this case, it's a big, loud, hard fall. Hoshido and Nohr couldn't be more caricatured. It's not only black and white, it's plain PURE white versus EVIL black. From the first chapter, you discover a country that seem to be in an eternal night, dark and hostile, and aside your adoptive siblings who are pretty cool, you have all the time to see EVIL king asking you to do EVIL executions, then proceeds to do a couple of EVIL tricks like an EVIL terrorist attack, then you discover Hoshido and everything is  in light and there is flowers and everything is so welcoming (except Takumi, thank you for being an asshole in this ocean of sugar)... and in this time you don't have many occasion to sympathise with your Nohrian family, so they don't mean that much for the player at this point, so, in the end, when the game asks me to choose... I really, really searched for a reason to do so, and I didn't find any, aside "the nohrian royal family is kinda okay". I understand that siding with the ones you grew up with should be the "natural choice" I'm not talking about the country because the main character is spending most of his time in a tower so he doesn't know much about Nohr in the end), but the game made a terrible job at this and it doesn't seem natural at all. Anyway, I chose Conquest so hello, Nohr.

problem : The game concept IS to fight Hoshido's army, but your goal is to dethrone Garon. In other words, the main plot is contradicting the gameplay. And since the developers didn't want to make Hoshido look remotely bad in any way, all those battles against the white country seems really forced. Honestly, you could have kept the whole black and white stuff, only by making minor tweaks. The game suggests that Garon was originally not a bad ruler. I also read (may be false though) that one of the original ideas was that Nohr was a poor country so they had to invade Hoshido who was wealthy and didn't want to share anything... so the ideas are there for making an interesting setting. Unfrotunately, the gme don't say anything about that. Can't you at least explain us how this war originated? Plus, a lot of Nohrian characters are nice, aside from a couple of psychos like Camilla or Peri, when you see someone like Arthur, who is basically Captain Nohr, or any other nice people fighting with you, you can expect they wage war for a reason, right? But no, get only muhahahaha we will conquer the world and exterminate everyone.

There is a mission about a vassal country of Hoshido, telling you that Hoshido too had some expansionist views, and since Hoshido is basically Japan, that didn't sound all that surprising, and I was really motivated about this imperialist side , thinking at least you could liberate a vassal counrty, but, hey, guess what, turned out is was a dirty plan, and the local chief is a total scumbag, because you know, you HAVE to be on the evil side, always, and Hoshido are GOOD, always, so when you're freeing any Hoshidian people by pure chivalry spirit (misplaced, you chose the evil path, why being so wary of ethics, now?) they express their gratitude by... actually they don't express their gratitude, because you're Nohrian scum, and they would totally do the same in such situation because they are the good people, so why just thanking you?

 And that's it, the only dot of black in all this white is the latent xenophobia of hoshidian, which will consider "Nohrian" as an insult by default. But honestly I'm not sure this racism thing is on purpose. I mean, after all, Nohr is the agressor, and they show an impressive display of dirty deeds, so in the end, such a behaviour isn't really  a surprise. And considering it's fantasy japan made by japan people, well... let's say there is room for doubts.

2 - You shall Suffer

I said it at the beginning, reading at the main plot, your hero can expect to suffer, and in Conquest, you will suffer even more. However, there is a thin line between telling a tragic story and create cheap drama. There is a simple rule , which is, not any chapter of a story can be a climax, because if there is too much dramatic spikes, it becomes flat. However, in Conquest, you know that something unpleasant will happen EVERY. FUCKING. CHAPTER. It works for some time, but, chapter after chapter, the process grows duller, to the point I was rolling eyes at each dickish move after a certain point. I am honestly really surprised Hinoka didn't die yet and Sakura didn't suicide herself at this point. It becomes really baffling in contrast with the support dialogues or paralogues who are often lightheaded and comical. Don't misunderstand me, I am welcoming the oxygen brought by those sequences, but those bubbles of humour and the dark, emo story are totally separated, so those two parts doesn't mix and it feels... really weird.

Come to think of it, it could have been a way to balance it : My Castle phases are those instants of peace of friendship that helps Corrin to remain strong and don't succumb to suffering and sadness... but you can't really say this is lampshaded.

One  thing to note is Garon HAS a real reason to act like a total dick with you, which is likely to make you suffer so much it breaks your spirit, so you can become a vessel for Anankos, so, as unpleasant as it is, this incessant display of cruelty has at least a plot motivated reason. However, this point is never really addressed, since your hero may be sad and discouraged, but we never see any sign of losing his sanity, so as soon as it becomes obvious hat the role will be fulfilled by Takumi (poor Takumi....joking, I hate Takumi), every additional dick move by Garon or Iago only seems to be gratuitous excuse to cause easy drama. So yeah, another missed occasion to make a more consistent storytelling, I'd say.

3 - Sockpuppet Rebel

Changing things from the inside is a tough task, and, as a hero, you're prepared to suffer and to dirty your hands...but, only to a certain extent. Honestly, I understand your avatar's problem. While you're trying to take the burden, you have your ethics and moral code, and don't want unnecessary bloodshed, so, at leas at the beginning, being hesitant and unresolved is fairly understandable. However, I got the impression that the creators were half-assed doing it. I'm not saying that Corrin should have turned into a cold blooded monster, mind you (could have been interesting, though), but from a practical point of view, the main character is making very weird decisions on a regular basis. So, punishing rebels, obeying your father's orders however vile, is okay, but, trying to get rid of Hans or Iago, for example, seems out of question. I can understand for Iago as it's kind of the first counsellor, but Hans, while still under Garon's protection to a certain extent, is a mere thug. You have the entire royal family on your side, you're a Nohrian prince yourself, and considering how he behaves, showing disrespect or even tried to kill you, you have plenty of excuse to execute him at least a dozen of times. You will tell me "But Garon could execute you". No, he can't. The game forgets it, but we're talking about a country. This country has several factions, every member of the royal family have vassals, which means lands and troops. No matter how ruthless Garon can be, he absolutely, definitely can't take direct action against you as long as you have the support of your brothers and sisters, and punishing you for killing a stupid thug can’t justify the risk of a massive rebellion. And even without that, he can't kill you, he needs you alive as a vessel for Anankos.

Also, having the entire Hoshidian family imprisoned which means virtually the end of the war, isn't even raised as an issue because "it's neutral ground it's not right to do so". yeah, if there was a lot of countries, and if Nohr was wary of being invaded by a coalition after seeing a neutral place violated, I could understand, but since there isn't any other country of importance, well... this is a massive strategy mistake, even if you don't kill them, you could have keep them captive (and they die later anyway, so...).

So, my main gripe is the hero appears too passive, he is not working towards his goal, he is pushed by the current and can't seem to take a decisive initiative. You basically do everything Garon tells you for THE ENTIRE GAME minus three chapters! And since you are the "player", it's pretty frustrating, right?

 Now, you will tell me, yeah, but your nohrian family are spineless retards, they wouldn't move an inch to save you. Well it's true to some extent. Again, it's not like Conquest is totally wrong every time. Xander chooses to be blind by living with his memories of the good Garon the King was at one point. And regarding he others, they lived under terror of their father since their birth so, yeah, I can understand that they won't oppose openly to their father, and acts out of fear. Camilla even states something along those lines. In order to convince them to kill Garon, you must conquer Hoshido's throne... that sounds pretty good. But actually, I was imagining more something like an official coronation ceremony, where all important people of Nohr could witness that Garon became a monster, something that would prevent a rebellion because the king was assassinated (again, I recall this being stated in the game). But in the end, the only witnesses are your own family, so in the end, it's not that different than attempting to assassinate him more or less anywhere, except the only sacrificed life here would be yours (instead of countless hoshidian people). In the end, it's "all this for only that" ? Plus okay, let's imagine Garon isn't a slime monster.... well, does that change anything ? He is still an evil ruler, he is still committing war crimes and devastating foreign countries, so, in the end, it doesn't change much to the problem : Garon must be suppressed, I think even your stuck up adoptive siblings could understand that after a while, right?

4/ Routes

When you think about it Conquest could have been, with some tweaks, a splendid standalone game. less gratuitous drama, less black and white morality, less passivity, more boldness, more work on characters and even politics, less "I want to do something adult but not too much don't forget ethics", and you could keep a lot of current elements.

But the thing is, Conquest, Birthright and Revelations are meant to be a package, so, we don't have three games in one here, we got one game split into three, which means there are some holes that are left on purpose. Conquest is the hard path, the path of thorns. It's also the hardest of the two starting routes; so you can expect be rewarded to your effort, like a more satisfying end, or interesting plot points. However this would have deprived people buying Birthright, and, more than that, Revelation would become useless. And they WANT you to buy Revelations, so, no, you won't have your satisfying end (from what I read, revelations isn't that satisfying, though). So the reality is that they chose to sell you an incomplete game to make you spend more money on the other routes, making the flaws even more apparent.

5-Lost in translation

A last word about the localization. I understand that a good adaptation isn't about literal translation, however, changing characters personality (Effie for example who is supposed to be timid) and thus their dialogs is unacceptable, even if it's for minor support conversations. It doesn't matter that "original lines aren't better". translation isn't about thinking I can do better than the original. It's about keeping the core of a work and bringing it to you. I heard it's not the first time and I will really be careful about that in the future, because I don't want to ask myself each time "okay, but did he really say that ?". Also, censoring part of the game is also something I really don't like. I understand it's for a minor stupid petting game, I understand people not wanting to play it or reading embarrassing lines, but in this case, please, make it an option to deactivate it from the game, because whatever you call it it's "removing content", and I don't like the idea of having "removing content", especially from a game which already is already incomplete story-wise. But you wouldn't want age restriction to lessen the amount of copies sold, right?

In conclusion

As solid as the game is from a gameplay standpoint, it's leaving to me an intense frustration, that you can feel through the need of writing this huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge wall of text. A lot a ideas, likeable characters and a story with a lot of potential, all of that was wasted to me. I really hope the next game will not repeat the same mistake and sacrificing a great potential on the altar of a commercial strategy.